Landfall - 22. Lots of Secrets in This Bar

The Citation X threw itself into the arms of a clear blue sky with lustful speed. In moments, the turquoise blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico provided the landscape, only color differences in the water and a few offshore drilling platforms near the horizon breaking the wide-open blue sky.

While waiting for us to level out, finally looked up what a Citation X is on Dave's iPad. Made by Cessna, it's a so-called “mid-sized” jet in a field from lightweights designed to be flown by owners to large intercontinental planes with 2 man flight crews and capacities of 20 or more passengers. It's got a few tricks though: it's among the highest flying and fastest planes around—commercial or private. It's got a top speed just below the sound barrier, can cruise across the United States non-stop, and do it a mile-and-a-half higher than commercial flights. Others have longer range, or carry more, but it really is the “sports car of the air” as Dave originally described it.

Really just killing time. Already got the day laid out—and lots to do. After we arrive, need to get settled at a hotel—there's a Marriot Courtyard nearby that'll do until we find a home. Need a car; might as well get that knocked out, and forget about a long-term rental. Wanna meet the Realtor, get a check for the earnest money to him, and get the name of an attorney who can get the legal incorporation docs done for the bar. And then, finally, go check out the bar I'm buying. Even though it's a done deal verbally, need to sign the docs, and want to see the place.

“Whatcha thinking, Barry? You looked miles away.”

Laughing, “just going over the stuff in my head to be done today, that's all.” Reviewed with him everything I'd mentally listed.

“You just said 'until we find a house', Barry. Are we gonna be living together?” Dave looked at me bewildered as he asked. “I just kinda figured I'd get an apartment, and move my stuff from Dallas here and ....”

“Wait, you don't wanna live together?” Stunned. Blown out of the water.

“No, no … I do! I DO wanna live together … I just never really thought that you were ready for that. I just really hadn't considered it right now … just didn't want to assume anything … and we hadn't talked about it … and ....” Dave's charming when he's both blushing and babbling.

“Look, get this in your head, ya big lug: I'm in love with ya, I'm crazy about ya, and I can't even think of a time without you around. Fuck yeah I want to live with you. I know you're gonna be working long hours, and may have travel involved, too, but I want ya as much as I can have ya. Living together will give me that.

“Ok? We on the same page now, Dave?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! I'm great!” He's beaming.

“What had you thought about doing while we're here, Dave?”

“If we have the time, I'd love to go into New Orleans, check out the new office and the people there.”

“Hey, you can do that while I take care of the other stuff on my list, then we can meet at the new bar for a couple of drinks before dinner. No reason for you to get stuck with me while I'm doing paperwork. Now, what all do ya have in Dallas? And what would ya like in a house?” Dave starts mentally categorizing what's at his place.

“I've always lived a simple life. I'm in a one-bedroom apartment, with just basic living room stuff, a small dinette table and chairs, a king-sized bed, a chest of drawers, nightstand. Got a couple of TV's, basic kitchen stuff, and clothes. Hell, I'm never home, so it's not really been important to me. Could probably make two trips in my truck and bring it all.”

“Wait, you've got a truck? Didn't know that.”

“Yeah, it's a black Ford. I splurged on it, so got the King Ranch edition, and big engine. Real saddle leather inside—like on a nice horse saddle or an old baseball glove, but a little softer, nice sound system. Don't get to drive it that much, but really like it.”

“Geez, Bubba, you gonna tell me it's got a gun rack in the back window and a steel tool box in the bed?” I'm laughing, and Dave's laughing along as I kid him.

“No … no gun rack or tool box. Do have a rack for my cowboy hat, though.”

“You've got a hat rack in your truck? All right, Bubba!” At this point, I'm laughing so hard I'm crying. Dave's somewhat embarrassed—he's turning red—but he's also laughing.

“It's really a piece of wire formed in a shape that allows you to slip the hat up into it next to the roof with the brim against the headliner. Keeps someone from sittin' on it, helps maintain its shape. It really works!” I'm laughing as he describes it with his hands. He realizes his wild hand motions and laughs, too.

