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The bartender was polishing glasses when the gentleman walked in. He was careful to use the term gentleman, despite the fact that this guy could often act in an ungentlemanly fashion. He was one of those customers best left to his own devices, because there were times when he wasn't a customer and then matters could get really ugly.

In a bar full of hefty felines, canines, and even a few of the rodentia class, the stature and demeanor of this most equine stallion was always enough to make heads turn. His dress was sharp, from the well tailored suit down to the ornate holsters on his belt.

"Morning!" was the only word that seemed necessary at the moment.

"Morning yourself Sam. I'll have my usual."

"This early?" This simple request raised the eyebrows of the bartender. He wasn't afraid to spout off once in a while. It was part of his job. Besides, very few people messed with him, even this fellow. That was the advantage of being a wolverine. A person could go far in life on that reputation alone."

"I didn't stutter."

"Fine. You know the rules. I have to ask."

"Yep. I know. You asked. Now pour."

Sam grabbed a large, thick-handled beer glass and proceeded to fill it with a golden liquid. He slipped the glass under the nose of his customer and sighed.

"So what's it this time?"

"Oh the usual."

Their dialog was interrupted by one of the other customers. A slightly disheveled wolf stepped up, half drunk already, and demanded another drink. Sam proceeded to pour him one, hoping he'd just go back to his seat. The lupine fool wasn't about to do something that sensible.

"Hay!"

The double meaning in his word wasn't lost on the stallion.

"What?" His single word was thick with fatigue.

The wolf snickered. "Why the long face?"

The bartender had already ducked under the bar. He peeked above it to see both patrons still standing there.

The horse was calmly swigging from his drink. He set it down in front of the intruder into his personal space.

"Here. Have a drink on me."

The wolf looked delighted at drinking a free one and still having his other to quaff later. He set down his fresh glass and took a swallow of the proffered drink. There was a choking sound and then spitting.

"That's whiskey!"

"I never said it wasn't. So let me explain something to you friend, something that may help you in the future. Never piss off anyone who drinks a beer glass full of hard liquor in the morning, because he'd just as soon stomp your brains out as listen to you try to be a comedian."

The wolf sobered up. "Whoa. You're him, aren't you?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about, but if you think you know who I am, then I would suggest to you that you have about ten seconds before one of my extremities gets twitchy and decides to rearrange your muzzle."

The wolf grabbed his beer and slipped off with an amazingly sober gait to his step. The stallion turned back to the bartender. "Where was I?"

"Problems. I think we didn't get to defining them as of yet."

The stallion took another swig. "I doubt it's something you haven't heard before. I think that's why you get paid as well as you do. You're part drink dispenser and part therapist."

"Yeah, the pay's good. A bonus every once in a while would be better."

The horse nodded. "Keep dreaming Sam; sometimes dreams come true."

"Enough about me. What's eating you? That fellow was rather stupid, but I think he was right. You are rather long-faced today."

"Nothing any more than what's normally eating me. After a while it all builds up and you just sort of have enough."

"Tell me about it. I spend all day keeping this place polished and the clientele, yourself excepted of course, comes in and treats the place like she was a dive."

"Yeah, but I guess if they have money to pay for their poison, then that's about all you can ask for. You're not going to get Oxford scholars coming in here to read their books or Hemmingways to write them, or even Dalis and Gauguins to paint their canvases. This is a bar Sam, and nothing more."

The bartender was back to washing another glass. "No, none of those types, that's for sure. I kind of wish it were though. I didn't always want to be a bartender."

"Oh hell, now me tell the truth you old fossil. You never wanted to be a bartender. You have a doctorate degree in psychology. "

"Yep, and it looks great on the resume. Got me a job here, didn't it?"

"Yes it did. How long ago was that now?"

"Ten years."

"And you've made more here in that time than you did with your precious degree, haven't you?"

"That I have."

"Isn't life funny?"

"Funny isn't the word I'd choose. But sure, why not? Funny."

The stallion lapsed into silence for a while, listening to the mild ruckus going on in the corner. The sound was abrasive to his already shredded nerves, and if it didn't quiet down soon, he was going to have a talk with them.

With his fists. They could be quite persuasive.

"Sam? I think I'm leaving town."

"Got a destination?"

"No. I just need to get out for a while. This place is beginning to get on my nerves."

"This bar?"

"Of course not the bar. I'm talking about this city, this whole existence in general. Hell, life itself."

"You really are down, aren't you?"

"You know what I used to do, don't you? I mean, we've talked about it in the past."

The bartender sighed. You either knew the stories or you didn't. As the chief ear in the place, Sam heard it all and knew just about everything there was to know about his customers. "Of course I do. You quit in your prime. You settled down, made a life for yourself; all the things people expect out of someone."

