Chapter 5

It was 8:00 that evening when Martin and Sharla had finished painting the apartment and were downstairs, sitting at the bar, anticipating Don’s burgers and Grain Belts, and toasting Martin’s new digs and the amazing transformation that had taken place in just 7 short hours. When they first came down, Martin was so exhausted and pleased, he forgot for a moment that Don Wardle would be behind the counter, ready to assume the worst about what had transpired in Apartment #2 that afternoon, winking at Martin and leering at Sharla.
But instead, Don turned to see Martin and Sharla enter, and held his arms out as if ready to embrace them both. “Why, Miss Whitefeather, what an honor to have you here at Risky Dick’s! To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, quite genuinely, to Martin’s surprise.
Sharla beamed. “I was helping Martin fix up his apartment. Mr. Wardle, we painted the walls and cleaned the windows. It looks beautiful!” she exclaimed. Beautiful might have been stretch, but Martin had to admit the room looked 1000% better with a fresh coat of paint and light coming through the panes. “We’re going to rent a carpet cleaner tomorrow and go into Forest Lake to pick up some curtains and a new bedspread. Then you should be set, right Martin?”
Sharla’s look was satisfied and her smile wide, and Martin looked from her to Don, and saw he was totally smitten with her enthusiasm. “Miss Whitefeather, you are a ray of sunshine! What can I get you two? Dinner is on me tonight.”

Martin and Sharla were enjoying the last bites of their burgers when Don came up to them and filled each of their beer mugs with a fresh pull. “So what is going on in your world, Sharla?” Don asked politely. “And, as I’ve told Jimmy Olson here, please call me Don.”
Sharla giggled. “Jimmy Olson…that’s funny.” She paused to think for a moment. “Not much going on. The fishing opener is coming up. Uncle Bill just finished remodeling the Hole in the Wall. Other than that….” Sharla trailed off.
Don smiled and settled in, even though the place was teeming with customers who wanted to have one last big night before repenting during Holy Week. “It’s been a quiet winter, hasn’t it? Did things get settled over there at the Hole in the Wall?” he asked. Don and Sharla’s eyes met, and Martin was confused for a moment. “What are you talking about, Don?” Martin asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sharla answered quickly for him. “Uncle Bill just found a little problem with the bookkeeping at the casino.”
Don looked amused. “A little bookkeeping problem, Sharla? $250,000 in missing funds is more than a little bookkeeping problem.”
Martin was torn between feeling sorry for Sharla’s discomfort and being curious about what appeared to be a pretty serious fiduciary oversight. “Come on, Don, leave Sharla alone. She just works for the man…” begged Martin.
Sharla shook her head. “No, Martin, it’s okay. Uncle Bill made a big mistake in hiring that non-Indian woman to do his books, and if he thought more with his head, he wouldn’t be in this mess,” she replied. “It’s the tribe’s problem, really, and Uncle Bill will just have to answer to the Chief.”
Don slapped his hand on the counter. “Sharla, you are a peach and a straight shooter!” he exclaimed. “You are welcome to be my guest here at Risky Dick’s any time. I mean it…any time.”
Sharla smiled warmly at Don, and asked, “Thank you. I appreciate that. But tell me now, why do you call this place Ricky Dick’s? Your name is Don.”
Don chuckled. “Well, Dick was my nick name in college. You probably don’t know this, but Dick is a shortened version of the German word for fat. You may have noticed that I’m not exactly svelte…” After giving his belly a loving pat, he continued, “So people called me Dick, and it stuck just long enough to name this place.”
“So what about the Risky part of the name?” Sharla asked.
Don leaned over the bar and in a stage whisper said, “Well, not to brag, but I was a bit of a ladies’ man in the old days. Let’s just say this little fat guy had a lot of fun and had a few close calls in college.” Martin looked shocked, but Sharla giggled loudly while Don laughed along with her and clapped his hands at her delight. Before she could ask for details, Don noticed some customers waving their empty beer mugs, wanting refills and hurried off to take care of them. “Isn’t he just the funniest, Martin?” Sharla asked. Martin looked at her for a moment with a mock frown, but joined her in a fit of giggles as they together and individually pictured Don as an undergraduate lothario.

It was almost 10:00 p.m. when Martin and Sharla were deciding whether to have one more beer before calling it a night. Don was cleaning up some tables, and it was the typical lull between the early and late crowds at Ricky Dick’s. Martin was telling Sharla about his upcoming assignments, and Don was just on his way over to join them when the front door to the place opened, and Frank Talbot walked in. Frank was a physics teacher at Siren High School, scheduled to retire in 60 short days after 35 years of teaching.
Sharla turned to see who was coming in, and upon seeing Frank, sat up on her bar stool and stiffened. Her face went pale, and Martin was just about to ask her what was wrong when Frank said, “Well, look who’s sittin’ here waiting just for me.”
Martin could tell Sharla’s breathing was getting shallow and fast, and she turned away from Frank and looked at Martin with panic in her eyes, hoping Frank hadn’t seen her but knowing he had. Don walked slowly toward the door and said, “What can I do for you, Frank?” Frank looked over at Don and answered, “I’m just here to have a night cap with an old friend.” He stared at Sharla as he spoke.
“Sorry Frank, we’re closing early for Lent,” Don replied. “You’d best be moving down the highway to the Yellow River Saloon for your drink.”
Frank looked menacingly at Don. “What are you saying? You don’t want my business?”
Don nodded and said, “Yes, I believe that is exactly what I’m saying. You’ve never been in here before, you won’t miss coming here in the future.”
Frank snorted and said, “You’re right, I’d never come into this dive, but tonight, I heard you had a special guest,” and he leered again at Sharla.
“Frank, no one in here wants to have a drink with you, and I want you out of my bar,” Don said quietly. “Get out before I call the sheriff.”
Frank looked from Don to Sharla and back to Don. He spat on the floor and said, “Fine. I’m outta here. I’ve heard you do a short pour anyway…” Frank tugged on the door and walked out.
By now, Sharla had begun shaking and lifted herself off the bar stool only to plop back down. “Sharla,” Martin said, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Martin, nothing,” Sharla replied. She waited nervously until she heard Frank’s truck drive off, then lifted herself off the stool again and carefully got down. “I’ll be fine. You enjoy your beautiful apartment, okay Martin?” she said and walked, visibly shaking, toward the door.
“Sharla, wait!” called Martin, but she kept walking towards the door and walked out without looking back. He and Don heard her car rev up, and they knew she was on her way up Highway 35 on her way to Danbury and home. Martin looked at Don and asked, “What just happened here?”