Don't Order Dog (12 page)

And that was all that anyone could possibly know.

Tom rapped the knuckles of his hand against the corner of his desk as he considered his next move. He knew it would be pointless to speak with the psych examiner who’d diagnosed him and try to persuade her to reconsider; assuming he could even find her. Besides, pressing the issue would only weaken his case – or worse, help justify the agency’s ridiculous conclusion about his condition. As remote as his chances might be, Tom wasn’t giving up. He was used to tough challenges, and the Marine Corp, the Phoenix PD, and certainly his current job with The Department of Homeland Security had taught him that patience was the key to overcoming almost every steep pile of shit heaped in front of him.

One way or the other, he was going to be a CIA agent.
He just needed to find another way in.

Tom spent a few unfocused hours reviewing case files and scratching notes before conceding to his distracted state of mind. He needed more time to sit and think. He needed a quiet place to clarify his thoughts and start developing a strategy. More than anything, he needed a drink.

After quickly filing cases and meticulously cleaning his desk, Tom grabbed his leather jacket and gloves and switched off the yellow overhead fluorescent lights. He strolled past the large Homeland Security crest mounted in the hallway as the concussion of his office door slamming to a close signaled his departure.

“What the hell’s going on around here, Jeri?”

From across the counter of the crowded saloon, Chip stared wide-eyed at Jeri with a genuine look of surprise. He gazed again towards his usual barstool that was now hidden within a large group of flannel-clad co-eds and shook his head irritably. “That’s my spot,” he muttered as he sat down at the opposite end of the bar and brooded.

Standing at the beer taps busily pouring drinks, Jeri glanced over at him and smiled. “You know the rule, Chip. First come, first serve.”

The older man nodded slowly. “But it’s Monday afternoon for chrissake. What are all these people doing in here on a Monday?”

“Drinking, just like you,” Jeri replied as she loaded the drinks onto a tray and ducked under the bar. She collected the tray and headed off to the tables before the old man could respond.

Rust-orange rays of late-afternoon sunlight
drifted into Joe’s Last Stand Saloon as Jeri slowly wove her way through the crowd. Looking around her, Jeri could understand Chip’s surprise. On what should have been a quiet October afternoon, heavy with the scent of burning leaves and approaching snow, Joe’s Last Stand was packed. Groups of hip, twenty-something students along with their middle-aged professors were crowding into the saloon, filling the warm dark interior with the incongruous aromas of perfume, patchouli and beer. Jeri maneuvered her way into the densest part of the crowd – the corner where the shrine of letters and pictures from her Mysterious-Joe’s-Last-Stand-Guy were hung. The men around her turned and stared intently as she passed. “Four Guinness and a Smithwicks,” Jeri called out loudly, trying to recall a previous time when the noise of the saloon required her to yell.

A short man in faded corduroys and an oversized wool sweater turned and waved he
r towards his group of friends. “Yo - right here,” he replied. He passed the drinks to his friends, who nodded and smiled at Jeri in thanks. The man then looked at Jeri as he sipped at the frothy head of his beer.

“So, are you her?” he asked.

“Her
who
?” Jeri responded, assuming an air of obliviousness.
“Jeri. You’re Jeri in the letters, right?” His eyes quickly flickered over her figure before returning back to her impassive stare. “You’ve got to be her.”

“I am indeed
,” Jeri replied as she nodded at the man and quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’ll be twenty-four dollars please.”

“Right.” He quickly pulled out a wad of crumpled bills and handed them to Jeri, smiling up at her with an earnest smile. “I can see why he writes to you. You’re a very beautiful woman.”
Jeri stopped counting the money and glanced at the man as he raised his glass to her and took a drink. She studied his face for a trace of sarcasm or humor before realizing he was offering an honest compliment. “Oh, well, thanks,” she replied, surprised by the remark. “Do you need change?”
“No, we’re good. Thanks Jeri.” The man gave her a lingering stare before joining his friends as Jeri turned and headed back towards the bar. A dull, unsettling feeling began to take weight in her stomach as she slipped through the dense crowd. Along the way, Jeri noticed with growing alarm that the conversations around her would suddenly pause as she passed, and she could feel the eyes she’d spent years getting used to now staring at her with renewed interest. As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, the vibe in the saloon was very different, and it had something to do with her. For some reason beyond her understanding, Jeri was now the center of interest, and the idea was making her sick.

