On my way north I decided to stop at the Why-Go-By Bar for a burger and cold one. Sitting on the barstool waiting for attention, I watched hummingbirds through a window darting around the feeders and pondered the dilemma of the day, nightcrawlers or leeches, when I was startled from my dream state.
“What’ll you have?,” asked the bartender.
“Beer. Leinies. Honey Weiss,” I replied.
“Sorry, all out of honey twig,” said the bartender. “How about the people’s beer, Original, draught.”
“Ok, that’ll be good,” I said.
“Good for now, until they change the recipe,” replied the bartender. “They’re closing down the Chippewa Falls brewery ya know. Damn shame. No respect for tradition or the locals. It’s the water you know. Water’s different in Mowaukee, so are the people.”
The bartender flipped a coaster down and set a mug in front of me, foam sliding down the sides.
“They almost snatched Point Beer away from us but we got it back from those Chicago infiltrators,” said the bartender. “You going to eat?”
“Yeah, gimme a burger with everything,” I said, lifting my chin and pointing to chalkboard menu on the wall with my eyes.
“You headin’ to Fern?,” asked the bartender. “Yeah, I remember you from last time. Going fishing again?”
“Yep, that’s’ the plan,” I replied.
“Some guys in here yesterday, said the Mayor of Herman Highway was found face down in Patten Lake,” said the bartender as he wiped down the bar top. “Isn’t that where you go?”
“Who in the hell is the Mayor of Herman Highway?” I asked.
“Ya know, the Caveman.”
“What! The old Norwegian drowned?” I said, nearly spilling my mug as I leaned in over the bar.
“Yeah, no, turned out he just dropped a bolt while fixing the lower unit on his boat motor. He was trying to find it on the bottom of the lake with snorkel gear when the Wolfman passed by and saw him floating. Not wanting to get too close, he pitched a jerk-bait to retrieve him. Hooked him in the ass pretty good, and then the fun started. He said it was a good thing he had 20-pound braided line,” said the bartender with a laugh and grin.
I shook my head, smiled and sipped my beer. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Yeah, no, he said he thought the Caveman got hit by one of those woke boats, but when he saw his barge tied up under the plastic tent, he figured he just keeled over and fell in. He’s pretty old, ya know,” said the bartender. “They just had a birthday party for him over at the cottage. The sheriff showed up b’cuz they got complaints. Neighbors heard a bunch of caterwauling and thought there was trouble. Turns out the family was singing and dancing in the garage, neither of which Norwegians do very well ya know.”
“A party at the cottage? Wow. Like the days of old,” I said. “Those family get togethers in the 70s are legendary say the locals.”
The bartender wiped his hands on the towel over his shoulder and walked around the bar, straightening stools along the way.
“The volunteer fire department showed up a week later. Guess he had a Viking funeral pyre going, burning his karaoke stand by order of the President of the Patten Lake Association. I think there was an Association petition, something about protecting the welfare of children from unreasonable noises and displays.”
“How the hell do you know so much about what goes on over there?” I asked. “And are you going to start that burger? I gotta get going pretty soon.”
“That’s my job. Learned the trade from my great uncle, Jackpine Joe. Ever hear of him? Anyway, where do you think they got the idea for the internet. Bartenders, keepers of knowledge, facts, and wisdom. Before people said hey Siri they said hey bartender. And by the way, Aveline started your burger when you walked in, she figured you a creature of habit; same thing you ordered last time.
“So has the honorable Mayor recovered from his wounds?
“Guess so. Wolfman took him to urgent care but they were closed, so the local vet sewed him up. Wolfman was not happy about getting blood on the seat of his brand-new Jeep truck, and the vet wasn’t happy about taking time away from his bear baiting trip.”
A woman appeared wearing camo leggings and a Packer sweatshirt, smiled and delivered my burger, a condiment caddy, and napkins.
“Enjoy, Sweetheart. And don’t believe anything he tells you,” said the woman with a smile, glancing in the direction of the bartender, then returning to the backroom kitchen.
With an eyeroll the bartender continued. “Of course the rumors started to fly pretty fast. By the end of the week Viola the Violator was a suspect in the lower unit malfunction. She was a suspect in the bumper caper a couple years ago, at least that’s who Olive-Bobber implicated after seeing suspicious activity at the boat landing.”
“Bumper caper? Viola? Olive-Bobber? You’re a regular Phillip Marlowe,” I said sarcastically.
“Funny guy. You’re not paying attention to details, friend. Patten Lake is a bastion of shady behavior and odd ducks, or loons as it were,” said the bartender. “How does a bumper just mysteriously fall off a truck one day? And now, the man who thinks the 1970s were too modern has a fancy new pick-up truck. Something suspicious is going on. I’m pretty sure he bought his last truck with S&H Green Stamps, and I hear this one came from Arkansas. What’s wrong with Wisconsin trucks?”
“Missouri. His son in Missouri helped find the new truck, and that was a good thing. One of these days he was going to smack a deer on Venison Bend and they would’ve swept the remains into a bucket,” I said wiping ketchup off my lips.
The bartender tilted his head with a surprised look. “Well, well, guess you know a little something after all, friend. Shake of the day?,” asked the bartender holding the leather dice cup.
I reached in my pocket and peeled out a dollar bill from my clip, tossing it on the bar. The bartender handed me the cup and I thumped it down – 2,3,4,4,1.
“Not today, maybe next time,” said the bartender. “How was your burger?”
“Good, thanks. Gotta go,” I said as I pushed away from the bar laying two saw bucks on the bar. “No change.”
“Wow, don’t get many big spenders around here,” said the bartender.
“It’s not for you, it’s for the general manager,” I said pointing to the kitchen. “It’s clear who runs this place.”
The bartender nodded his head. “Yeah, without Avie this would be just another dive bar,” the bartender said mockingly. “Tell those boys over there at Patten we appreciate them opposing those woke boats. Don’t need that nonsense around here.”
“Yeah, will do,” I said as I turned and headed for the door.
“And I expect a full report on your next visit. Watch out for deer, bike riders and Jethro.”
I waved my hand over my head, grabbing the door handle with my other. “Go Packers,” I said as a blast of sunlight hit my eyes.
Dedicated to O.T., J.R., and the denizens of Patten Lake.
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