All 7 need some downtime at Inez’s. Of course, it’s never that easy… STRICTLY NONSENSE! It was in my head bouncing around so you all must suffer with me! Hope you enjoy. Doc
| We were all down at Inez's bar Telling stories if we had one |
ATF Team 7 had just come down off a long, harrowing
case and settled into Inez's Saloon to unwind. Brains fried, the seven deadly
men kicked back in their chairs to nurse cold beer and share inane stories,
their goal - total relaxation.
As was his habit, Vin Tanner, sharpshooter extraordinaire, periodically scanned
the room, watching his friend's backs. During a one such survey, he noticed
a group of men enter. Thinking to himself that they looked out of place in
the decidedly western-themed bar, Vin watched as the GQ outfitted party took
their seats at a round table across the room.
Deciding that they might be worth watching but of no immediate threat to
the seven, Tanner returned his attention to the beer in his hand and the
dumb joke JD was attempting to tell.
"Listen Buck! Let me finish!" the youngest member of the team exclaimed as
his best friend had interrupted him once again, "Four fonts walk into a bar.
The barman says "Hey - get out! We don't want your type in here!"
"Get it?? FONTS? Your TYPE! This is good stuff!" JD insisted
as he was met by the moans and groans of his friends.
"Kid, your jokes are always bad, but this one is just awful!" responded the
lively ladies man. "Now just sit there an be quiet. Yer botherin' yer elders
boy!"
"Son, on this I have to agree with Buck. Sometimes it's better to remain
quiet and appear a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."
interjected Josiah Sanchez in his best preacher voice.
"Awww... you guys just don't know what's funny." The youngest member of the
team turned away with a wave of his hand, dismissing the men who were nodding
their agreement with the big man.
Chuckling at Josiah's words, Vin caught movement out of the corner of his
eye and saw one of the cardigan-clad men strolling toward the jukebox. Tanner
watched curiously as the man dropped a coin in the machine and pressed his
selection.
The sharpshooter groaned to himself as the music began to play through the
bar and he recognized the tune as that depressing ‘Christmas Shoes'
ballad. Figures the preppy guy would like that... he thought, wishing
he'd had the foresight to jack the jukebox up with a few of Garth's rowdier
songs.
| Someone fired the old jukebox up The song sure was a sad one |
"What the hell is that?" exclaimed Buck as the
music sank into his brain, his head jerking up as he strained to hear the
lyrics. "Aww hell, that's that song about a poor kid try'n to get his dyin'
momma free shoes for her to meet Jesus wearin'.
The five other men strained to listen to the lyrics that had caught Buck's
attention and so were startled when he slammed his mug on the table.
"Damn, I just can't stand it! I was startin' to feel good and now I'm
getting’ all depressed! Who would write crap like that? I mean really
‘...shoes would make her smile, ...want her to look beautiful meetin'
Jesus tonight' Do you think the money they make off that is goin' to poor
kids??? The mustachioed man was becoming more agitated as each lyric droned
forth.
"Let it go, Buck" Chris Larabee, the team's leader could see that his old
friend was working himself up and there was no telling what the volatile
man would do. "Song'll be over in a minute, just let it go."
"Hell Chris! I came in here to relax, not get all bummed out thinking about
poor kids losin' their ma at Christmas! Who the hell played it anyhow?"
Wilmington was now scanning the room, looking for the culprit.
"Fancy dressed fella's over yonder." drawled Vin, enjoying Buck's discomfort.
He knew the real reason Buck was putting up such a fuss was because the song
affected him deeply. He and Buck had both lived through tough times as kids
and so had a soft spot for other kids, even a made up one in a song.
| A teardrop rolled down Bucklin's nose From the pain the song was inflicting And all at once he jumped to his feet Just like somebody kicked him |
Buck abruptly lurched from his chair, slamming
it into the wall, "Well, I ain't gonna take a chance on some other fool puttin'
two-bits in that damn squawk box and bringin' me down." Draining the last
of his beer, he stormed toward the door leading out to the parking lot.
The remaining members of the seven looked at each other, shrugged, and turned
their attention back to their beer.
Several minutes of quiet passed before the door opened and Buck strolled
back in. His appearance was met by an instant reaction from Vin Tanner. The
sharpshooter caught the glint of light on metal as Buck entered the room
and flew from his seat as Buck stalked across the room to the jukebox, reaching
him as he arrived at his goal.
"Woa Bucklin! Watcha doin' there?" said Vin as he reached a restraining hand
toward the big man's arm.
