Welcome to Lucky's Who: Marsh and Brian What: Marsh’s First Shift at the Saloon When: 2019 Where: Lucky’s, Searchlight Rating/Warnings: Low, Language
He liked this town, it reminded him of home a bit but with enough of a difference that he didn’t have to think about Durango every time he took a step outside. The job interview had been easy, he’d forgotten just what it was like working in a small town, how the qualifications weren’t as high. Sure he knew how to make drinks and take money but some of the more upscale places required recommendations which he just didn’t have. Finally he made his way to the saloon for his first day, anxious to see what the place would look like from behind the bar.
He parked his truck near the back of the lot and made his way inside. The limp was still bad, the doctor said it would get better over time but he still struggled to walk without it. Inside was a man, early thirties if he was right, who was probably Brian. He’d been told about his manager after he got the job.
“Hello there, name’s Marsh, I’m starting work here today.” He said to the man, offering his hand out as a gesture of good will.
At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, Brian turned around. He looked between the new guy’s face and the palm suspended in mid-air. Brian, the new manager of Lucky’s, had a wet bar towel wadded up between his palms and he was in the process of scrubbing his callouses. He’d just finished changing out a keg and there’d been something mysterious and sticky on the handle. In the month and a half he’d been working at the saloon, Brian had learned that ‘mysterious and sticky’ was a common phenomenon. It was like the bar’s own brand of ectoplasm. “Just a sec,” he said, testing the tackiness of his skin before shaking his head, mumbling an internal, ‘Fuck it,’ and grabbing Marsh’s hand. ‘If he’s gonna work here, he’ll be up to his elbows in it sooner or later.’
“I’m Brian,” he said. “Um. Welcome to Lucky’s. There’s a couple of shirts in the back for you. Sorry about the material, it’s kinda…” He plucked at his own black tee. “Rough. You can use it to scour away the last vestiges of your hopes and dreams.” The dark comment was made in a nonchalant way. At barely two months into his new life in Searchlight, Brian was fresh out of his stay at the El Rey with only two friends to his name. He still had the look of sun-blindness to him, like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten to Nevada or where to go next, even though he’d driven the car. The specter of New Jersey was alive and well in his rearview mirror.
Marsh hadn’t been in town much longer than that, a room in the same hotel until just yesterday when he signed his lease for his trailer and his dog Rudy already making a damn mess of it. The sticky nature of Brian’s hand was noted and he wiped off his own hand on the material of his jeans. It was clear without even reading his thoughts that the other man was visibly stressed. He’d learned to pick up on those subtle clues in his practice, though in rare cases those same clues were undetectable.
A chuckle came bellowing out at Brian’s comment and he followed the motion to a door, which Marsh thought might be this mysterious back room. He made his way through to find the shirts and pulled one on over his head, extra large since he has his height going for him. “Nice to meet you. You been working here long?” He recalled a time when he was in his twenties, left to tend a bar he’d only worked at for two days, the stress was insurmountable and Marsh had lost his job the very next day.
“A couple months,” Brian said. “We are chronically understaffed, but I’ve been working on that. That’s Nikk. Ruby. They just started. I met Nikk at a casino down in Cal-Nev-Ari. Ruby used to wait tables at the diner.” He pointed out the two bartenders, one of whom had pulled a purse out from under the bar to leave for the night. “It’s not a bad job. Lots of locals from the county, bikers coming through. It’s just the--” Brian stopped himself and contemplated how much to say, running his hand over the opposite triceps in an absent-minded gesture. “Well, you know how it is. Get enough beer in people, they get unpredictable.”
Brian stopped talking and turned his attention to Marsh. “How much did he tell you during the interview?”
Pulling the shirt down further until it covered his own he stopped, hands still on the hem of his new work shirt. The behavior was sending off red flags. “Not much, said something about being prepared for anything but he didn’t go into any detail.” Another thing that concerned him about this place is that it was likely to have people brandishing guns and Marshes HATED guns.
He peered around the bar at the other employees, offering each one of them a tentative wave as he called them off. He didn’t know anyone yet but he knew each of these names and faces would be committed to memory within a few weeks.
“Is there something I should know?” He preferred it when people were up front about things but he’d go digging if he needed the information.
Brian drew in a deep breath. The air stalled in his lungs. Over Marsh’s shoulder, Ruby gave him a raised-brow look, no doubt wondering how deep he was going to get into the inner workings of Lucky’s with someone fresh on the payroll, the ink still drying on his new hire paperwork. Brian gave the curly-haired bartender a one-shoulder shrug. Everything came out eventually.
Ruby engaged in an extended clearing of her throat. She unwrapped the strap from her purse and slung it over her shoulder, thinking, ‘If I have to work one more double because this guy runs off…’
Meanwhile, her boss combed a hand through his hair while he gave himself a pep talk. ‘He wouldn’t hire somebody that couldn’t hang, right?’ Brian made an executive decision and said, “Lucky’s is special. I mean, it doesn’t look special, I’ll give you that. But it’s…” ‘A hyper-charged hotspot of supernatural activity.’ “It’s got some weird vibes. A lot of unexplained shit happens here, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. I mean, who wants to work someplace normal? I wouldn’t use that last toilet, though.”
