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Wynonna Earp stared at the generic, white diner plate. A small smile lit up her features, revealing hidden dimples. She had been waiting for this moment all morning. Her pre-lunch workout with Dolls had been tough and sweaty and she had worked up quite the appetite. Skipping breakfast had not helped.
Oh well, she had survived until lunch and sitting in front of her was her reward. A small plate with a sandwich, plain potato chips and a pickle. Of course, this sandwich was a Gus creation. She had not spent a ton of time with her Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis as a child, but she always remembered Gus’s sandwiches. They had the perfect amount of veggies, meat, cheese and bread. There were also condiments, of course. Mayo and mustard. But Gus’s sandwiches never got soggy or mushy. Wynonna was not exactly sure how Gus managed this and decided witchcraft was definitely involved. No matter, Gus’s sandwiches were the best and she was going to savor this one.
Wynonna had chosen a seat at the bar in Shorty’s Saloon. It felt weird to eat alone at a table, lonely. The bar offered a shared kinship with others sitting on the high stools. That her only current companion was a little old man who, by the smell of him, had been drinking since 9 a.m. was not a concern. She had been craving this sandwich all morning and not even a creepy, drunken leprechaun could ruin her lunch.
Just as her fingers closed around the sides of the bread the door to Shorty’s was thrown open dramatically. Wynonna’s baby sister, Waverly, stormed in and flung her purse onto the bar.
“Champ is such a child!”
“I know that, Waverly. Gus knows that, that old dude knows that, EVERYBODY knows that.” Wynonna spread her arms out, indicating the whole town of Purgatory, but quickly pulled them back in toward her mid-day reward. She was hungry and stupid Champ was not keeping her from this sandwich. Waverly, it seemed, was going to delay her a bit.
“I mean, is it too much to ask that my BOYFRIEND take me out for a nice meal once in a while? I spend all my time either working here and helping Gus or hanging out with him and doing what he wants to do. I want to get away, to the City, for a nice dinner, a proper date night.”
Rant over, Waverly’s shoulders slumped forward and she turned, defeated, to look at Wynonna with sad, hazel eyes. Wynonna sighed. This was not a new topic of conversation and Champ was a child, but she had not seen Waverly so upset by him before. She was pleased to see that her baby sister was starting to stand up for herself, what she wanted. Champ was a stupid, winey man-child that always dragged Waverly down with him. She wished her sister would hurry up and kick him to the curb and be done with it. But, even with this new found confidence, Waverly was too nice for her own good.
“Nicole said I deserve someone who will focus on me and what I like to do, from time to time.” Waverly was looking off into this distance as though these were the most profound words ever spoken.
“I totally agree! Also, who’s Nicole?”
“Officer Haught.”
“Oh – the new ginger cop down at the station. You make a new friend?”
“Kinda’ . . .’”
As riveting as this conversation was, Wynonna wanted to get back to her glorious sandwich. The smell of ham and cheese had invaded her nostrils and was making her stomach growl. She snatched the sandwich off the plate and had just gotten it up to her lips when Champ, the stupid man-child in question, came stomping through the door.
“Waverly! You here? We weren’t done talkin’,” Champ bellowed as he plopped down beside Wynonna on a bar stool. Waverly had retreated to the backroom to store her purse before her shift started.
Wynonna, still holding the sandwich with both hands, managed a quiet and, she thought, very restrained “hey Champ” (complete with polite head nod) before the unthinkable happened. Champ reached out his thick, man-child hand and grabbed a handful of her potato chips right off her plate. Wynonna quickly, yet gingerly, place her sandwich back down on the plate and slapped Champ’s hand.
“NO! BAD CHAMP!”
Potato chips scattered across the bar in front of them. Champ looked at Wynonna, stunned. Then that stupid smile came back to his features.
“Heh – you Earp girls sure are lively.”
Wynonna, admittedly impressed that Champ had used a word like “lively” in a sentence, was too busy picking up the potato chips and putting them back on her plate to respond.
Waverly reentered the bar area and looked like she wanted to turn right back around.
