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THE TIMBER GETTERS Public House was always quiet on a Wednesday night. It was the night the local cinema was half-price and since it was the only place the locals could hear news of the various wars, most chose to go and see the newsreels directly rather than rely on the shaky recollections of their friends and neighbours.
It wasn’t always the case. Wednesdays were once a normal night at the Timber Getters. That was before Harland Wedge, the owner of the cinema, somehow managed to procure permission to serve alcohol to his patrons. Shaky recollections became too entertaining to be accurate, and since beer could be acquired while enjoying a movie... well, why wouldn’t you?
At least that’s how Ed King explained it to Monroe the last time the circus was in Pinecone Grove. This made Wednesday nights at the Timber Getters appealing to Monroe. He hobbled into the front bar and took a stool near its end, away from the other few patrons, so he could observe.
“Well,” Ed said from behind the bar as he made his way to Monroe. “You brought your little circus to town again after so long, Bernard?”
Monroe smiled. “Yes, Circus Elysium has returned.”
“It’s near twenty years ago you were last here.”
“I missed your beer,” Monroe said putting a ten crown note on the bar. “Get me a whiskey.”
“Of course.” Ed went to get Monroe’s drink.
“You with the circus?” It was a young woman, not much older than twenty, sitting three stools away. She had dark hair and green eyes that glowed with the darkness of misfortune.
“Not with,” Monroe said. “I am the Circus Boss. Bernard Monroe, Miss.”
“Deborah Higgs,” she said. “You looking for talent?”
“Circus work can be dangerous work. What do you do.”
“I dance. Might not be dangerous, but it can be exciting.”
“See me tomorrow then. Ask any of the carneys where I am. They’ll send you.”
“Dance?” A young man placed a beer on the bar and sat beside her.
“Yes,” she answered, not bothering to look at him.
“On a scale of one to ten, how good are you?” the man asked.
“I’m not talking to you,” she answered.
“How rude,” the man said and leaned toward the bar so Monroe could see him. It was Stanley French. “Have you ever heard anybody so rude?”
“You did interrupt a conversation, Stanley,” Monroe said.
“Sorry,” Stanley said. “I’d say on a scale of one to ten, you’re a two.”
“I beg your pardon!” she turned to him. “You don’t even know me.”
“A two,” he said. “Stand up.”
“No.”
“Then don’t.” He stood, took a step back, scrutinized her then sat. “It’s what I thought.”
“What?”
“Two.” He took a sip of his beer. “But you look like you could dance pretty good. I wouldn’t know about that. You’ll have to show me.”
Monroe frowned. The woman Deborah glanced at him.
“There’s a juke box,” Stanley said.
“Can you dance?” she asked.
Stanley shook his head. “Not real good, but if you’re asking.” He went to the jukebox near the restrooms.
When he returned some slow guitar music that Monroe didn’t recognise was playing.
“That’s too slow,” Deborah said.
“You’re a two at dancing too is it?”
“You said you couldn’t dance.”
“I said I was no good at it. About a two.” Stanley extended his hand toward her. “Teach me. You afraid?”
“No.”
“Good, then show me how good you dance. If you can dance, that is.”
She looked at Monroe. Ed put Monroe’s whiskey on the bar in front of him.
“I won’t look,” Monroe said. “You show me what you want me to see tomorrow.”
“Get out there,” she snapped at Stanley.
Monroe looked at his drink. He saw a face in the glass. She wore white and black make-up, red about her eyes, red lips painted to look like they’d been sewn shut like a shaman from the south would do to a corpse if he thought... Mattie Brown.
“What?” Ed asked.
“What?” Monroe asked.
“You said something. Sounded like Pattie.”
“I said that out loud, did I? Tell me, do you know that young man?”
“The one dancing? Stanley French. His family—”
“He’s a real French,” Monroe said mater-of-factly.
Ed nodded. “They’ve had some bad luck over the years.”
“Yes they have,” Monroe said.
“Least there’s no Browns in this town anymore.”
Monroe looked at his drink. “Let’s hope not,” he said.
Ed went to a customer up the other end of the bar.
Monroe sat with his drink for a good half hour before Deborah and Stanley returned.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Monroe asked Deborah.
“Sure will,” she said and turned to leave.
“I’ll walk you home,” Stanley said.
“That’d be nice,” she smiled.
“I’ll see you at nine o’clock,” Monroe said.
“Nine.” She nodded.
Monroe looked at Stanley. “Make sure she’s safe, Stanley.”
“Sydney,” he said.
“What?”
“Sydney. My name’s Sydney.”
“I thought you—”
“My name’s Sydney. Sydney Franck. Remember that.”
“I know what Francks are like,” Monroe said. “I knew Frank Jeffreys himself.”
Stanley shook his head. “Coming?” he snapped to Deborah and walked off.
“Be careful Deborah,” Monroe said to the girl. “Sometimes a dance can be dangerous. I can walk you home if you prefer.”
She nodded as if she understood. She looked afraid, like she was about to say yes.
“Deb!” Stanley called to her from the door.
She snapped back into whatever reverie held her and went to him.
Monroe looked at the face on his glass and shook his head. Nothing could be done.
***
THE PUBLIC BAR AT THE Federal had more patrons than the Timber Getters, but it was still quiet. Tammy sat at the bar being chatted up by a deeply tanned local. She looked relieved that Monroe had arrived, and then concerned. His face must have told her something was wrong.
He went to them.
“Bernard, this is Bert Piper. He’s a real-life lumberjack.” She smiled and touched his arm. “Feel this.”
Monroe smiled and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Bert,” he said.
Bert shook Monroe’s hand with an intensity that said Bert wasn’t pleased to meet him. “And you’re?”
“Bernard Monroe, owner of the Circus Elysium.”
Bert looked at Tammy.
“See?” she said playfully. “Tell Bert what I do there?”
“This is Madame Tamatea Wickins, Soothsayer Extraordinaire.”
“So you really...? Well I’ll be fucked.”
“Not tonight sweetheart,” Tammy said sweetly. “Unless you’re wife’s still willing.”
Bert nodded. “You really do know things. Well I’ll be... It’s been real nice talking to you.”
“I’ve enjoyed our conversation immensely,” Tammy said.
“Nice meeting you,” he said to Monroe. “I need to get home now,” he said to Tammy.
“I understand,” she said. “Might see you at the circus?”
“Yeah,” he said and left.
“Stupid,” Tammy said to Monroe once they were alone. “He spends his days working outside wearing a wedding band and takes if off before he goes looking for distractions in the bar, thinking nobody’d notice.”
“Some won’t,” Monroe said.
“Any woman who doesn’t see the pale band of skin on his finger would know about it within five minutes into the conversation. He glances at it often enough, like a naughty child.”
The barmaid came up to them. “Get you something?”
“I’ll have a whiskey, thanks Claudette.”
“Not a beer?” Claudette asked.
“It’s not a beer kind of night,” Monroe said, and looked at Tammy.
She shook her head.
“Bert coming back to finish his beer?” Claudette asked.
“I don’t think so,” Tammy said. “I let him know I noticed he’s married.”
Claudette laughed. “Stupid, isn’t he?” She took the near full pint of beer and went to fetch Monroe’s drink.
“You not going to drink too much, I hope,” Tammy asked.
Monroe shook his head.
“It’s happening?”
Monroe nodded.
“Stay with me tonight, then,” Tammy said.
“Whiskey!” Claudette put the drink on the bar.
Bernard took some crowns from his pocket and paid her.