Above the Bridge by Deborah Garner

he ran his fingers through his hair, still wet from the shower.  Tossing it around a bit, he decided it could dry on its own.
    The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar wasn’t terribly crowded when he arrived, but by the looks of the busy sidewalks, Jake knew it would be filling up soon.  The regular doorman, Billy, tipped his cowboy hat at Jake and waved him in.
    “How you doin’, Mr. Norris,” Billy said as Jake flashed a grin his direction.
    “Doin’ fine, Billy, doin’ just fine,” Jake answered, taking a quick look around the room.
    “What brings you out on a cold night like this?”  Billy asked, more for small talk than anything else.
    Jake glanced over his shoulder to respond as he sauntered by.  “Just hangin’ out, figured a beer or two might taste good.”  Billy nodded in agreement before turning back to the door to check the ID’s of a couple young ladies.  Jake continued on into the room, passing a row of pool tables before arriving at the well-known bar counter.  Swinging his leg over a saddle, he nodded a hello to the bartender.
    “Hey, Deke,” Jake called out, “How about a cold one?”
    The bartender gave a thumbs-up sign in Jake’s direction and opened the door to a refrigerator under the counter.  Pulling out a tall, frosted glass, he angled it under one of the spouts for draft beer and filled it most of the way, then turned it upright at the last minute, allowing a perfect head of foam to settle on the top.  He placed it in front of Jake and slapped his hand playfully against the bar.
    “One Snake River Lager, Jake, old boy.  That’ll be three bucks for you.”
    Jake pulled out a billfold from the back of his jeans, leaning to the side a bit in order to reach it.  He slipped out a five and slid it across the bar.  “Keep the change, Deke.  It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”
    Taking a slow drink of the amber liquid, he looked around the bar and took in the usual nightly scene.  A few men stood casually around one pool table, leaning on cue sticks and watching one man take a shot.  In the far corner of the bar, a band twanged out a country song, spotlights casting a red glow on the stage as the musicians played.  A few old timers danced on the wooden floor in front of the band.  Several men in jeans, boots and cowboy hats leaned against the far wall, eyeing the room and watching for any attractive ladies who might show up.
    There was no sign of Frank.  Jake kept an eye on the door, forcing himself to look around only occasionally, so as not to appear too anxious.  He began to feel irritated at having to wait.  Frank had inconvenienced him enough.  He’d had just about all he was willing to take, and then some.
    The band broke into a run of old classics – Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson.  Jake was tapping his foot to a rendition of “I Walk the Line” when he saw Frank enter the bar, glance casually around the room and then walk over to where Jake sat.  He took a saddle next to him and told Deke to serve up one of whatever Jake was drinking.
    “How’re you doing tonight, Jake?”  Frank said with feigned politeness, handing Deke exact change for his beer.
    Jake waited until Deke walked away, knowing that bartenders often heard a little too much of everything said at the counter.
    “Don’t mess with me, Frank,” Jake said, lowering his voice.  “I’m all out of patience with you.  Don’t even think about wasting any more of my time.”
    Frank paused a few seconds, just on general principle, and then reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope that looked much like the first one he had passed to Jake in the town square.
    “I don’t know if I should even trust you,” Jake mumbled with exasperation.  “How do I know this one will be different from the other?”
    Frank stood up, gulped down the rest of his beer and looked Jake straight in the eyes.  “You’ll see,” he said.  “Put the pieces together and