“Ok, Bubba, so you've got a truck with a hat rack, several hats, probably living in jeans in off hours, and got more boots than shoes, right?” I can't breath; laughing too hard. Dave's just grinning and nodding.

Fuckin' hot image flashes in my mind of Dave: Black cowboy hat, heavy five o'clock shadow on his square jaw, furry bare chest, skin tight Wrangers with big belt buckle holding up his 6'5” frame, black boots. Enough to make me start chubbing up. Damn. Hafta adjust myself in my slacks.

Dave grins big and winks. “I'll get ya fitted out the same way, Bulldog. You'll see—and you'll love it! Be fucking hot to see ya like that. Hell, this is mostly casual week, maybe get ya some stuff today.” He winks again.

Laughing, “we'll see. Now, tell me what you want in a house.” We talked about a place all the way 'til landing.

We're outside New Orleans, north of Lake Pontchartrain in one of the suburbs. Small airport, only a few hangers, runway just big enough for us to land. Taxi to one of the hangars, pilot ejects the stairs from inside the fuselage, then opens the door.

Lanky guy waiting for us in an unmarked patrol car. “Hi, I'm Chuck Edmundson, with the parish Sheriff's office. The Bureau had asked for one of us to meet you, show you around the area. Which of one you is David Alexander?”

After introducing himself, Dave introduces me, pleasantries exchanged, we grab the luggage and put it in the trunk of the cruiser, and load up. “First stop?”

“Let's go to the Marriott Courtyard, get checked in, we can ditch the luggage. And you mentioned 'parish'? What's that?” Never heard that before.

“Louisiana was a long-time French colony. Instead of counties, we call them parishes, based on the old divisions of the Catholic church. In fact, lots of our heritage come from the French, and later Spanish, influences. Hell, our laws are based on Napoleonic code—lots of differences from the rest of the country.”

Quickly checked in at the hotel. Bags stowed in the new room, back to the car, the deputy took us on a quick tour of the area.

“You're in Slidell right now. We're on the eastern half of the parish, it's a smallish town, almost split between blue-collar jobs in oil field work, shipyards, and related industries, and white collar—engineers, technicians, support staff—who work in those fields, or commute in to offices into New Orleans or at the NASA installation at Stennis, just over the line in Mississippi.

“On the western side of the parish are Mandeville, a slightly larger town, and Covington, which is the parish seat. Mandeville is an 'old money town' along with new folks who'd love to become old money, basically started as a resort community for rich folks from uptown New Orleans. They had summer places on Lake Pontchartrain to escape the heat of the city during the late 1800's. Covington is pretty much a mirror of Mandeville, just not as much money and a little smaller, with the focus on parish government work.”

Pretty area, all remarkably heavily wooded. Other than interstates which meet up in Slidell, most roads are only 2 lane; quite a change from Dallas.

“The parish exploded, population-wise, immediately after Hurricane Katrina almost 10 years ago. The eye of the storm passed 20 miles east of Slidell. Most everything south of us flooded up, with the exception of the French Quarter, and small patches of places within some of the New Orleans suburbs. Had almost 2,000 official deaths. Among the survivors, lots of those folks were overwhelmed with losing totally everything, so they moved here. Almost overnight, the parish doubled in population.

“Slidell was hurt—over 65 percent of the houses here were uninhabitable, but rebuildable, after The Storm. We'd had water, but it came in, then drained off quickly, unlike lots of places, which stayed flooded for days or weeks because of both the storm surge and levees failing due to design flaws. Hell, I had 6 feet of water in my house—and it'd never flooded up until Katrina.

“We've pretty much recovered and did it relatively quickly, but there's still plenty of neighborhoods in New Orleans, and smaller communities south of there that are still a mess. Hard to believe the damage caused by Katrina: We lost and had to get rid of 325,000 cars. Areas were without power for weeks, some rural areas for months, due to the loss of 100,000 telephone poles carrying power lines. Where the hell do you come up with that many telephone poles all at once?”

