The bartender, a whip-smart kid with a shaved head, is about to enter the police academy. He's excited about it, even counting down the days. "Cops are like flies," spits a shaggy-haired patron, pausing to make sure the kid is listening. He adds, triumphantly, "They eat shit and pester people." The Shady Tavern, in the Heights, is a neighborhood joint where everybody seems to know everybody and nobody seems to get offended by anything. Going to this 70-year-old icehouse -- a simple, single-story A-frame structure with a side yard for barbecues and a small stage for bands -- is a lot like visiting your best pal. You're gonna get ribbed. And you're gonna get drunk. And, chances are, you'll be back the next day.