Jeri was just beginning to imagine the reason for this sudden interest when a thin, pasty-faced man that looked closer to puberty than drinking age abruptly stepped in front of her.

“Hi Jeri, I’m Josh!” the man exclaimed excitedly as he held out a gaunt hand. “It’s great to finally meet you!”

Jeri instinctively stepped away from the young man, unsure whether his enthusiasm was drunkenness or a slight social handicap. “Hi Josh,” she replied warily, clenching the tray with both hands to avoid shaking his hand. “How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself,” the young man said, smiling back at her with large, dark brown eyes that darted nervously under a flat crop of shapeless black hair. His pale, waxy skin seemed to glow in the dull light of the bar. To Jeri, he looked exactly like the type of smart, nerdy kid that provided comic relief on a TV sitcom.

“Okay… well, nice to meet you, Josh
,” Jeri replied, pointing at the bar behind him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to get back to work.”

“Oh…yeah sure,” Josh replied vacantly, still standing in her way. Jeri was about to push past him when he suddenly raised his hand and smiled eagerly. “Hey, I just wanted to ask… did you like my story?”

“What story?”

The young man gave her a dumbfounded smile before laughing awkwardly.
“Oh c’mon, you… you know,” he stammered. “The story I wrote in the
‘Jack
about you and your, uh… pen pal. It came out this morning.”

Jeri shook her head in confusion. It was odd enough that the nerdy kid standing in front of her was old enough to be in college, let alon
e allowed in a bar. He was also apparently writing stories about her in the University paper. She dimly noticed that the noise of the crowd seemed to be rising with her impatience.
“Do you know me, Josh?” she asked irritably.

“Know you? Well um, no… not really. That’s why I–”

“Then how did you manage to write a story about me if we haven’t even met?”

“Oh that,” Josh replied, swallowing uncomfortably
. “Yeah, well… you see, I was in here drinking with some buddies one night and we were reading the letters and staring at the photos and I… you know, I thought ‘man, I should totally write a story about these’ and yeah… so, I did.”

Jeri stared at him silently.

“I was, like, really hoping we’d get a chance to talk before I submitted it,” he continued, his dark eyes watching her apologetically. “But you know how it goes with deadlines and stuff. Luckily, Joe the bar owner was nice enough to give me a quote when I called him.”

“Do you have a copy of the story on you?” Jeri asked flatly.

“Oh... yeah sure!” Josh replied excitedly as he reached into his laptop satchel and pulled out a copy of the paper. “Here you go. You can have that one!”

Jeri glanced briefly at the paper before grabbing it and leveling an angry stare at the young man. “Are you even old enough to be in here, Josh?”

Josh smiled and nodded his pale head. “Oh yeah… totally! I know I look young, but I’m actually twenty-two.”

Jeri nodded back at him. “Good, that also means you’re old enough for me to sue you if I find anything libelous in your story. Now step aside.”

A frightened stare was plastered on the young man’s face as Jeri brushed past him and headed towards the bar. Through the crowd she could see her male co-worker – a tall, heavyset college senior named Owen – frantically trying to keep up with the drink orders. Owen normally only worked weekends, but Jeri had called him in to help with the unexpected mob. He gave her an obvious look of relief as she slipped back behind the counter.

“Just in time,” he muttered, nodding towards the door. “More coming in.”

Jeri looked up to see the heavy oak entry door groaning on its hinges as more bodies pushed their way into the saloon. “Oh god,” she said as the new wave of patrons headed toward the bar. “Please tell me this isn’t all because of me.”

“What– you didn’t know?” Owen replied, quickly flipping the handles of the beer taps as he filled another order. “Of course this is all because of you. You and those strange fucking letters.” Before Jeri could respond, her coworker produced another copy of
The Lumberjack
from beneath the bar and slapped it down on the counter in front of her. “There you go,” he muttered, smiling at her sarcastically. “Enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame.”

Jeri quickly scanned the front page. On the lower left hand corner was an article under the “Local Beat” section written by a Josh Wilhelm. The pale face and dark eyes of the young man she’d just met peered back at her from the small photo beneath the author’s name. Jeri moaned as she read the title.
             
