or “Drunken Drifter Cook”

or “Bambi Queen of the Deer Hunters”

or “Straight Line Drifter”

a novel in progress

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Chapter 1

The Swan Dive

The beer wasn't going down as easily as it was a few hours ago, so I ordered a rum and coke. It didn't have much kick to it. I finished it off and ordered a double. 
Kate seemed amused. She was dipping shot glasses in and out of a three-section sink under the bar. She dried her hands on a paisley dishrag strung through the belt loops of the khaki cotton shorts hanging loosely at her hips. When she reached behind her back to grab her thick long braid of dark red hair, the dishrag dropped and dangled below her knee. She held the braid in front of a tan T-shirt with a black caricature of a swan leaping from a diving board into some waves, the logo for the Swan Dive Saloon. Swan Lake Montana. Population: not much.

I spent enough time at the bar in the last two weeks it had become my second home. Kate knew I might start singing along with the juke box, stomping my foot, or mixing it up with the customers. Anything could happen, but it was usually all pretty harmless. That's why she was smiling. When I’d had few I’d entertaining, a fool good for profits, the owner’s profits. I wasn't buying drinks anymore but the rest of the crowd seemed to drink more when I was around. There was no crowd today, just old Vern at the end of the bar. He had a wet paper napkin wrapped around his whiskey 7 with four chewed up straws sticking out in different directions. I tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he just mumbled something into his drink, and sucked the remains out through a bent straw. Kate took his glass, removed the wet napkin, refilled the same glass with ice, whiskey and 7-up, then added a new straw to the others and handed it back to him. Vern wrapped a fresh napkin around it. I don’t know why. Maybe his fingers were sensitive to the cold. Maybe he frostbit his fingers at one time in his long life. Maybe it was just another stupid habit.

The log Saloon was built with huge ponderosa pine, the kind you could harvest just about anywhere around here back in the forties. Vern helped build the place after he got back from the World War 2 and talked about it every chance he got. Kate stood behind a long wooden bar that stretched in front of 12 tubular chrome - plated barstools with round red vinyl seats. A brass rail ran along the bottom to rest your feet. The back bar was mostly mirror so you could watch yourself and the other patrons drink behind bottles of liquor, from cheap whiskey and lime vodka, to Blue Curacao and Chivas Regal. A cheap chandelier hung above a big old snooker table standing where the dance floor used to be. No one knew how to play snooker properly except old Vern or the odd Canadian passing through town on “holidays“, eh. The front windows faced east towards the mountains and the biggest wilderness area in Montana, The Bob Marshal Wilderness. On the opposite side there were a couple of booths in front of a window through which you could see a horseshoe pit, a couple of beat up picnic tables, and a couple of kids burning trash in a barrel. A small white and green mobile home was barely visible through the trees.

I was bored. I walked over to the jukebox in front of the big front window. It had three plays left on it, so I punched in a rock and roll tune and a couple of depressing country songs to cheer myself up. I looked through the “Oly” beer sign on the window, up the dirt road, and across the blue highway to the little general store. I saw a couple large motorcycles, they sounded like Harleys, getting gassed up at the pumps. The riders weren't wearing helmets and at this distance I couldn't make out all their features, just the black leather, black hair, and black sunglasses. One of them walked over to the garbage can to throw something into it, then realized from the walk that at least one of them was a woman. The other one had gone inside. I smiled while digging into my pocket for a quarter, stuck it in the jukebox and programmed, "Born to be Wild", just in case they decided to come over to the bar for a beer. 
I walked back to my barstool and asked Kate why it was so slow today.

"It's not slow," she said, "Vern’s here!" 
Vern gave me a big grin and pointed to himself then laughed his crazy laugh. Kate rolled her dark blue eyes around.

"It'll pick up," she said optimistically. 
"This is the first day it hasn't rained for a while. All the locals are probably working out in their yards or whatever, and the tourist are out doin' what I should be doin', fishing or boating or something."

"Ya, you haven't been out of this place for a while, you're looking kind of pale."

"Thanks Ray"

"No you look good and healthy just need a little sun is all."

"Healthy, whadya mean by that?”

"I, I mean your skin, I mean you look great! Christ you’re the best looking woman around here."

"Thanks a lot Ray" she sighed.

I politely ordered another drink and when she came back with it, I took it from her hand and said I was going out to check the weather. I didn't care about the weather, I just thought I should get out of there to let Kate cool down that Irish temper a bit, and check to see if the bikers were still at large. No, too bad. Kate liked bikers. They would have changed her mood immediately. She was talking about buying a bike from a guy who owned a restaurant up at Woods Bay. She was built for it, long legs, and strong upper body strength. She‘d have to wrap that red ponytail around her neck so it wouldn’t get caught in the spokes.