If this was his practice, he might overhear something like he’d heard from Brian and diagnose him with schizophrenia. Paranoid delusions, maybe some hallucinating. But this wasn’t his practice and Brian didn’t fit any of the other parameters. He was gainfully employed and the subtle looks between the bartenders meant his story could be corroborated. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he could scientifically explain why he could hear other people’s thoughts and there was plenty he could still learn.
“So if I’m hearing you right, I should keep my eyes and ears keen at all times.” Or rather his mind since that would be the easiest way to look out for potential danger. Well at least it couldn’t be said that Marsh landed somewhere boring. “No problem Brian, I’ve dealt with a lot of different sorts of people with a long list of things that get them into trouble. I ain’t going nowhere, least without a proper notice.” Cause that’s what he was doing right? Running away from his problems.
“Two weeks would be great,” Brian said. He waved as Ruby clocked out. He checked on one of the regular customers down the bar, then came back to pour himself a drink. The hose had a leak in it. It routinely sprayed him but he’d learned to step away and lean at the right angle so it missed him. The squirt of clear liquid fired off in the opposite direction. “Hey Marsh. You mentioned dealing with people who get in trouble. What’d you mean by that? You with corrections or something?”
Randall, the regular, grunted and sat up straighter. Brian tried not to smile, tucking his face into his sleeve as if he had an itch.
“Not as such no. Worked in a rehab in my twenties and you see a lot of stuff there ain’t no sane man would do and all for a fix.” That wasn’t untrue but it wasn’t the reason he’d been so qualified for it. That story was still too fresh, still hurt too bad. Maybe someday he’d tell someone but now was definitely not the time.
He found busy work to do, glasses that needed cleaning and most bars were set up similar so he didn’t have a problem figuring out where things should go. A drying mesh next to three sinks with disinfectant the bleach then water.
Brian cut a look in Marsh’s direction. He wondered if he was going to get his pants in a twist the first time he smelled weed in the employee parking area out back. “Yeah well. Lots of things’ll drive people to use.” He met Randall’s eyes down the bar and gave the ruddy-complexioned man an exaggerated grimace. Randall grunted and wandered off to the men’s bathroom. Brian loved to screw with that dude. The only time he was ever verbal was when the Cowboys were losing.
He took a couple of sips of his drink and watched Marsh navigate the area behind the bar. He had a stiff way of moving. Brian went back to what he’d been doing before the keg went out. “You got any questions? About the bar, the town? Anything?”
Marsh had suggested marijuana use for a lot of his patients and even went so far as to refer them to a doctor for their medical marijuana licenses so a little weed never bothered him. He peered over to the stage, currently empty but a group of musicians looked like they were bringing in equipment to play. “You guys have live music here? What sort of music and who books? Just in case anyone asks.” He couldn’t play an instrument but Marsh was a fan of classic rock, often spending his evenings at home drinking a glass of bourbon and listening to records.
Back in Durango it was mostly country music but he imagined being this close to Vegas meant there were probably other genres they liked to have. From what the owner told him there were bikers that drove through and country didn’t seem like bikers’ choice.
“That’d be me.” Brian set his glass down. “It’s mostly rock with this crowd. Let me tell you something, when I started, I found this month-long calendar of events, right?” Brian picked up a glossy tri-fold of the week’s drink specials. “It was printed like one of these. I thought it was for the month of March. Nah, it was the standing calendar. Every month, down to the day. Same thing. The guy hadn’t changed it since 2016. So I threw that out and now we’re going from scratch.”
Brian set down the tri-fold. “Next thing I did was update the beer.” He pointed to the newer options from two of the craft breweries in the city. “I’ve been thinking about taking on the menu, but I dunno. I think anything past a basket of wings is outside of Kenny’s skill set.” Brian gave Marsh a crooked smile.
Well it seemed like Brian was hired on at the right time, had Marsh come earlier he might be the one cleaning up this mismanagement. “Well good thing they hired you. Even small town folk get tired of the same old thing.” As he looked at the tap behind him he saw the local breweries craft beers. Good thing indeed.
“I’d offer to help but all I’m good at cooking is shit on the shingles.” His father was never in the military but he befriended a lot of soldiers and adopted some of their cooking. He never had the time to learn how to cook any better, what with taking care of his mom and baby sister.
“What are the prices?” He asked since everywhere seemed to be different. Something that might cost $5 in Durango could also cost $20 in Las Vegas.
Brian laughed at the food joke. Chipped beef on toast wasn’t far off what half the old timers were eating at home. “Here, I’ll show you.” So he went down a reasonable price list with Marsh and showed him the ins and outs of the register. Pretty standard. They went on a brief circuit to meet the current cook and check out where supplies were kept while Nikk watched the bar.
“And that’s the VIP room.” Brian pointed to a discrete door near the place where employees kept their stuff. “If there’s a game back there, you’ll know it, but don’t even mess with it unless you have to. If there’s a problem in there, call me, even if I’m off. Well.” Brian faltered. “Okay there’s three nights out of the month you can’t call me. I’ll be out of cell phone range.” ‘And I don’t exactly have pockets.’ “I like to go camping. But you’ll always know when they are.”