“Local Bartender Romanced by International Mystery Man”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I need three long islands, Jeri,” her colleague shouted over the din of the bar. “Can you help a brother out?”

Jeri nodded dully as her eyes stayed fixed on the paper. Her hands seemed to work automatically at mixing the drinks as she read the article.

“In a manner more befitting of a Hollywood screenplay than a late-night bar romance, a local woman has become unexpectedly intertwined in an old-school courtship by an international man of mystery.

And she doesn’t even know his name.

Jeri Halston, an alumnus of NAU who bartends at the Joe’s Last Stand Saloon in old downtown, has been receiving cryptic love letters since September from an unnamed gentleman who only refers to himself as the “Mysterious Joe’s Last Stand Guy”. In the letters, which have been enshrined on a wall in the old saloon for the enjoyment of its patrons by owner Joe Brown, the mystery author provides a comically convoluted and very unconventional perspective on his travels and daily affairs. But the one message he states clearly is his love for Halston.”

“Three long islands,” Jeri yelled as she pushed the finished drinks to her colleague. A man standing at the counter in front of her yelled and waved to get her attention, but Jeri ignored him as she continued reading. 

“It is also clear that the mysterious author likes to stay on the move. In just over a month, Ms. Halston has received letters from India, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, and most recently, Venezuela.

Adding to the mystery is the inclusion of a Polaroid photo in each of the four letters Halston has received, the subject of which always seems to be a dark-haired man, presumably the letters’ author, in the location of the letter’s origin and always wearing a blue Joe’s Last Stand Saloon t-shirt. In each of the photos, the man’s face is tantalizingly obscured by something that hides his identity.

Halston, who was not available for an interview, is apparently neither excited nor concerned by the sudden romantic attention. Bar owner Brown, Halston’s close friend and employer, says Halston is handling it like any other unexpected advance, finding it “entertaining like the rest of us, but nothing to be taken seriously.” According to Brown, “Jeri’s way too smart to let this be anything more than a flattering joke. It was even her idea to put the letters up for our patrons to read and enjoy.”
  

I’m going to kill Joe for this
, Jeri thought with conviction.

While nothing in the letters indicates that Halston’s mysterious admirer plans to be in Flagstaff any time soon, Joe Brown hopes to meet him one day.

“I’m not sure about Jeri, but I’d love to have a drink with him,” the saloon owner said, adding “as long as he isn’t some complete wacko.”

“Hey Jeri!” Owen called out over his shoulder. “Can I get two rum and cokes and a shot of
Jägermeister please?”

Jeri looked up from the paper and stared out at the loud, packed room. Around her, the crowd inside
the saloon was acting as it always did– laughing, arguing, boasting, flirting – as tensions and sobriety drained with the afternoon light. As usual, Jeri’s eyes met the fleeting stares and furtive glances of men and women who smiled and lingered before moving on. But something in their stares was different.

And now she knew why.

In all her life, Jeri had never sought out attention. The closest she’d come to anything resembling fame was when she’d somehow been nominated for Homecoming Queen, and even that little taste, the nods and stares in the hallways of high school, had left her literally nauseous with anxiety. In her time as a bartender, Jeri had come to accept the attention that came with the job, rationalizing it as simply part of the occupation. But she’d certainly never been comfortable with it. To her, there was no worse feeling than the raw, penetrating sense of exposure that came from the knowledge that someone knew more about her than she knew of them. And now, thanks to Joe and a nerdy little college reporter, she once again felt the gut-wrenching sensation of being looked at, talked about, and – worst of all – analyzed by everyone in the bar.

“Jeri! Yo… Jeri!”

Jeri suddenly realized Owen was standing next to her.

“Hey,” he said quietly, placing a worried hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Jeri replied, forcing her gaze away from the crowd. “Sorry, I’ll get those drinks for you. Rum and cokes and a jäger, right?”

“Already taken care of,” Owen replied, watching her closely. “Look, I’m sorry. I thought you knew today’s little boom in business was because of that lame article.” He glanced up at the crowd. “By the way, the little fucker who wrote the article is here… do you want me to
throw him out for you?”

“No, it’s fine,” Jeri said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve already been introduced. Besides, I can only imagine what his next story would be if I had you give him the rough treatment.”