Scott came close at guessing the accurate scenario. Johnny was seated at the corner table admiring a lovely lady standing in front of Henry’s new mirror. However, the bottle of tequila he envisioned was not in the hands of the lovely lady but in that of his brother. And currently, the bottle’s owner was pouring himself a healthy shot - certainly not the first and undoubtedly not the last.
“I'll have a beer, Henry.” Scott pulled his hat down a bit in the front and leaned on the bar while keeping Johnny in his peripheral vision courtesy of the mirror’s reflection. A lowered voice ventured the question. “How long has my brother been sitting over there?”
“Too long.” The bartender served up his patron’s request. “That was a full bottle when his evening started.”
Squinting over Henry’s shoulder at the scene in the mirror, Scott could see the level of tequila rested on the borderline between rational conversing and irrational arguing. The future looks bleak, gentlemen. A few more shots and the Lancer boys will be whitewashing a chicken coop.
Hand-wringing Henry also saw the writing on the wall. “I'd sure like to keep this newly purchased looking-glass for a spell.”
“Agreed.” Scott picked up his beer and migrated to the chair at his brother’s table.
Johnny’s welcoming committee had retired for the evening due to frigid temperatures. “I don’t remember giving you permission to sit here.”
“I don't remember asking for it.” Scott sipped his beer without visually acknowledging his brother. He hadn't planned to poke the bee’s nest but the sparring with Jenkins earlier was now taking its toll on his patience.
“Plenty of empty tables, Scott.” Johnny’s territorial attribute wouldn’t allow him to give up his table, which gave Scott a guaranteed captive audience.
“I like the view from this one.” With a broad smile, he raised his glass to salute the lovely lady at the bar who returned the favor.
Another shot was poured.
Discussing finances seemed like the next logical topic. “I thought you had empty pockets, little brother.”
“Runnin’ a bill.” And to prove it, the shot disappeared down Johnny's throat making room to pour another.
Scott took another sip and pondered Henry’s poor decision-making and his fondness for the newly purchased looking-glass. “How fortunate.”
The wait was brief for the obvious and necessary subject of discussion to occur. Johnny held up a folded copy of the Green River Gazette “Kicking up their heels in Omaha. Kinda...catchy.”
“Will Jenkins will be pleased to hear that.” A pause to sip. “It’s the first line in his next novel.”
For a split second, Johnny's anger lost momentum with a fleeting expression of amusement. His resentment rebounded quickly as he sat back and crossed his arms. “Let me guess the book’s title. Mr. And Mrs. Lancer Take a Holiday.”
“Snappy. I like it.” A long draw on a beer was taken. “Although, Misconception in the Midwest would be more accurate.”
“Misconception?” The poured shot became history. “Hell, Scott, you didn’t mention Will’s book was a fiction dime novel.” Unfolding the Gazette, Johnny’s finger landed on the photograph in question and shoved the paper across the table. “Explain to me, brother, how Mr. and Mrs. Lancer became a misconception. Somethin’ inspired this…MIS-CON-SEPT-SHON?” Each syllable’s delivery punched a hole into surrounding conversations.
Like redressing a wound - no matter how the bandage was removed - fast or slow - it was still going to hurt. Scott chose fast. “The original story appeared in the Omaha Daily Bee. People assumed Kinsey and I were newlyweds honeymooning …” With a swig of beer and a brief prayer for Henry’s newly purchased mirror, he continued. “Because we shared a room at the Grand Central Hotel.”
Locking eyes, Scott watched his little brother lean in, blink once and remain silent. The match was lit. “Johnny, she’s family. Nothing -”
“Don't insult my intelligence by saying nothing happened.”
“Don't insult my morals by insisting something did.” Scott felt his own fuse about to spark.
“Mind if I settle in?” Crawford’s presence at the table put an end to Henry’s hand-wringing.
Still focused on his first unwanted guest, Johnny extended another warm invitation. “Crowded enough here as it is, Val.”
Scott’s eyes remained fixed on his reluctant host. “Not a good time, Sheriff.”
“Well, now. Hard for a man to turn down such friendly salutations.” Making himself comfortable in the remaining chair, Val snagged the empty shot glass and bottle. “I understand you're buyin’ tonight, John. Don’t mind if I do.” Tequila was poured but remained untouched.
First to break away from the staredown, Johnny sat back in his chair with a snort, while Scott’s eyes shifted to his fingers tightly encircling the mug.
The habitual matchstick claimed its position in Val’s mouth as the sheriff picked up the Green River Gazette. “Seems there's a photograph in here that's been gettin’ a lot of attention. However…” Spectacles were retrieved and donned for a closer inspection of the paper. “I hear said photograph is not what it appears to be. There's been a...mis-con-sept-shon. At least, that's the word used...recently.” Val’s eyes peered over the top of the eyeglasses parked on the bridge of his nose - observing Johnny and then shifting to Scott. “Got to admit it. My curiosity is knockin’ on the door with this one.”