"Puttin' an end to this caterwaulin'!" With that he raised his arm and fired
the colt in his hand into the jukebox, bringing an abrupt quiet to the room
- which was immediately followed by chairs crashing and shrieks from the
patrons of the bar making an hysterical dash for the door.
| Bucklin shot the jukebox last night Said it played a sad song it made him cry Went to his truck and got a forty-five Bucklin shot the jukebox last night |
"What the hell's the matter with you, Buck?" snarled
Larabee, "You can't be shootin' a firearm in here!"
"Told ya, Chris, I can't stand that damn song! It's too damn sad and it's
bringing me down. We just got done near killin' ourselves and I came in here
to relax, not get sunk into a blue funk!" Wilmington stalked back over to
the table and retook his seat as the remainder of the seven stared at him
in amazement.
| Bucklin ain't never been accused of being mentality stable So we did not draw an easy breath Until he laid that colt upon the table He hung his head till the cops showed up |
Everyone was soon broken out of their reverie
by the wailing of police sirens growing ever closer. Almost immediately,
two uniformed officer's stormed through the door, weapons drawn.
"Nobody move! What the hell is going on in here?" demanded the first officer.
Anticipating what was coming, Chris already had his badge in his hand and
calmly took control.
"Larabee, ATF. Everything's under control boys, just one of my men having
a bad day. " Giving his most winning smile, he approached the officers, "No
real harm except to the jukebox and we'll work that out with Inez."
"Who's the shooter?" Inquired the officer as he holstered his gun. Everybody
in Denver knew Chris Larabee and his team, and if the leader said everything
was okay he'd believe it; but he still had the paperwork to fill out. He
notified dispatch that the situation was 10-1 and that they'd be on-scene
for a while processing one Larabee's ATF agents.
"I am." said Buck from where he was sitting calmly at the table, trying to
catch Inez's eye to get a re-fill on his beer.
"Well, you're gonna have to come outside with me while I run you for warrants.
Let's go!"
| They dragged him right out of Inez's Told him "Don't play dumb with us, son" "Know damn well what the charge is." |
Buck began to protest, his opinion being that
he was perfectly justified in taking extreme action but the two officer's
each took an arm and lifted him from the chair.
"What are ya coming after me for? " Buck exclaimed as they led him out the
door.
By the time Buck had been led outside, the Sheriff had arrived and took charge.
He'd been home relaxing when he received the call that the elite ATF Team
was involved in a saloon shooting and he wasn't going to miss out on the
excitement.
| Well, the sheriff arrived with his bathrobe on The confrontation was a tense one Shook his head said, "Bucklin Boy," "You was always a dense one." Reckless discharge of a gun That's what the officers are claiming Bucklin hollered, "Reckless?! Hell!" "I shot just where I was aiming." |
"Alright son, why don't you tell me just why you
shot that poor defenseless jukebox?" asked the Sheriff, a twinkle in his
eye as he glanced at the six men who had followed their wayward friend outside.
"Awww, Sheriff, some fool put in a quarter and started playing that gawd-awful
‘Christmas Shoes‘ song and I just couldn't take it! No one should
be subjected to that! Too damn sad at Christmas!"
"We'll now," replied the lawman, "I kinda have to agree with you. That song
is pretty hard to take, but you have to understand you can't go ‘round
shootin' up saloons!" he admonished, trying to hide his grin at Buck's contrite
expression, the Sheriff poked him in the chest and warned, "I'm gonna let
this go this time but I don't want no more trouble from you, you
understand?"
The gravity of what he had done and the possible repercussions had finally
sunk in to the ladies man's tired brain and he was truly repentant and tried
to convey as much to the lawman, much to his friends' amusement.
With a final warning, the Sheriff released Buck ‘to the care and control
of Chris Larabee and the remaining representatives of the ATF' and allowed
the drooping man to return to the saloon.
Finally, after much joking and gentle barbs at Buck's expense, the tired
men of Team Seven settled back into their chairs for a quiet evening of
brotherhood – guaranteed by a dolt with a colt.
| Bucklin shot the jukebox last night Well he could not tell right from wrong Through the teardrops in his eyes Beyond a shadow of a doubt It was justifiable homicide Bucklin shot the jukebox stopped it with one shot Bucklin shot the jukebox last night |
End
Many apologies to Bubba Shot The Jukebox - Mark Chesnutt (Dennis Linde) and that Christmas Shoes one and to anyone who chooses to be offended by my bit of insanity! Doc : }
Comments to:
fpfcemt@udel.edu
(No flames please, they just make me think bad things about the sender!)