High Desert Run [Excerpt]

High Desert Run

I got to the tavern a little after ten in the evening. The only one like it as far as I can see, it seemed as if the tavern was the nightlife in the town. Stepping through the doors, I tried taking in the entire room at once. About two-dozen townspeople were congregating over bottles of beer and games of pool. Televisions that hung over the wooden bar had the local game on; its volume competing with the sounds of alternative country music pulsating out of the jukebox. I took a seat at an empty stool at the bar, trying to blend in. The others in my vicinity, blue-collared men and women over the age of thirty, most likely gave me a once over, before ultimately realizing I wasn’t a threat. Before long, everyone went back to minding their beers and conversations.

Assimilation complete.

An attractive woman in her mid-twenties sporting an apron emerged from the small dance floor area with a server platter. She slid behind the bar and freshened up a couple of drinks before calling for new orders. She was friendly, but no more than necessary. She would occasionally flash a smile to a patron, perhaps for no other reason than to secure her gratuity for the evening, but as soon as the smirk was on her face it would fade away, like a shooting star in the sky.

By now she must have noticed me looking at her, as she walked over to my side of the bar, without the smile. I suppose it was for the regulars only.

“What can I get you?”

“A beer and a menu,” I said suffering from another hunger cramp.

“What kind of beer?”

“Whatever is your most popular.”

“Got it,” she said.  “We don’t got menus so what do you want?”

“What do you have?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Burger and fries,” I said, fighting back the urge to say something that wasn’t too peculiar.

“Got it,” and just like that she disappeared from the bar and went into the kitchen.

The game on the television seemed to have ended, as a big portion of the crowd closed their tabs and started to file out of the door. The televisions turned off, and an ambient light that was hung from the ceiling was turned on. A couple of the dozen or so people that were left took their conversations to the dance floor. Part sports bar and part nightclub. Classy. The place was more a public utility than a bar. I wouldn’t be surprised if town hall meetings were held here over drinks. From my experience, drinks almost make any meeting smoother.

The waitress returned with a rather large plate that held my mountain of fries and a landmass of a cheeseburger. I wondered how many cows died for my culinary sins, but I was so hungry I tore into it without any hesitation. Out of the corner of my eye I could tell that the waitress was still hovering over me, no doubt disgusted I was eating my cheeseburger like some sort of a savage.

“Hey,” she said. “I said, hey. Do you need anything else?”

“Uh,” I said, swallowing my kill. “Your next drink is on me.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t accept things from strangers,” I said, watching her crack a smile.

So that’s what a genuine smile from her looks like.

“Right,” I said with a nod. “Jethro Nabers, but everyone calls me Jett.”

“Everyone calls you Jett, huh?”

“Yup.”

“What does your mother call you?”