“Champ – what are you doing here? Our discussion is over. You don’t want to take me out someplace nice in the City and I don’t want to come to the bar that I work at for our ‘date night.’ There’s nothing left to talk about.”
Chin up, face set, Waverly got behind the bar and started organizing the drink-ware. Champ’s head swiveled back and forth between Waverly and Wynonna. He looked like he was about to say something else when Wynonna preemptively interrupted him.
“Last one – cagy little bastard.” She held up a potato chip triumphantly and waved it in Champ’s face. Champ, whose attention was currently on Waverly, turned toward Wynonna.
“Ha Ha,” came the sarcastic reply.
“This isn’t over . . .” Directed at Waverly. He slid off the stool and headed for the door. Champ knew that Waverly was great at the Silent Game and was not going to talk to him again until she was good and ready.
Once Champ had left Shorty’s, Wynonna wined at Waverly. “He touched my chips – got his man-baby fingers all over ‘em. They’re contaminated now. If I eat ‘em I’ll probably de-age back to his level. I’ll need a highchair.”
Wynonna gazed mournfully at her potato chips, picking one up to examine it. She swore she could see little douche-germs contaminating the surface. She threw it down in disgust but happily remembered that he hadn’t touched her sandwich.
Waverly was too nice . . . to everyone . . . most of the time. Wynonna couldn’t understand how she could live like that. It seemed exhausting. It also had the unfortunate side-effect of attracting douche-bags, like Champ. Generally, if you’re a douche-bag, no one likes you or wants to be around you. It must be a breath of fresh air for someone like that to have someone else be nice to them, talk to them.
Whatever, Wynonna had more important things to focus on than Champ. She had a Gus Sandwich to savor and she was going to get at it. Fingers closed around bread and the sandwich was just being lifted off the plate when the door to Shorty’s swung open again. Wynonna squinted at the figure in the doorway. They were an indistinguishable silhouette, haloed by bright sunlight. Tall, sporting a Stetson. Now this might be someone Wynonna wanted to talk to, get to know. As the figure moved forward down the stairs and the door swung closed she saw that it was not a tall, handsome cowboy, come to sweep her off her feet. It was, in fact, a tall (and admittedly hot) ginger cop, who was currently headed directly toward her.
“Oh crap,” Wynonna thought to herself, “what did I do? I can’t remember doing anything too terrible today.” She placed the sandwich lovingly back down on the plate and swiveled on her stool.
“Hello officer, how are you – things – doing today?” Wynonna gave a quick salute and plastered a large, and what she hoped looked genuine, smile on her face. Law enforcement, especially in Purgatory, did not usually have warm and fuzzy feelings toward her. She was determined that Officer Haught was going to see her differently, or at least not try and arrest her every time they bumped into each other.
“Hey.” The distracted greeting was given quickly as Officer Haught leaned against the bar.
“Hey Waverly, I’m lookn’ for a guy who witnesses say mighta’ ran in here after he set fire to the dumpster behind the Esso station. Apparently he was mighty drunk and startin’ ta get a bit mouthy. They wouldn’t sell him anymore wine and he went around back to “get even.” This was about an hour ago. You seen anyone suspicious?”
Wynonna looked around Shorty’s at her fellow customers. A few ranch hands sat at a table in the corner devouring their food like it was their last meal. The two mechanics from the repair shop were sitting close by having a heated debate about the Flames’ chances in this year’s Stanley Cup Playoffs while picking at their fries. A nicely dressed woman was angrily whispering into a cell phone while devouring one of Gus’s signature salads. None really seemed the type to light and dash.
Waverly had stopped her organizing and was smiling at the officer. Wynonna saw that Officer Haught had her baby sister’s full attention.
“My shift just started, only been here a minute. But Wynonna’s been here a bit – you see anyone?”
Wynonna, who had been staring at her sister, realized this question was directed at her.
“Well, I mean, I see a lot of folks.” A sweeping arm gesture was accompanied by a small snort.
Waverly rolled her eyes. “No, I mean anyone suspicious – since you sat down?”
