by Mark Gannon
A quick look revealed a grinning ape laughing at my reaction. Frank Saphat, one of my best friends was standing with his hand shielding his eyes from the inside window glare and his forehead pressed up against the glass. He loved catching people off balance - especially me. When he saw that he had gotten my attention, he waved a beer bottle past the glass and made signs for me to come outside. Frank was done working for the day and had already started on his nightly dose of beer.
Frank was six and half feet of barbed wire thin man from the waist down with wide shoulders at the top. Making him look even taller was the battered old felt cowboy hat perched to the back of his head. Besides his height the most notable thing about him was his wild red hair. The hair was thick to the point of unruly and he grew a mustache to match it the senior year of high school. The cookie duster was such a part of him that it was hard to remember what he looked like without it. The combined effect was a bristly red feather duster.
Frank was wearing his usual work uniform, blue jeans, cowboy shirt with the sleeves cutoff and snaps instead of buttons, a wide cowboy belt and buckle with a Toolman and a Buck knife strapped to his left side. After the day I had, a cold beer with Frank would be just about right so I motioned him to go ahead and that I would join him.
There wasn’t any question about where to catch up with him. The Silver Dollar bar was a half block away on Main Street. Frank made a habit to stop there after work on an almost nightly basis. Some nights it was only for a couple of beers but enough times it was for the whole night. I
t was a miracle to me that Frank’s wife, Laurie, put up with this. Laurie was a hardworking good-looking lady that could find another man in a heartbeat. But she kept a steady job with benefits and seemed content with her beer-drinking husband. Whenever he got to staying out too much she put her foot down and Frank knew enough to listen and behave for a while. They were both horse lovers and that is probably what kept them together. Frank and Laurie rented a small acreage about five miles from town and wanted to ranch someday. At the age of thirty eight Frank had yet to save any money and the ranch would probably never develop into reality.
It was time to close the bank and I was on closing duty. Closing officer duty meant waiting for the drive up teller to balance her cash drawer and then lock the vault. The two remaining tellers, Colleen Preacher and Nancy Allen, were waiting for me. Colleen had been with the bank for years and knew her job well.
Nancy Allen as a newer teller at the bank was not very well versed in her job. She made up for her skill shortcomings by flirting with everyone especially Charlie Gearets. No matter how much Mary Beth, the head teller, wanted to let her go it wasn’t going to happen. Colleen was training Nancy on closing duties. “Is your drawer balanced and ready for lock up?”
Nancy nodded her head and went into the vault to lock away her cash drawer while Colleen muttered under her breath to me, “At least tonight it didn’t take four tries to balance.” Nancy stepped back out and looked around like she was lost on what to do next. “Next on the list is setting the clocks, Nancy.” Nancy leaned down to the three clocks built into the back side of the vault door and stopped and looked back at Colleen with that lost look again. “Set them for thirteen and a half hours Nancy.”
“I never can remember that. Why is it thirteen and a half hours again?” Nancy sounded miffed that she had to remember something so foolish.
“It’s six at night and we want the door locked until seven thirty tomorrow morning.” The lack of patience in Colleen’s voice told me this was a repeat question from previous training nights. “And once more the reason for three clocks is in case one or even two don’t work the last one will work.” Mary Beth and I waited while Nancy fumbled setting the clocks. “Now shut the vault door and give the dial a spin.” The bank vault door is six inches thick and plenty safe if handled right.
The vault door surface was a polished swirl pattern. That big bank vault door was solid just like the bank. The thump as it settled into place always gave me a feeling of confidence. The door was made when quality mattered. Spinning the dial reset the combination rings. The clocks inside the vault kept the door from opening even if the right combination numbers were entered. Once the time expired on the clocks they would allow the combination to work.
“Okay now initial the log book to verify the settings.” After Nancy initialed, Colleen did the same. Now no matter what happens that vault door would not open until seven thirty tomorrow morning.