Cigarettes were expensive at the bar so I decided to walk across the blue highway to get some tobacco and sober up a bit. It was only about 6 o'clock and I had been waiting for a Gary to come back from Kalispell with a new radiator hose for my van. 
He said he would be back by midnight unless he got into a poker game or "into" something else. I had been sleeping in my old van parked just to the right of the saloon's front door for the last two nights. I thought I would sleep there at least one more night. I waved at some people driving by. A car and a pick up pulled up to the bar. The other car kept going down the road to the left of the bar. You couldn't get to the lake that way but somebody told me there were some homes or cabins down there. Bells jingled on the door when I walked into the store. Gary the owner was behind the counter tying some feathers on a fishing hook.

"Hey Ray, pack a Camels?"

"Hey Gary. No, Top tobacco and papers, I'm on a budget again.”

Do ya know if Larry's' rentin' out them campsites in front of the Dive yet? There was a couple a biker bitches in here askin' about it.” Gary asked.

"They were both women?"

"Ya, not too shabby lookin' either. You seen em?"

"From over at the bar I did. I don't know if he’s renting them out or not." I said.

"I think they were lookin' for someplace free to camp. I just told them there was a nice campground for six and a half bucks down at the lake there. They seemed like nice girls, but who knows, we don't need the fuckin’ Hells Angels startin' to hang out around here."

Maybe they’re just rich U of M girls, shoulda sent them over to my camp.”

“You'd like that wouldn't you Ray, just what you need. Where you camped anyway?"

"It's about three miles south at mile marker 67, there's an old dirt road that goes about a mile down to the river. My Van is broke down in front of the bar."

“Is that a Ford”?

“Ya, a 65 Econoline”

"Oh sure, I know where you're at! Millers landing, old lady Miller died in that cabin down there, oh shit, about 20 years ago or so I guess. Is that cabin still there?"

"Ya it's just up from my camping spot about 50 yards or so. It's in pretty rough shape though. I'd fix it up a bit and move in but I saw a Forest service guy lookin' around down there the other day".

"Well, that cabins' on private land, same outfit that owns the Swan Dive-Big Sky Enterprise. BS for short I say."

"I thought Larry owned the Swan Dive."

"Hell no, he's just one of their goons. His Dad's a good friend of the owner, Bob Harrison. Dad got him the job managing the bar just to get him out of Helena and out of his hair for a while."

"Goes to show what I know. Ya think this Bob Harrison would care if I stayed in that cabin?"

"Naw, he could care less about small time shit like that. He hasn’t even been to the Swan Dive in 3 years. You still cookin' at that restaurant in Bigfork?"

"No, so I thought I’d stay down at the river until I got something else goin‘.”

“What happened?"

"Oh, the usual, had two day's off and went on a three day drunk." 

"That'll do it."

The bells on the door rang again.

"Catch ya later Gary."

"Good luck Ray."

I tried to figure all this shit out in my alcohol soaked brain as I walked back to the bar. Larry, Kate, Larry's Dad, Bob Harrison, the Swan Dive, the cabin, where to find a job.

Larry’s the manager? Yesterday he was sitting at the bar drunk as fuck with a dead serious look on his face and wearing a multi colored beanie with a little plastic propeller on top.

I had about a hundred buck's left and my bar tab was probably good for another 50 bucks.

By the time I got back to the bar and ordered another rum and coke I decided to forget about everything until I got back to camp in the morning. It was 2 PM now and the bar had a little more life in it now. Vern was still at the end of the bar with two more straws in his glass. He was yapping at a girl sitting next to him. She was in her mid 20's and the much older guy sitting next to her ignored the conversation. I sat two bar stools down from him. A couple of guys who looked like local yokels argued about how snooker was played. Kate was delivering drinks to an old couple at the booth at the back window. 
Old Mrs. Martin showed up all decked out like she just got back from church.

“Hi, Mrs. Martin. Lookin’ pretty snazzy today.” I said.

She didn't go to church; she was looking for some sucker to buy her drinks. She could afford to buy her own. She was probably a millionaire, owned a half a dozen property's up and down the Seeley - Swan Valley. Big sky Enterprises were always on her back to sell. 

I heard the front screen door screech.
It was Bambi.

Bambi they called her. "Queen of the Deer Hunters" 
She strutted into the bar blue plaid shirt and ragged blue jeans, slapped her cap on the bar and said,

“G’me a fuckin’ beer Kate!” She ordered with a strong Australian accent.

Kate just laughed and slid a long neck bottle of Olympia beer down to Barb. I was dumbstruck. I'd heard stories about her in the hunting camps and bars, but just figured it was bullshit. It wasn't hunting season, but she had a side arm strapped to her hip with on wide hemp belt. I looked at the brass buckle below her belly button and the gun. It looked like a 357 Smith and Wesson. Mrs. Martin didn't seem distracted. Old Vern had a weirder look on his face.

Barb guzzled down her entire beer, gently set it on the bar and walked behind the wood stove into the restroom.

"What the fuck was that?" I asked old Vern.