Wynonna thought about it for a second. “No. It’s been just me and the drunk leprechaun at the bar. Gus was out here earlier but I’m pretty sure she didn’t run out and set a fire, over hooch, right before making my sandwich.” Wistful blue eyes darted down to the sandwich in question, lying uneaten on her plate.
The Earp sisters both knew that there were greater threats to Purgatory, to the world, then just petty arsonists. There were demons, like actual demons, living in the Ghost River Triangle. Wynonna, being the oldest living Earp heir, was tasked with taking down all the revenant souls that Wyatt Earp shot in his lifetime . . . it was a whole thing. But, at the moment, Waverly and Wynonna were both thinking the same thing; this was not the work of demons, but instead the work of a drunken townie.
A dramatic shrug let Officer Haught know that Wynonna had no more suggestions. The officer pushed off the bar with both hands and scanned the room. Nicole Haught had only lived in Purgatory a short time. She loved the work, the small-town policing, but there was something more going on around here. Just under the surface. She made a mental note to ask Waverly about it since she had lived in Purgatory her whole life.
Rich, brown eyes scanned the bar’s current patrons one by one. They stopped when they hit the bar. Two chairs down from Wynonna, hunched over a mostly empty mug, was an older man. He was dressed like a local; baggy overalls, plaid work shirt, boots. His soiled, light brown Carhart jacket was slung over the bar beside him revealing the black, quilted lining. Sitting neatly atop the jacket was a cap. It was just one of those “gimme” caps promoting a seed company, but of interest to Nicole Haught was the fact that it was the exact cap the gas station employees had described in their police statements. The old man avoided contact with her and was now VERY interested in his mug.
“Sir. Excuse me, sir. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Wynonna’s head whipped around and she stared at her bar-mate. She hadn’t really looked at him before, figured him for a harmless, drunk, tiny man.
Suddenly the little man leaped from his barstool and shouted “I just wanted my wine! Why wouldn’t they gimme’ my wine!”
He snatched his coat and hat and bolted for the door. Officer Haught had trained for this and she moved quickly. She dove for his legs, catching him just before the stairs. The little man went down crying “Nooo! I just wanted my WINE!”
They landed in a heap with Officer Haught straddling the little man’s back. He was squirming under her, repeating “my WINE!” over and over.
Wynonna was both shocked and delighted. She had swiveled her stool around and was laughing uproariously at the scene in front of her. Officer Haught looked like she was riding a mechanical bull, bucking and swaying while trying to handcuff the surprisingly quick little old dude. “Sir. Sir, please calm down. This will be more comfortable if you stop moving. Sir, please don’t try to bite my knee.”
Waverly came running from behind the bar, “Oh, Nicole. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“Is she okay?” the old man slurred, “she tryn’ ta hog-tie me! Help, Help! I’m bein’ hog-tied!”
Shorty’s other patrons were all just staring as the bizarre scene unfolded before them.
“Yer squashin’ me! I’m dyin’!”
Wynonna was clutching her stomach, doubled over in laughter. Officer Haught had finally managed to get the cuffs on and was sitting atop the little man while radioing for back up to come take him to the holding cells. Waverly had located Officer Haught’s hat, which had flown off in the tussle, and was standing to the side holding it for her.
After about 5 minutes another Purgatory Sheriff’s Deputy arrived and the two hauled the suspect out the door. The little old man was still grumbling about “his wine” but had now added some vague threats about setting the Sheriff’s Station on fire.
Waverly had managed to pass her fallen hat back to Officer Haught. She had smiled shyly when their fingers touched but was now behind the bar, facing Wynonna and looking exhilarated.
“That was very exciting. Didn’t Nicole, Officer Haught, do such a good job? Did you see her tackle that guy? So professional.”
Wynonna stopped laughing when her stomach growled loudly. She was going to tell Dolls all about this when she got back from lunch. He’d be sad he opted to stay in the office and eat his rabbit food, rather than come to lunch with her and get a show.
Wynonna swiveled back to her plate, grabbed the sandwich and took a bite before anything else could stop her. It was heaven on her tongue. The flavors all blended together to form a perfect Gus Sandwich, and not one bit soggy. It really was witchcraft . . . she would have to look into it, after her lunch.