"Yeah. Great, wasn't it? I was in my prime, and I gave it all up. And for what? A mare who doesn't appreciate me and foals who have grown up and moved away? They hardly ever call or write anymore."

"Yeah? So go find something to do with your time. I mean, it isn't like you have a lack of talent."

The stallion tapped his glass against the bar, both to indicate it was empty, and in part because he was thinking. He held it still while Sam poured in another bottle of the house's best rotgut.

"You know, maybe I do need some time away. After all, what the hell is holding me here?"

The stallion was staring at the shadow on the floor. The sun was glaring in through the front window, and in reverse, on the floor, was the name of the place in shadow from the gilt letters on the glass. He called out each letter until he spelled the name backwards, and then he put them together again in order.

"You know, George were never no saint, not in my book. And Pete, well he weren't much of a dragon. But those two boys were my partners; my friends, and I still miss the stupid son of a bitches."

"You guys were quite the team at one time. I'm sorry I didn't get to see you in action. But heck, you've got all of the publicity photos and you got your memories. Be thankful for the little things."

"Sam, there has never been anything little about me. I think that's why settling down was so hard. When you go through life as I did, you knew what living meant. It's not waking up to an alarm clock, or even to a good mare. It's getting up when you feel like it, even if it's three in the morning and you just don't have a reason. It's talking up a filly until she comes in heat just because she wants you. It's smacking down the bad cops, and backing up the good ones."

"And a lot of good that ever did you. How many bullets are in your back?"

"Just four. Doc wanted to remove 'em, but I decided I wanted them there as a reminder. A little pain goes a long way in keeping your head clear."

The bartender watched as the drink disappeared down the gullet of his prime customer. "And I say that drinking like this has only one purpose; to drown the pain. I take it that there are times when it's all just too much?"

"You've got that right. I look at everything I've done and realize that I can step away from it all and it won't change anything right now. I've become a movie extra, a manikin if you will. Hell, people see me and don't even recognize me anymore. I think it's time to rediscover myself."

"Going to take up painting or writing?" The bartender had a touch of a wry smile at the corner of his mouth.

"No. Think I'm going to just go and see where life leads me. And if all else fails, I always have Myrtle and Gertie to keep me company." He downed the last of the liquor. "One for the road Sam, but keep it in the bottle."

The bartender handed it over. "What happens if you and the girls come to a disagreement?"

"Then I guess you'll have some peace and quiet for the rest of your life. Which reminds me, here." He handed over a key. "That's the one to the deposit box. All the papers are in it."

He tucked the bottle under his arm and walked out. The wolf and his buddies had been watching from the safety of the corner. They came forward now and approached the bar. "Dude, was that...?"

"If you have to ask, then I don't feel committed to tell."

"But, we thought he was like, dead or something."

"Or something usually fits him."

"You guys are friends?" asked a rather awestruck tiger.

"Friends?" Sam looked at the teetering feline. "He calls me friend; I call him boss. Why do you think this place got its name? He was the only one of the trio to survive that night. He owns this place. I just run it."

"I wish I would have asked him for his autograph!"

"Oh sure, he would have done it for you. He would have shaved his name in your fur and then rubbed turpentine in it."

The wolf shuddered. "He isn't that mean, is he?"

"He isn't mean. He just has a low tolerance for fools. He never considered himself to be a star or a celebrity and he thinks that anyone else who thinks he is requires a lesson; the hard way."

One of the others spoke up. "So this guy is like having an affair?"

Sam purposely spit in a glass and slowly swished the towel around inside it. "Nope. I take it you overheard him mention a couple of girl names."

"Yeah. They sounded kind of pretty."

"I'll tell you what. If he comes back, that'll mean that the girls didn't do him in. Maybe I'll see if you can get a date with one of them. They've got big holes, but I'm sure that won't scare you off in the least."

"That's a rude way of talking about a woman!"

"Listen you idiot, those are his pistols. Myrtle and Gertie. When he gets down he pulls them out and plays a little game. He's always returned. One of these days that won't be the case, but until then, I just keep expecting him through that door."

"And what if he does kill himself?"

"Then I've got the key to get to the paperwork that makes this place all mine. Now shut the hell up and go sit back down. "

Sam returned to polishing the place up, even remembering to toss the glass he had been spit-cleaning into the dirty dishes. He was a good person, and so was his boss. People just tended to forget, and while the old horse didn't dwell on notoriety, it was a sad feeling to think that so few remembered him anymore. He looked across the opposite wall, where there was a small framed photo with the three former mates gathered in a comedic pose.

He called out to no one in particular, leastwise no one within earshot.

"Wherever you go my friend, just remember that you've been through hell and the Devil let you free in the end. That's got to count for something."