Silence.
Val removed his glasses. “Guess I need to be a bit more direct. Scott, you best practice straightening out this mis-con-sept-shon before talkin’ to Murdoch. I'm givin’ you that opportunity.”
Scott nodded and sighed trying to loosen the tension in his jaw. “Our train connection in Omaha got delayed. The hotel filled up quickly with stranded passengers. By the time Kinsey and I arrived there was only one room left.”
“Nothing wrong with sleeping in a livery stable.” Johnny’s murmured comment managed to sport the sharp edge of shattered crystal.
“Don’t interrupt!” Crawford’s scolding delivered an equally cutting stab. “It's impolite. Besides, I'm sure your brother suggested the arrangement but Miss Furlong refused to sleep in a horse stall. Females can be fussy like that.” The matchstick made a slight turn upward. “As you were sayin’... ”
“Right.” At times, Scott appreciated Val’s unique, humorous insights. “As I was saying, there was one room left. Kinsey and I walked into the hotel lobby together and the front desk clerk assumed we were...newlyweds. We played along and made appropriate accommodations to the room. To put in an evening -”
Johnny’s scoffing gesture of slinging an arm over his chair back to look the other way made Val’s matchstick quiver.
Rolling his eyes, Scott resumed. “We attended a firemen’s ball...photographs were taken.” A sip of beer helped end the explanation. “Never thought the event would make the Green River Gazette.”
“Uh-huh.” The matchstick returned to the sheriff’s shirt pocket. “Ah...you may want to elaborate on a few points, son, when retellin’ the tale to your pappy. But, all in all, I got the gist of this mis-con-sept-shon. What about you, John? Able to follow along?”
With pursed lips, Johnny crossed his arms and stared past his old friend. “I managed to keep up.”
The poured shot of tequila was finally recognized and consumed. Sheriff Crawford studied the photograph one more time before sliding the paper back across the table. “Gets a man to thinkin’ maybe Green River might need a new editor. Wouldn’t you agree, Johnny?”
Casting his eyes downward with a measured nod, Johnny viewed the printed mis-con-sept-shon. “Yeah, maybe. A new editor might solve a few of the problems around here.”
“Where’s your mind leanin’, Scott?” Val rapped the empty shot glass on the table. “Town due for a change?” The shot glass tapped again. “Maybe more of the...mayoral kind?”
Meeting Val’s eyes with a smile, Scott was never more grateful for the man’s style of refereeing. “Maybe.”
“Well…what do those scholars say? Food for thought.” Crawford rose to leave. “Speaking of, got me a piece of Widow Patterson’s apple pie waitin’ back at my humble abode. And, if I’m lucky...Widow Patterson’s waitin’ there too. Don’t stay up past your bedtime, boys.”
Scott felt the last of the brothers’ animosity follow Val Crawford across the saloon floor and out the door.
Johnny moved the paper closer to study the photograph from Omaha as Scott silently finished the last of his beer. “She looks happy.”
“Pardon?” Scott caught himself mulling over what Val had said and what he himself would say to Murdoch.
“Kinsey.” Johnny picked up the newspaper. “She looks happy in the picture.”
“She insisted on attending. Guess I don’t need to tell you what that’s like.”
“A dog with a bone. Won’t let it go.”
“I should’ve held my ground and refused. It would have prevented this mis-con-sept-shon.”
“Nah. It's good you took her.” The newspaper returned to the table with its photograph still being observed. “She looks happy.” Johnny grabbed the bottle but didn’t pour - choosing to run his thumbnail over its label instead. “Your trip was uneventful. Isn’t that what you told the old man?”
“I did. It was.” Scott’s eyes widen with a cocked eyebrow. “Unless you count Kinsey up-chucking an expensive bottle of champagne into a chamber pot and, much like her fine veal dinner which followed, I decided the incident shouldn’t be repeated.” Picking up his complimentary copy of tomorrow's Green River Gazette, he stood. “Heading home to exchange a newspaper.”
A sly grin showed itself for the first time of the evening. “Good luck with that, brother.”
“Join me on the ride back?”
“Oh…” The sly grin cast toward the lovely lady at the bar. “I think I’ll stay a bit longer.”
“Fair enough” Scott turned to leave.
“She still having those nightmares?”
Pausing, Scott watched Johnny’s attention return to the firemen's ball photograph. “Yes. She had a bad one in Omaha.”
“You know what’s causing them?”
“That’s a question you can’t ask me, brother, because it has an answer only Kinsey can give.”
Johnny set the bottle of tequila down on top of the paper's picture. “Fair enough.”
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