Then Colleen and Nancy left the bank and I was left to walk through the bank shutting off lights and checking that no one remained in the building. With this done it was time to set the motion alarm and vacate the building.
After locking the outside door and making sure Colleen and Nancy were safely off I made my way across the street to the Silver Dollar. Nancy was nowhere in sight but her car was still there. I assumed she had other business on Main Street.
Chapter 10
Eight Ball
The twang of Country Western on the jukebox hit my ears as I pulled open the door and stood to let my eyes adjust to the low light of the bar. Thankfully the smoke haze of previous years was gone. But your favorite bar has an essence that is not only the wood, the smell, the sound but the combination of all these mixed with some favorite memories. This was my favorite bar and that essence was floating in the air as I eased in to let my eyes adjust.
The bar itself was a long rectangle in the middle of the room with tables scattered around and booths lining both long walls. There were about a thousand actual silver dollars embedded in the bar top - hence the name – Silver Dollar Lounge. The Tuesday night crowd was light and I could see why Nancy Allen’s car was still in the bank parking lot.
Nancy was sitting at a booth with Charlie Gearets. And they looked plenty cozy sitting on the same side of the booth. That was enough to give you a jolt. What with sexual harassment suits and bank policy against management fraternizing with bank staff, I was surprised to see Charlie getting friendly with the staff. Not just any staff but a specific single female staff member. I guess he was entitled to a little female interaction; it was over a year since his wife passed away from cancer.
My attention was drawn away from Charlie by the approach of a six and a half foot carrot. Frank’s tall form looked even taller as he upended a beer bottle while strolling over from a game of pool. After collecting a beer at the bar we slid into a corner booth next to the pool table. Frank had just been beaten badly again by Tommy Moran. Tommy beat Frank in pool every time and Frank just kept putting up the quarters. “Lost again, hey?” I said to Frank as he slid his long legs under the table. “When was the last time you actually beat Tommy, about eighth grade?”
“How long you been here?” he asked. “Didn’t you see me whip him last game?” Frank was assuming I had just arrived and he could slide this past me.
“Tommy,” I shouted, “when was the last time Frank beat you in a game? He’s saying he just beat you tonight.” Tommy looked over to see who was talking and when he saw I was pointing at Frank he just laughed and shook his head.
“Last time that string pole beat me must have been ten or maybe twelve years ago. I think it was the night of my bachelor party when I was so blind drunk a baby could beat me.” Frank knew his lie had been uncovered but he didn’t care.
“That’s alright. I’ll get you tomorrow night.” Then Frank looked at me and said, “When was the last time you beat Tommy?”
“Well hell, I gave up trying to beat him about twenty years ago. You’re just wasting your quarters every time you play him. Why don’t you just play somebody else or not shoot at all?”
“Shit Mitch, it’s worth the quarters just to watch him play. He’s so smooth and he doesn’t even look like he’s trying. It’s just fun to watch him.” That made sense. Frank wasn’t actually thinking he was going to beat Tommy; he just wanted to see him play. “So how was the big glamorous world of banking today? Did you foreclose on any little old widow ladies?�
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“You know, I was going to take a car away from this eighty year old widow lady, but she told me that she was going to blab about what she and my friend Frank were doing late at night if I took the car from her. So I decided to give her another week for her payment.” It took Frank just a moment to catch up with that. “She said something about using your big hammer with her when no one was around to hear the banging.”
“Don’t even joke about something like that Mitch. I’m in enough trouble with Laurie already and I don’t need anymore.” Frank was actually scared of his wife, which always amazed me since she put up with so much from him.
A shadow loomed over the table and a bass gravelly voice jarred in on our conversation. “Well if it isn’t that backtracking Frank Saphat. Trying to put together another deal you can back out of Saphat?” I didn’t need to look up to know that braggart Bill Larson had invited himself into our conversation. His square jaw and puffy face were blocking out the light from the bar.
