A Serial Short Story Series
Book One: Regard Feels The Heat
If you are new to the tale and want to start reading from the beginning:
The Ornery Otter Bar and Grill started out as a single-wide trailer with a *wannigan. Over the years various additions were added to increase the bar’s square footage. The resulting establishment was a mishmash of rough-cut yellow cedar, seventies paneling, and ugly olive green linoleum. The bar itself was a slab of spruce that the owner had bucked out of a tree that had barber chaired on him and almost ended his life. Harry Turnbuckle took that incident as a sign that he wasn’t cut out to be a timber faller. He opened the bar two weeks later.
“Ah Regard, my salmonberry blossom, what brings you in today.” Harry thought he was a flirt.
“Afternoon Harry, could I have two Temple burgers and fries to go. Dad’s especially crotchety today, better throw in some extra containers of your smokey fry sauce.” Regard said as she strode toward the pockmarked bar.
“No problem doe eyes. Did you hear what happened to that jumped up townie’s skiffs?” Harry replied as he grabbed an apron off a hook made of an old skyline choker. The entire place was outfitted with old logging paraphernalia. In fact, many of the tables were made out of glass-lined cable spools.
“I was just out there delivering lumber. What a waste.” Regard said as she picked up the cup of coffee Harry poured her and took a long drag off it. Harry made a good cup of coffee. He had his beans shipped in from his daughter who resided in Seattle. They came from a small farm in Guatemala, and Regard felt transported to some far off earthy jungle with each sip.
“Harry, where’s Hey Buddy at right now?”
“Last I knew, he was anchored in the Portfile Porthole,” Harry replied with a wink. "I’ll bring your burgers to ya when I get em done.”
Regard smiled, picked up her coffee, and walked out of the bar proper into the maze of add ons. Building codes were not really a thing in Southeast Alaska, so the Ornery Otter was built on a code of its own. She passed the particleboard lined hallway of the Suzie Queue and found herself walking into the Portfile Porthole. Hank Portfile was an old boom boat operator. His addition to the Otter was shaped much like a yurt, round in design with tall post and beam ceilings. In the middle of the entirely yellow cedar-planked room was a massive poker table. A riggin shirt clad man with a healthy amount of corrugated skin sat at the table.
“Ah, I see that you are already enjoying a late breakfast.” Regard said as a greeting.
“Damn straight I am, no finer breakfast for a man than a cigar between his fingers and a Coors in his hand,” Harry replied.
“What brings ya here Darlin?” Harry inquired as he took a drag off his fat cigar. Harry only smoked Cubans. Regard had often wondered how he acquired them, but that was a mystery for another day.
“I’m looking for Hey Buddy. Know where he is?” Regard asked.
Harry responded by pointing his cigar toward a door on the side of the room. The Portfile Porthole had a room annexed to it a few years ago. It was supposed to be for sleeping. More often than not other activities were conducted there. Regard was loathing to enter the Annex without being in a hazmat suit.
“You heard what happened out at the Lodge I take it,” Harry said to her as he shuffled a deck of playing cards. He was like a combination of The Godfather and Mrs. Kravitz.
“I was there this morning. Was he here all night?” Regard looked closely at Harry.
“Sunshine, that cackling gull was here half the night, but as to what he was up to during the wee hours of the morning, I cannot tell ya. Last night was Dart Night.”
“So he was out in the second round?” Regard asked an eyebrow raised.
“You betcha, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Harry.” Regard said as she strode toward the Annex. Harry just grunted as he continued to shuffle cards.
Regard walked up to the plank door, making sure her feet smacked against the plank flooring. Fester had been curled up in the crook of her neck napping and let out a squeak of displeasure with each step.
“Sorry little Fest, I need to announce my arrival.” She murmured.
She grasped the handle and threw open the door. The annex was twelve by sixteen space that contained a bed and a half bath. Lying in the middle of a blue and white Mexican Blanket was a topless man. His red Key suspenders were still attached to his cut off rigging jeans, and one of his arms was angled awkwardly through the right suspender. Regard breathed a sigh of relief as she walked further into the room that its occupant was a sole soul. The room reeked of Canadian Whisky and stale sawdust.
“John. Wake up, it’s Regard. I need to talk to you.” Regard said softly as she reached out to shake him awake.
Faster than a striking eel, strong, well-sinewed arms reached out and embraced her.
“Morning Darlin. Ready for round two?” a deep voice whispered into her ear.
Fester squeaked and dove right into Hey Buddy’s disheveled sandy hair. Regard grabbed his wrist and bent it at an unnatural angle while swinging up and sitting right on top of Hey Buddy’s abdomen.