He looked at me with a clarity I had never seen before and said. "That's my Daughter,"
He did not laugh this time.

"Oh a, Ok um how's yer drink?" I offered

"Not good" Vern Said.

"Kate" I pointed to Vern's drink.

Silence is Golden I thought.
And the bar became quite. When Barb came back from the can, Kate served every one a drink, sat on her sink and then pointed the remote at the TV. I guess the House was buying this one.
Fuck, I thought. This is too weird.

"Do you get the Walton’s on that thing?" I said to break the silence.

"G’night John Boy" Barb mumbled as she fondled her beer.

I took a deep breath, exhaled then took a long draw on my beer.

"Hey, Barb" Her Dad said.

"Did ya find a sleeve for that stove yet?”

"No, I never made it to Missoula so I built my own out of a piece of steel siding."

"Good girl. Can Ya buy me a drink?" Her Dad pleaded.

"Can you buy me a Cadillac Daddy", she laughed, snorted, walked over and but an arm around her dad, then put a dirty Riot Boot on the rung of my barstool.

"Hi" I said

"I'm Ray"

She looked my in the eye extended her hand to shake mine and introduced herself with a strong grip.
Her knee was touching my leg.

"So you have a wood stove?" I asked dumbly.

"Ya, but it doesn't keep me warm enough in the winter", she smirked.

  "Maybe you need harder wood" I solemnly joked.

She tried not to respond but broke out with an uncontrollable laugh, then took another swig of her beer, then let her stomach relax.

"Holy shit" she finally said.

“Where did you come from”?

“Just down the road a piece” I didn’t feel the need to explain.

Kate asked Barb for her gun.
Barb unbuckled the three pound piece of weaponry, and threw it on the bar.
It was ok to brandish an unconcealed firearm in town but Larry didn‘t like guns in the Bar. He was probably afraid to get shot himself. He could be a real smart ass.

"Doesn’t that hemp belt dig into your hip when you’re packin’ that thing?"

"Ya, I need something more heavy duty."

She pulled down her jeans just far enough to reveal the abrasion of skin on her hip.

"I bought the piece off a guy on the barter system. There was a belt with shells in it but his wife thought he was gonna shoot her and threw the whole belt in the wood stove.
It was like the fourth of July in there after about 5 minutes."
"What did you barter for?"

"Deer.1 small deer for a 357 magnum, I guess they were hungry."

"Are you hungry?" she said.

"Ya, I could eat.”
"Hey Kate, whatya got for pizza’s?"

"Same shit, pepperoni and Hawaiian."

"OK."

“OK what?"

"Pepperoni."

Kate’s mood was changing again. Jealous probably.
Fuck the bitch, I thought, she acted like I was some kinda perverted rapist last time I put the moves on her. Fuck it, I was just gonna enjoy my free food and Bambi as long as I possibly could.

The old folks were gone from the back window table so we walked over to the booth with our drinks to wait for the food.

"So should I call you Bambi or Barb?"

"I like Barb. I hate it when people call me Bambi, but I’ll never get rid of the handle so I usually don’t bitch when they do."

“So why do they call you Bambi?"

"You gotta smoke?"

"I can roll ya one."

"I can do it."

"Ya?, ok."

I passed her my pouch of Top.
She continued while rolling a perfect smoke by hand.

"They call me that because I kill small deer, small enough to pack over my shoulders, 150 pounds at the most."

"You can’t be more than 150."

"145 pounds and 6 foot even"

"You can't get a vehicle in where I hunt, so I have to pack it back home 10 15 miles sometimes."

 "Where's home?"

"I stay with my Dad there when I'm here in town here, and up at my cabin just on the edge of the Bob Marshal border until I finish off my anthropology degree in Missoula"

“What’s that, the diggin’ in the dirt thing?” I asked with a straight face.

She didn’t take offence, then explained.

“ It’s the science of human beings and their ancestors through time and space and in relation to physical character, environmental and social relations, culture, theology and the origin, nature, and destiny of human beings.”

“Oh…….k.”

"I didn't think any roads went up that far."

"They don't , I walk."

"Holy shit".

"No wonder they call you the Queen....."

"ya ya , she smiled."

"O ,ya, oops".

I made a mock-embarrassed face.

Kate came over with the pizza.

"Hot pepperoni, there ya go kids.", she said with professional cheeriness.

"I'll get a pitcher on my tab", I offered. I didn't want to be a total bum.

"Olympia? Nobody drinks that shit anymore"

Kate was just feeling us out.

I gave Barb an inquisitive look

"Sounds good to me she said."

We munched away on our pizza in silence with a few mmm's and smacks and, not bad for frozen.
She didn't look at me while she ate. She looked out the window at the green and the last wisps of smoke coming up from the garbage barrel. She eyed her pizza then contemplated the bubbles in her beer, allowing me to watch her eyes and her pizza filled hands, then I felt the bottom of her well worn Riot Boot resting on top of my dirty Cowboy Boot.