Wow. Like most of the rest of the country, had no clue just how widespread the damage was—or what a life-defining moment it was for folks here. Had a new appreciation of the people and this area, though. Always thought of the New Orleans area as a party town--”Let the good times roll” and all of that. Now see 'em as a tough, resilient, proudly-strong people who know when to work and know when to party.

“What gets you here?” Chuck's genuinely curious; guess the FBI didn't really brief him in detail on Dave and his job here. And he's really directing his question at me. Don't think he's figured out we're a couple.

“Buying a business here. Brian's Lounge. Think it'll be a good investment for me. And it get's me out of Florida.”

“Yeah, I've been there a few times; stopped by for a few drinks from time to time when I'm off shift.” He turns and winks at me—this deputy isn't as straight as he appears? Or just acknowledging he knows about the bar, and maybe guesses I'm gay? Can't tell.

'Yeah, it's gonna be interesting. Gonna use today to get set up, try to get everything finalized for the purchase, take care of getting a phone, car, and so forth.”

“Chuck, how about we grab an early lunch. Barry wants to look at cars afterwards, and while he's doing that, you think we can run into New Orleans to the Bureau office so I can look around?” Dave is obviously eager to explore his new office.

“Sure. I'm yours for the day.” He grins and winks at Dave in the rearview mirror. Definitely friendly; is he sending signals?

Over lunch, talk about the car dealers in the area. All the usual dealers—Ford, Chevy, Chrysler, Buick, Cadillac. A few imports; Toyota, Mazda, Honda, Kia, Hyundai. Other dealers in Mandeville, 20 miles away. And a full range of dealers, including Audi, Mercedes, and others in New Orleans. But those were 35 or more miles away in the farther suburbs, and would take 45 minutes or so to get there without traffic. Hell, I want local service, screw driving that far for repair work.

Finish lunch, driving down “Vehicle Row” where all the dealers are located next to each other. Spotted one I really liked parked in front of a dealership, we pull into that parking lot.

An hour or so later, after a test drive and quick negotiations and arranging insurance through a local agent, I'm driving out in a new top-of-the-line Chrysler 300. A “platinum edition”. Navy blue outside, mostly navy blue leather inside except for off-white leather seating inserts. All the option, including touchscreen for controls and navigation, panoramic sunroof, big wheels and tires. Harmon-Kardon sound system. And yeah, it's got a 5.7 liter Hemi V-8 engine for the boy-racer in me. Went a little over the car allowance the Bureau gave me, so put the difference on the American Express card. Hey, I get member rewards points for it.

Dave and Chuck had already headed to his new office in the city, so I'm on my own. Stopped at a nearby phone store, got a new iPhone and iPad. Now have a local phone number. Should have asked Dave if he wanted a local number, too, but figure he'll get a phone as a part of his job here.

Called our local Realtor, Robert Rex. Likes being called just “Rex”. Set up meeting him during happy hour at the new bar. Told him to bring the contract to sign to finalize the deal. We'd meet at 6. Called Dave and updated him on the schedule.

Spent the next couple of hours just driving around, exploring the town, and the areas within it. One of the subdivisions is on Lake Pontchartrain. Nice area, and Dave and I both like the idea of being on the water. Definitely wanna consider this neighborhood when we look.

Find the bar on the car's navigation system, it gives directions, and I'm pulling in the gravel parking lot at 5:30. Only three cars there. Property is surrounded by big pines and oaks. Six foot hedge in front separates the parking from the street; you can only see the building through the drive. Looks like a little Acadian house, with full-width porch, windows with decorative shutters on either side of the center door in front. You can see a pool table with overhead light through one window.

Go inside, there's an L-shaped bar against one wall. Black countertops, maroon vinyl elbow rest on bar top, matching maroon bucket-backed bar stools. Recessed lights obviously dimmed down, above the bar. Polished wood floors, except for tile inserts at the entrance door and around the bar itself. Sand-colored paint above chair rail moldings with a darker sand color below. Big-screen TV's mounted on 3 walls, and a small stage with a DJ boot along one wall. Bar is in good shape, neat, clean as any bar I've ever been in.

Order a scotch and soda from the bartender, give him my card to open a tab. Start chatting; he's a friendly guy. Mid-40's, bald, clean-shaven face, trim-enough body. Sticks out his hand, we trade introductions.