“Owwww!” John “Hey Buddy” Derby yelled, “There’s a rat in my hair!”
“John DERBY! It’s me, Regard Temple. You let go of me this INSTANT!” she yelled.
She could only imagine what the scene looked like. Fester was whipping John’s hair into a cotton candy-like ball of turmoil, John had his hand on her backside and was squeezing it like he was looking for a ripe peach, and she had a militant death grip on his hand while sitting on his abdomen.
“What in the Wide World Of Whale Wrestling is going on here!” Hank Portfile bellowed as he ambled into the Annex.
*“This lout thought I was one of his hooktenders!” Regard screeched.
“Regard?” John’s confusion evaporated into a leer, “What a nice surprise.”
“Not the kind you are thinking of, I just want to ask you a question,” she replied.
“Does it have to do with breakfast in bed, Honey?” he said as he squeezed her left derriere cheek.
“No, and if you do that again I’ll remove your wrist and other assorted appendages.” She growled.
For a minute the only sound in the room was breathing, then Hank started laughing, a loud booming guffaw. John’s belly started vibrating beneath her and he exploded into great ricocheting laughs, each one that bounced off of her caused Regard’s smile to grow until she too was laughing with abandon.
“Regard, hun, you can’t just wake men up by crooning into their ear, specially a hungover one like this piece of dung here.” Hank said, “You’re asking to get more than a conversation.”
“Noted.” Regard replied as she rolled off of John and stood next to the bed. Her hair had come untied from her bandanna in the scuffle and was cascading down the back of her navy blue flannel-clad form. She knew she was flushed, but for the life of her couldn’t understand why John and Hank were just staring at her.
“What?” she replied as she pondered combing the bed for her bandanna. “John, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about what happened at the lodge last night, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“What in the hell happened at the lodge?” Hey Buddy asked
“Why don’t you tell us.” Officer Soren Beare said as he stepped into the Annex.
“Sup Fuzz, I don’t know what happened at the Lodge, just like I was telling this dark angel here,” John replied as he leered at Regard.
Regard snorted in laughter, still full of mirth from the ridiculousness of the situation, and said, “Someone torched all of Spencer’s new skiffs last night.”
“And you had an altercation with the man last night, ending with, and I quote, 'I’m gonna burn you down.'" Soren delivered this line with all the seriousness of an evening news anchor with a juicy exclusive and none of the flair.
Regard brushed a lock of unruly hair out of her face and turned toward Hey Buddy in exasperation. “John, did you threaten Spencer last night.”
“Well, Dark Angel, I can’t say whether I did or I didn’t. I don’t like that jumped up son of a mother dog in heat. Why don’t you come take a nap with me and maybe we’ll come up with a solution to this conundrum, hmmm?”
Regard couldn’t help herself and let out a giggle at the absurdity of the situation. Her face lit up and deflated as soon as she turned toward Soren. The Bunyanesque man was glaring at her with his otter brown eyes like she had divulged the location of his prized huckleberry patch.
“If you’re done flirting with my prime suspect in this matter, perhaps you can tear yourself away from him long enough for him to get dressed.” Soren sneered.
“Hey Buddy didn’t do this,” Regard spat at Soren, “It’s not in his loutish nature to do something so deceptive and you know that no offense John, but you are more of an out and in your face kind of guy.”
“None taken, Darlin,” John replied as he reclined on the bed, looking ten kinds of amused.
“It’s not up to you to decide what he did and didn’t do, that’s my job, and I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my way,” Soren replied with about as much warmth as the atmosphere of one of Jupiter’s moons.
“Oh don’t worry, Beare, I don’t ever plan on being in your way, as everything about it is wrong.” Regard spat as she spun and stomped out of the Annex. As she was leaving she clicked her tongue and Fester leaped out of the nest he had been cultivating in John’s hair and scampered up her side. She gave a twenty-dollar bill to Harry who stood just outside the door and takeout bag in hand, she stalked out the door.
Check back soon for Chapter Three!
wannigan: An addition to one's home. Usually constructed out of rough cut cedar milled on a buddy's saw mill in exchange for beer or buck steak. Many trailers in SE Alaska have at least one if not two wannigans adorning their sides.
hooktender: A person who engages in the world's oldest profession. In logging the hook tender is the guy in charge of the crew who yards logs, but the word can be used in either way in my family.
Regarding the images in this post, my book cover art was commissioned and designed by my super talented friend Tabi, AKA The Scarlett Queen. Check out her work on Instagram
The little ermine image came from Pixabay