Three nights a year didn’t seem bad but Brian’s thoughts confused him. No pockets? Was he prancing around in the woods naked? He supposed everyone had their thing and he’d met several nudists in his time so it wasn’t anything too jarring.
“I think I can handle that. I practically raised my baby sister and if you’ve ever tried to deal with raising a teenage girl you’d learn how to be prepared for just about anything.” Or working with the severely mentally handicapped. In his memory the two seemed to produce equal amounts of stress.
He’d been aware of more seedy underground operations from exposition his patients had given him and he knew better than to try to get involved there. Sometimes the authorities made matters worse for just about anyone and Marsh wasn’t intending to make a big splash here.
“I’ve got a pick-up truck that can carry big loads so if you need any errands run, I got nothing else going on sides taking my dog for walks.” And he was one demanding little creature.
“Cool,” Brian said. “I’ve got a little sister, too. Angela. She’s twenty-two now. I keep thinking she’s still a teenager. I haven’t seen her in a while, but she’s a handful. Man, that kid used to get on my nerves.” His smile was homesick, with more lonesomeness in it than two months’ time in Searchlight accounted for. Brian hadn’t been ‘home’ in a very long time.
“Anyway.” He dumped the rest of his drink out. “I dunno why you picked this place, but it’s good to have you.” If pressed, Brian couldn’t explain why he picked it, either. When he needed it, it just reached out and grabbed him, when the only thing he had was a couple duffle bags full of clothes and his instruments. He’d worked his way up to a mattress and a couch. It was something.
Marsh shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t have qualifications anymore for a better job and he preferred this quietness of this place over the fanfare that was Las Vegas. “Needed a change, stopped here and it felt right. Don’t have much experience doing much else.” That was a bold face lie in a certain sense. He was qualified but banned.
“My little sister is 23 now, I understand more than you know.” It had been a week, maybe more since he’d last seen or his mom and he thought about them nearly every damn day.
Marsh had a simple way about him, Brian thought. It reminded him of some of the people he knew from the mountains back on the east coast. “It can get kinda dull out here, but it’s the cheapest way to live close to Vegas without being in it. I grew up in a city, but I can’t do it anymore.” Brian remembered all the noise and movement around him, the constant, reassuring presence of other people; it used to be the only place his extrovert heart could imagine being, until it wasn’t a viable option anymore. A wolf in the city was asking for trouble. “I go up a lot though, when I’m not working,” he said. “You like music?”
The question struck Marsh as odd, who didn’t like music? But he understood the question was going somewhere so he replied the best he could. “Yeah, got a soft spot for vinyl but…” he peered over at the stage. “...I do enjoy a good live show from time to time.”
Living close to Vegas wasn’t ever going to be Marsh’s favorite thing about this place, rather that it was sort of under the radar. “You play music?” He asked Brian, mirroring the vagueness that Brian had given him in hopes he might elaborate. Marsh didn’t know many musicians but he always loved a good guitar solo.
Brian nodded. “Yeah. I’m supposed to meet up with these guys I met at the Velveteen Rabbit, see about putting something together.” He reached up and squeezed the back of his neck, thinking about how long it had been since he left his band back home and what that felt like. They didn’t understand why — mainly because he couldn’t tell them — and still weren’t on speaking terms. “We’ll probably suck. Trying not to get my hopes up. But I was gonna say, I go up once a week or so to catch a show. Let me know if you want to head up. You can lose your shit around here.”
The door to Lucky’s swung open, admitting the first wave of the evening’s crowd. Brian lifted his hand at a couple of familiar faces. They’d be wanting pitchers of beer for the pool tables. A steady stream of people would be on their heels.
Marshall offered a shrug at Brian’s self-deprecating remark. “Nirvana was a band full of kids who didn’t know how to play their instruments and then they worked at it and became one of the most famous bands in the world.” He remembered how it felt to hear about Kurt Cobain when he was in high school. He’d been following their music for some time. He still put on their records to this day. “Point is, you won’t know unless you try.” He wasn’t sure if Brian felt this point entirely comforting but it didn’t much matter because within a few seconds the door was opening and a crowd of people were coming through the door.
Brian wasn’t worried about skill so much as vibe. You couldn’t fake lightning in a bottle. Right now he was just desperate to get all the music out of his head before it exploded, but that was almost as self-indulgent a story as the reason it was trapped in there to start with. “At this point, I’d play in a jug band,” he muttered. He tossed a towel by the sink and headed into the billiards area to see what was up.
The night wasn’t terribly smooth, Marsh got one or two drink orders wrong and someone threw up in the men’s bathroom which Marsh volunteered to clean up only so more seasoned staff could take some time to help the customers. At the end of the night Marsh felt like he had a good grasp on the basics of the job. He imagined some time would make him more comfortable, and less he supposed. Brian seemed like a man who could commiserate with him and Marsh needed to surround himself with more people like that, if he was ever going to find some semblance of peace.