“What gets ya here, Barry?”

“Moving here from Florida, just exploring the area. Nice place you've got here; are you the owner?”

“Nah, I'm just a bartender.” Bryant is modest in his answer. More chat and I learn he's really the operations guy, handling lots of the paperwork, ordering for restocking, and general management. After being at the bar for 10 years, he knows what he's doing. “The owners travel a lot to Florida to visit one of the guy's mother. She hasn't been in good health.”

He's not alone—there's a couple of other bartenders who work there on other nights, and they're laid back enough they trade off to cover if for some reason they can't make their shift. Guess I'll meet them later.

“When's the bar busy? It's kinda quiet tonight.” Hell, by 6pm on a Monday in Dallas, most bars would be slammed.

“Tends to be a later-night bar, Barry. This is a suburban town—lots of folks commute in from work in the city. By the time they get home, all they wanna do is kick off their shoes, grab a bite to eat and relax. We'll get a crowd started by 8:30pm or so.

“We had been doing karaoke on Wednesday nights but just discontinued it, since every bar in town does that now. We're gonna be bringing in a piano player and a singer for live entertainment. Friday night is Country/Western night, so grab your hat and boots. We do dance lessons from 7:30pm to 9pm for newbies, then open the floor for everyone after that. Most Saturday nights, we have a drag show, starting at 10:30pm, featuring three or more entertainers. They take over the stage there.

“We'd been doing a jazz combo out on the patio on Sunday afternoons—but no one was here on pretty days, because of all the festivals that go on after Easter; there's a festival or multiple festivals every weekend up until about now when it's too damn hot to be outside much. I open on Sundays when the Saints play, and provide some kind of food, depending on what I'm in the mood to fix. I cook it at home since we don't have a kitchen, and haul it in. Everyone here follows football, and we can put it up in HD on the big screens.

“And, finally, we do special events on the patio—crawfish/shrimp boils, burger cookouts, and so forth—for holidays like Mother's Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day. We like to keep something going all the time; well, at least as much as possible. And we always keep the bar decorated with some theme.”

There's red, white, and blue everywhere, in honor of Independence Day.

Bryant has really provided a lot of info. Getting the image of a bar that's more than just a bar; it's damn near a community center. Looking forward to seeing the bar when it's busy and meeting the folks here.

Bryant is just finishing introducing me to the other folks here; Judy (who works nights at Wal-Mart) and Gary (an electrician). Both nice, friendly, making small talk with me and Bryant over their beers.

Front door swings open and a guy in his mid-40's comes in, followed by another, slightly shorter guy about the same age. “Hiya, Rex, Joe! Glad you're here!” Bryant greets 'em. Ah ... so my real estate agent is a regular here. Good.

First guy comes up to me. “Are you Barry?” He's holding a folder in one hand as he extends the other to shake. He's maybe a smidgen under six feet tall, 220 pounds or so. Handsome guy, in white dress shirt with tan slacks, and boots, a little grey sneaking in at his temples, laugh lines around his eyes. And he's right on time.

I stick out my hand to meet his. “Yeah, you must be Rex. Good to meet ya.”

Our hands meet in the handshake and he looks like he's been shocked with one of those handbuzzer gag-gift toys. His eyes widen momentarily in shock, face goes blank, then he's back to his friendly smile.

“You're a man with lots of secrets. Good for you—keeps life interesting. And I can tell, we're gonna be great friends,” Rex recovers.

“Oh, Barry, this is my partner, Joe Howard.” He shakes hands, too, and smiles.

“Good to meet ya, Barry. And just ignore that from Rex—that's his “spidey sense', guess something set it off. Yeah, it's different.” He laughs an easy laugh, a good guy making gentle fun of his partner. Different accent from the people I've met here. Found out later he'd moved here from Michigan a couple of years ago.

Shorter, maybe 5'9” or so; stockier, hairy guy, it's spilling out the top of his t-shirt and darkens his arms. Slightly receding hairline. Solid, workingman's body.

