A James Everhard Adventure

by Wayne Wallace

It was getting dark outside Rick’s Café American and Rick knew that patrons would soon begin filing into his infamous watering hole soon. Behind the bar, he polished glasses, checked and rechecked his stock of vodkas, bourbons, gins, liqueurs, and most important, his stock of fine scotches, in anticipation of the evening rush. Rick’s legendary selection of fine scotch brought scotch lovers in from all over the country. Rick’s Café American, located on the cusp of the Twilight Zone, was the watering hole of choice for literature’s fictional characters, both famous and fledgling.

The first customers of the evening entered the front door. Rick recognized the two men as Alex Cross and his sidekick, Detective Sampson, James Patterson’s famous detective duo. The gentlemen were in the company of two of the loveliest ladies Rick had ever seen. "Good evening Rick," Cross said. "Good evening ladies and gents. Welcome to Rick’s. You have your pick of the tables and booths, pick one and Sandy will be right there to get your drink orders." Rick said. The couples smiled warmly and slid into a corner booth.

During the next hour, dozens of patrons entered Rick’s and the laughter and usual "good time" sounds of a Saturday evening at Rick’s filled the club. Rick watched as James Bond entered with two ladies on his arms, Miss Pussy Galore and Miss Holly Goodhead. He had also noticed, as he mixed drinks, that Doctor Kay Scarpetta, the literary protagonist of Patricia Cornwell novels, and a gentleman friend had dropped in for a drink. When Thomas Harris’ Hannibal Lecter and  Clarice Starling came in, arm and arm, Rick quipped, "Good evening Dr. Lecter, Clarice, we’ve some delicious finger sandwiches on hors de overe trays tonight. Enjoy." The couple laughed as they took their seats.

As the club filled up, the curtains opened on the small stage in the back of the club and The Brownstone Blues Band began their 40 minute set. Seated at the rosewood bar at the other end of Rick’s were detectives James Everhard, and Bill Chapel, adventurer Bud Magnum and billionaire oilman "Rig" Greer. These creations of Wayne Wallace were hotly discussing their literary creator as they worked on Rick’s supply of scotch. "The son-of-a-bitch hasn’t written a word for me in almost two years!" James Everhard said, "And as you guys know, there isn’t any fictional character’s unemployment office." "You think that’s bad," snorted Bill Chapel, "Wallace cast me in the lead of his new novel and then after 40,000 words, left me hanging. He’s scrapped the whole damned project! And the most degrading part, the S.O.B. changed my name to Nick! He said it was more detective-like, bull crap!" "Well, what about what he has done to poor Molly Waska?" asked Bud Magnum. "He killed her off in his western, dumped her for a twin in his Iraq story, and now in his shelved novel, he’s got her with her right boob shot off and stuck in surgery. Geez, I bet she’s pissed off!" Magnum shoved his empty glass towards Rick and signaled for another. "You guys are making a big deal out of his unfinished novel, hell, he told me that he’d had to date, one complaint from his dozens of fans about his scrapping it. It’s not like it was Gone with the Wind or something!" Rick said as he poured Magnum a fresh scotch. "Yeah, famous literature it’s not Rick," said Rig Greer," but it’s what we do, our livelihood, our literary claim to fame." "Well what the hell is he doing and why isn’t he giving us any work?" Everhard shouted over the band. Heads turned towards the bar and Everhard realized that he was perhaps being a bit loud. "Well, the last time I talked to him", Magnum said, "He was researching for a book about the Alamo." "The Alamo?! What the hell happened to his detective stories?" Chapel asked.  "How could any of us be in a story about the Alamo?" Greer asked. "Well," Magnum said, "It’s a time travel story. Guys from this century go back to Texas at the time of the Alamo in an attempt to change history." Rick watched as the characters who had been together in dozens of short stories quietly sipped their drinks and digested what Bud Magnum had just told them. Finally, James Everhard broke the silence. "Hell, I could do the Alamo. Just kill a couple hundred or so Mexican bad guys, romance dozens of senoritas. That doesn’t sound so bad. I could adapt." "Yeah, that’s right. I could go back to my sidekick status and come along." Chapel said, "Me, my cigars and my sawed off twelve gauge. We’re perfect for the part!" "Perfect casting for a devil-may-care, soldier of fortune such as myself," Magnum said.  "And surely there’s a place for a Texas oil baron billionaire." Rig Greer added. "Hey Rick, we’re going to go see Wallace about his new story. Put all this on his tab, will you?" Everhard said as the four fictional characters jumped up from their stools and headed for the front door. Rick watched his old high school buddies, suddenly pumped up and filled with the anticipation of again being in print, leave his little watering hole. "Good luck guys." He yelled after them.