Long Live the King

It was the first place he’d passed in a hundred miles. Arizona dust had long ago pummeled all the paint from the joint. The faded sign outside read “Shooters.”

If there weren’t already two or three cars out front — two dilapidated pick-ups and an antique Cadillac — George probably would have passed the place by as abandoned.

But the prospect of a quick beer and a sandwich made him pull off the highway. That, and what the sign out front called Air Cond t on ng. The Freon in his car was long ago used up. He parked beside the pick-ups and went inside.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. When they did, he saw a grizzled cowboy nursing a beer at the far end of the bar. Two younger men were shooting pool in the corner. On a makeshift stage down front was a forlorn Karaoke machine.

The bartender asked what he’d have. He ordered a Bud and a meatloaf sandwich. The sandwich arrived the same moment someone turned on the jukebox. The unmistakable voice of Elvis began filling the room.

While eating his sandwich, Love Me Tender segued into Don’t Be Cruel, and George caught himself smiling, remembering how much his mother loved the music.

At the tail end of It’s Now or Never, he finished his sandwich and downed the last of his beer. After dropping a ten down on the seven dollar tab, he noticed something strange: the crack of pool shots had stopped. In fact, he hadn’t heard them for a while.

Glancing toward the pool table, he saw the two men standing idly by with cues in hand, staring at the stage. Turning to the grizzled cowboy on his right, he saw the man had his eyes closed. He was smiling.

Puzzled, he looked toward the bartender and saw her smiling too, while staring somewhere behind him.

He felt a rush of air from behind as someone walked past, then heard a voice say, “Thank you, Velma. Thank you very much.”

Moments later, a chill ran down his spine. He recognized that voice.

Turning, he glanced toward the stage and saw green lights now glowed on the Karaoke machine that hadn’t been on when he’d walked in. He turned to his left just in time to watch a gray-haired old man push open the door that led outside.

He sat there only a moment longer, before jumping from his seat and running outside. He got there just as the dusty old Cadillac pulled away from the joint and then disappeared down the highway.

 

Back inside the bar, the thwack of cue shots once again filled the air. The jukebox was on again too, now thundering with the sounds of Guns n’ Roses. The grizzled cowboy had a fresh beer in front of him and had returned to his thoughts. Velma was wiping down glasses.

Before George had a chance to open his mouth, she spoke.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, son. Anyway, folks ‘round these parts tend to mind their own business. But I tell you what. You ever find yourself in need of a place to come where folks’ll just leave you alone? You keep us in mind, you hear?”

George pondered that a moment, before nodding and heading out the door. He had lots more ground to cover before the day was through.

But he thought if he ever did need a place to come where folks would just leave you alone, this would be the place.