Bryant shoves a scotch and soda at Rex, a Miller Light at Joe. “Barry, you ready for a refill?”

After I get my scotch and soda refilled, and we laughed about drinking the same thing, Rex turns to Joe. “We're headed out to the patio to take care of some business. Be back inside in a few minutes, ok?”

Joe nods and smiles, moves over to talk to the others in the bar, as we head out.

Get to a table outside, Rex opens the folder, spreads paperwork on the table. “Let's get the business knocked out, first, ok?”

Get all the paperwork done in maybe thirty minutes or so, and give Rex a check payable to the title company for the earnest money deposit.

“I've already got the title work started, so as soon as the check clears, we should be able to close. Normally, the title companies allow a couple of weeks for check clearing and the title work, but since we're already ahead of schedule, title work should be done, and we could close by Friday, if that works for you. Just need to get you to transfer the funds by wire to the title company instead of waiting on the check to clear.” Rex is an old hand at this; even knows the title company policies.

“No problem, Rex, get me the wire instructions tomorrow, I'll get it done by end of day. Also, I need the name of a good attorney; want to set up the bar as a separate corporation, and also have some personal legal stuff to get done. Can you recommend anyone?”

Rex gives a couple of attorney's names and tells me about them. The title company attorney has a corporate attorney as well as a personal attorney for things like estate planning. Easy enough to use them; and Rex did recommend both of 'em.

Now, if that's all for the business, can we talk personally, Rex?”

“Sure.”

“You caught me off guard, Rex, with that 'spidey sense' thing. That real? We got a problem between us?”

“No, Barry, no problem. And, yeah, it's kinda real. You know how you can sometimes pick up a phone and you know who's calling without even looking at the caller ID? It's kinda like that. Just something of a flash of insight. It's no big deal—we all do that. So please, don't let that throw you; and if I've offended you, it was unintentional, and I apologize. Hell, it's almost a joke here at the bar; everyone knows about it, and laughs about it. So … I apologize. Sorry for fucking up the first meeting. And yeah, I really do think we'll become good friends.” Rex is a little red-faced, and more than a little chagrined about it.

“No problem, Rex. Not a big deal. It did throw me for a second. But hell, if you're that good, let's meet with a stockbroker tomorrow, ok?” I grin, and he realizes that everything is ok between us. “And friends are a good thing. Now, let's get back inside, wanna learn a little about your partner, and I'll freshen our drinks.”

We're back at the bar, now with a few more people who came in while we were outside, just as Dave and Chuck walk in the door.

“Hi, guys! Come on in, be with ya in just a minute,” Bryant calls out as he fills a pitcher of beer.

Dave comes over, sits by me on my right, Joe and Rex are on my left, standing. “Guys, this is ....”

“Hi, I'm David Alexander, I'm a buddy of Barry's. And you are ...?” Rex and Joe introduce themselves, and start making small talk with Dave. Glance at Dave, he nods and smiles, face stoic.

Chuck walks up behind Dave. “Oh, hi Rex, Joe. Good to see ya again.”

“You guys know each other?” Small town I guess.

“Yeah, we've been friends for years. Joe and Rex's kids play with mine, they'll come over in the summer and the wife and I cook out with Joe and Rex while the kids hit the pool.”

“What gets you here, Chuck?” Rex is just making normal conversation.

“I'm just … uh … dropping David off. I've been showing him around. He's ....”

“I'm an analyst with the government, just doing departmental checks. Chuck has been a great host today, and I offered to buy him a beer here since I was meeting Barry,” Dave quickly jumps in. He's slick; it's dawned on me that he's not gonna reveal he's with the FBI. And our deputy friend didn't know exactly how to handle it.

“Sir, what can I get you? And, Chuck, good to see you! Jack and Coke as usual?” Bryant just revealed this certainly isn't Chuck's first time in this bar. In fact, he's a regular. Married, no ring, but a regular at a gay bar. Apparently this didn't even click with anyone else—they're all already engaged in small talk with Dave retrieving his bourbon and water from the bar, and Chuck chugging down half of his drink in a single gulp.

Lots of secrets in this bar.