Normally Larson drew attention to himself by back slapping and fake good will. Raising his voice to call somebody out was just another way of grabbing some lime light. Frank did not appreciate being called names and was jerking his long frame erect when Larson laid one of his meaty paws on Frank’s shoulder and pushed down with his full two hundred and fifty plus pounds. “I don’t think you should get up right now Saphat. It may not be healthy for you.”
Frank’s hot temper was in full flame as he pushed up against Larson’s hand. I was already sliding out of the booth ready to put in my two cents when a firm hand pushed down on my shoulder from behind. “What the hell” I started to growl when I turned and saw it was Charlie Gearets restraining me.
“Hello Bill. Nice to see you. Are you having a good visit with Mitch and Frank here?” Charlie’s grip was like steel but his voice was friendly. His eyes were looking directly at Larson as he continued. “It appears you may be having a slight misunderstanding. Since Bill is a good bank customer and Mitch is a bank employee I think it will be an excellent idea if we just drop things right here.” With that Charlie released his hold on my shoulder nodded at Frank turned and headed for the exit. Charlie was used to being listened to and we all took heed.
Larson loosened his grip on Frank and backed a step away. “You best be bringing that horse back to my place Saphat – real soon. And pick up that damn stud when you drop off the mare!” Then he turned and walked away himself.
“That son of a bitch!” Frank’s face was red with anger and his hands were trembling along with his voice. “Bracing me in public and catching me from behind. Let me catch him in the open when I see him coming and he’ll wish he was talking with someone else.” Frank was sliding out of the booth as he watched Larson’s retreating back.
“Just settle down Frank. I dislike the blow hard just like you but a bar is not the place to tackle him.” A quick look around the bar showed the discussion was noticed by most of the other patrons.
“Hell Mitch, you just don’t want me beating on one of your bank’s biggest customers.” Well there was something to that. Frank noticed my silence and took it for agreement. “How did your bank ever end up with that worthless piece of shit anyway?”
“Frank, you can say that but I better not. Larson is a major customer. That’s why Charlie came over and interrupted things. You know it’s amazing that he wasn’t even in Spearfish two years ago and now he is one of the biggest customers of the bank. So what is his beef anyway?”
Frank actually made a good suggestion, “Why don’t we finish these beers and we’ll go bend the friendly lawyer’s ear? I need to tell him and don’t want to tell it twice.”
Chapter 11
Best Beer Fridge in Town
Normally you don’t make after hours house calls on nasty low down good for nothing lawyers but this appeared to be an emergency and besides this lawyer always had the biggest assortment of microbrew ice-cold beer in town in his rec room fridge. I knew this from experience since John Many Hawks was the good for nothing lawyer we were visiting.
John’s house was a short drive up the hill on Main Street and two blocks down on Canyon View Lane, a dead end. This is not the most expensive section of town, but it is my favorite. John’s house almost hangs out over the eighty foot cliff above Spearfish Creek and the City owned campground with a view of the D.C. Hatch Fish Hatchery and City Park. Across the wide creek bottom the mountains of the Black Hills begin their steady rise to the South. It is as close to being in the country as you can get and still be right off Main. This house is high on my covet list just like the Tanner Ranch. But the house takes a back stage to the Many Hawks family.
John is a member of the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwa of Minnesota. He is slightly older than me but in better shape, running marathons and living a clean life. His traditional ponytail black hair puts a lot of people off, but he wins them over with his gentle warm-hearted hospitality. He delights in wearing yuppie style Native American attire with blue jeans and boots. John has been known to wear a feather headdress at the office. He claims the headpiece is an old family heirloom worn by his great-great grandfather during his run as tribal chief. I know better – made in China. Personally I think John just likes to get a reaction from his customers. John’s father, who has worn a suit with white shirts and suspenders his whole life as a corporate lawyer, has more trouble with his son’s personal style than anyone else.
