Shootout at Joe's

Folks say everything changes, but that's not so. I've lived in Windville all my life, and Joe's Bar & Grill looks just the same to me as always.

It has the same grill, the same counter, and the same stools. The long tables aren't much different from the way they were when I was a boy---just older and more beaten up, I guess. The seat cushions were fixed seven years back, but Joe had them done in the same red plastic stuff as before.

Only one thing has changed much at Joe's place. That's the people. Some of the old regulars keep dropping by at the same time every day. But time has changed them a lot. Take Lester Keyhoe. He fell to pieces after his wife passed away. And old Gimpy Sedge lost his job with the train after he was crippled in the Silver Eagle wreck. Gimpy used to be a conductor. Now he just watches the trains pull in and leave without him. Then he comes by here for chili with Lester---every day.

Joe's gone, too. He's not gone. He's plenty alive, just retired. I've kept the place going for the past three years, since I turned 21. When Joe isn't off shooting deer in the mountains, he comes in for coffee and a cinnamon roll every morning. He likes to keep an eye on things.

I sure wish he had been hunting deer the morning Elsie Thompson came in.

The place was empty except for me and Lester Keyhoe. Lester was sitting at the counter where he always sits. He was sipping coffee while he waited for Gimpy to show up.

I was wiping the counter when the car pulled up outside. I could see it clearly through the window. It was an old Ford that looked as if somebody had driven it a dozen times back and forth through a rock storm. It tossed up a cloud of dust as it came to a stop. The car coughed and shook for a minute after the key was turned off.

I stopped wiping the counter then and just stared. The old woman who jumped out of the Ford was a real sight. She was short and round and was dressed in an old army jacket. Her gray hair rested on top of her head like an overturned cereal bowl. She wore wire-rimmed glasses. She was chewing on some gum as if she wanted to kill it. A floppy old handbag hung off her arm. I said to Lester, "Get a load of this." But he didn't even look up.

The screen door opened, and she made her way toward the counter in her dusty boots. She climbed onto the stool in front of me. Her jaw went up and down a few times. The word "coffee" came out.

"Yes, ma'am," I said and turned away to get it.

"Does this place belong to Joseph James Lowry of Chicago?" she asked.

"Sure does," I said, looking at her.

Behind the glasses, her round eyes shut and opened. She gave me a huge grin. "That's mighty good news, young man. I've been driving through every one-horse town west of Chicago looking for this place, looking for Joe Lowry and his cafe. There's a place called Joe's in every single one of them. But I knew I'd find Joe Lowry's place sooner or later. Know why? Because I've got will power, that's why." She looked at me through her thick glasses. "When do you expect him in?"

"Well . . . ," I started to answer but then stopped. "What did you want to see him about?"

"He is coming in?"

I nodded.

"Good. I expected as much. I'm just surprised not to find him behind the counter."

"You know him, huh?"

"Oh, yes. My, yes." Her eyes turned sad for a second. She moved her gum to the other side of her mouth and chewed harder. "We used to know each other very well, back in Chicago."

"How about if I give him a ring and tell him you're here?"

"That won't be necessary." Snapping her gum and grinning, she opened her handbag and pulled out a revolver.