Frank & Gale: The Bar Incident

The Bar Incident

Each person who walked by his booth made Frank jump in his seat and his heart pound. If he had to sit here until the Friday evening crowd poured through the front door of the bar his clothes would be soaked in sweat.

When he shifted in his seat paper rustled in his pocket from the folded envelope. Inside the envelope, well, he preferred not to think of its contents or the reason he had to come here. Here of all places on the worst night of the year: Valentines'.

Soon couples would walk through the door arm in arm for an evening of drinking and dancing. Lonely singles would wander in behind them hoping to find company for the evening. What a depressing night.

"Afternoon," a deep voice greeted from behind him.

Frank cringed as one hand dove into his pocket to touch the envelope concealed there. He was supposed to be at work. What could he say?

"Do you have me chipped or..." Frank half turned to peer over his shoulder and the sight made the words shrivel on his tongue.

He expected to see a larger than life sheriff glaring down at him with arms crossed in disapproval. Frank half expected to spot steam or smoke billowing from under his straw western hat.

Instead Gale leaned over the back of booth wearing a white dress shirt, no hat, his hair springy and loose.

"Mind if I join you?"

Frank could only stare in wonder. How the heck did Gale find him? Never mind find him, how did Gale know he left town at all? Their new sheriff was far better at his job than Frank thought.

"No beer?" Gale motioned to the empty table. "I could use one." He turned to wave two fingers at the bartender behind the bar. Gale kept it up as he rounded the table to slide into the booth beside Frank. Finally the bartender noticed and nodded. The sheriff's attention returned to Frank.

"You're supposed to be working." As the words left his mouth Frank could hear how bad they sounded. Not for the first time he wished he could snatch speech from the air.

"So are you." Gale's usual lively smile looked forced. It did not reach his eyes. "What's going on? Who are you meeting?"

"Meeting?" His voice spiked at least a full octave. Way to sound guilty, Frank. Using a cough to cover his slip, he cleared his throat. "Nobody. Nobody you'd know, I mean."

Yes, good. Gale was not stupid. Skipping work to go to a bar on a Friday made it obvious he came here to meet someone. There was no point in denying it.

Frank expected a little outrage, maybe a hurt look. Instead one of Gale's eyebrows lifted as those deep green eyes stared right through him.

"Then you'll have to introduce me," Gale replied in the exact same tone he used whenever a townsperson became a little too interested in hanging around them during dinner. It was almost impossible to go against The Tone.

Almost.

"I don't think so. Not your type," Frank argued.

Gale's eyes rolled all the way into the back of his head. Frank wondered if he could see inside his skull when he did that. "Really? We're having this argument now?"

"What argument?" Frank pressed the envelope against his thigh. The longer Gale sat here the more convinced he became the man knew what was in his pocket. He hoped not.

"I keep telling you, your type is far more restrictive than mine."

Of course the bartender chose that inopportune moment to deliver their beers. With a nod of thanks he held a twenty in the air, beers plus tip. He waved off an offer of change.