John is married to Greta, a native of Sweden. Greta runs her own computer software consulting business out of the house. It’s no slouch of a business with customers all over the US and some overseas. Her somewhat analytical straightforward personality can throw you until you get used to it.
Billy, John’s youngest son, came screaming up to the door on his bike at the same time we arrived. He was followed by two more kids his age dropping their bikes in the driveway. All three of them were consulting their cell phones. “Hey guys. Here to see Dad?” He didn’t wait or expect an answer. “He’s around back.”
“Thanks. Why are you in such a big hurry? Do you have a gang of bullies chasing you?” Billy shook himself out of a rush and politely stopped the charge to the house. His parents really engrained the manners.
“Mom has us helping with her new project. She has a cell phone tracking system in development stage and we’re the guinea pigs. We’ve been all over town in different directions. Now we’re going to go in to Mom and check her tracker against where we’ve been.”
“Wow. You pedal all over town on a hot day like this just to help her out? And you talk your buddies into it too? My Mom couldn’t get me to help with anything unless I got paid for it.”
“Well she is paying us. Well not exactly her. The tech company that is underwriting the project is actually coughing up the dough. She marks us down as BLT Inc. I don’t think the tech company knows BLT stands for Billy, Lance and Ted. But I gotta run. Mom wanted this to be a speed run. She did a tweak on the program and wanted some test data fast for feedback. Anyway Dad is around back practicing.”
Practicing? We were both wondering what he meant and giving ourselves the same questioning look we made our way around the corner of the house. We didn’t see John right off but could hear a thump coming from behind the garage.
As we stepped through the gate to the back yard something whipped past my head and I heard the thump again. The noise was the result of a lance being thrown into a wooden backstop about six feet high with the image of a cowboy silhouette painted on the surface. There were five lances and several tomahawks spread around the ground. The last tomahawk was still quivering from impact up in the corner of the wood. John was standing about 30 feet back from the boards with a pleased smile on his face.
“Hey guys, come on in. You’re just in time to watch me give this cowboy a haircut,” he said this with as much malice as a chronically super nice guy can muster. “You see that last one, it actually stuck in the wood.” Frank and I were still in the line of fire and John was winding up for another thro
w. We ducked to the side just in time for the lance to sail past and hit handle first about a foot wide and bounce back at us.
Frank picked up the lance and hefted it for balance as John walked forward with a frustrated grin on his face. “Damn, you guys show up and it bounces off.” This was typical of John, doing something untypical. You just don’t expect your local lawyer to be throwing lances and tomahawks in his back yard.
John started to pick up the lances as Frank chipped in “Looks like you had a bunch bouncing off before we showed up. Let me give it a try.” Before long, John had Frank trying to stick it to the cowboy too. Myself, I sat back and watched my two friends, the Cowboy and the Indian, trying to throw tomahawks and war lances into a cowboy silhouette. It was ironic as hell but I was not about to point this out to two madmen with sharp instruments especially since one had too many beers and the other one was a touch crazy.
“Just what are you trying to do here, John? Practicing for an uprising?” I asked.
“Well in a way. We have the trail ride later this week and I was just getting ready for a little demonstration I’m planning. You know my Comanche heritage is coming to the surface with all this war type activity.”
“Comanche? I thought you were Ojibwa.”
“Yah Mitch. Didn’t you know I’m part Comanche? My great grandfather on my mom’s side.” Another round of lances and tomahawks went through the air with not one sticking in the wood. “This sure is hard work. Why don’t you come on in the house and I’ll round up a beer for you.” The family room was larger than my whole trailer house with a solid wall of glass looking out on the creek and hills. The panorama of trees, hills, creek and mountains was the ultimate in view. Inside a bar, pool table and treadmill were parked in the corner across from a deep leather sofa and chairs. A large LCD high definition TV hung on the far wall across from the rock fireplace. I didn’t wait for John to dig out the beer, but went behind the bar’s full size glass door leading to a walk-in cooler.