He looked up at the bookshelf. It only had room for the Cabinet Manual.
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The lamp cast long shadows over the deputy’s desk. Faint music reached out from the saloon and touched him. 10pm. 11pm. Midnight…
“Goddamn it,” he said out loud. “Surely a man can have himself a drink!”
He got up and marched across the road to the saloon. “Set ‘em up,” he told the barkeep. He spotted his old friend Andy Coster at the other end of the bar, and joined him.
“Whiskey?”
“Naw. I got me a camomile tea.”
“Sure.”
“You okay? You look a bit tired.”
“Well,” said Deputy Nash, “I just felt in the mood to have a yarn with a mate.”
The music stopped playing. The card players folded.
“Here,” said the barman, and poured Deputy Nash a shot. “Now listen. Don’t repeat what you just said. Don’t ever tell no one what you just said. Ya hear?”
WEDNESDAY
Deputy Nash called into the Newstalk ZB Lone Star BBQ Diner for his morning coffee.
The proprietor, Mean Mike Hosking, asked him how he was going.
“I ran into Andy Coster last night,” he replied, “and felt in the mood to have a yarn with a mate.”
That was the thing about Mean Mike Hosking. He only had to ask a question and people would start talking.
THURSDAY
Sheriff Hipkins threw the Cabinet Manual at Deputy Nash, and said, “Tell me it ain’t gonna happen again!”
“It ain’t gonna happen again!”
“Ever!”
“Not ever!”
“It. Ain’t. Gonna. Happen. Again! Got it?”
“Got it!”
“Okay. Good.”
“There’s just one thing, Sheriff.”
“Oh God. What?”
“It might have happened once before.”
Sheriff Hipkins picked up the Cabinet Manual, and threw it with greater force.
FRIDAY
Deputy Nash sat at his desk, frowning. He had been placed in a smaller office where he was expected to work twice as hard. The office was on street level. Passersby pressed their faces against the glass and stared in, and laughed at his inky hands and inky hair, and at the sight of his lowered circumstances.
The lamp cast long shadows over his desk. Faint music reached out from the saloon and touched him. Midnight. 1am. 2am…
