Marcus looked across the room and stared intently at Fatso.
Damn, no one here wants anyone else to know their name; Michael thought about the way Speed had reacted when they introduced themselves the other night.
“I’ll tell you what, Michael. Forget you know my name, and forget I was even in here tonight. Got it? And that goes for all of you,” Marcus said, addressing everyone in Jack’s Joint. “Nobody saw me in here tonight, see what I’m saying?”
Marcus left.
Fatso let out a long sigh. “Man I thought he was going to pop you, kid.”
Sandy stood up. “I got to use the john.”
Felicia slid slowly out of the booth. “Are you all right?”
Michael smiled. “Me? I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m fine. Those guys weren’t going to shoot anyone,” Felicia said. She smoothed her skirt against her thighs with the palms of her hands. Michael could not help but watch. He liked her legs, long tone and smooth looking.
“Maybe they weren’t going to shoot, but Sandy there came this close to getting pistol whipped,” Michael said, holding his thumb and finger close together.
“Yeah. That was a little unnerving,” Felicia said. “But what was the big deal with Marcus? I’ve never seen him so uptight before.”
Fatso, still sitting at the counter, said: “He was acting a little weird.”
“Why would he want to leave. I mean, he handled two robbers—saved the money. And look at this,” Michael said, bending over to pick up the gun Baseball dropped.
“Freeze,” two policemen yelled at the same time from the front door. They had weapons drawn and aimed at Michael.
Michael dropped the gun and put his hands up in the air.
_____________________________
Murphy parked in front of his restaurant, behind the two police cars. He walked into Jack’s Joint wearing flannel, navy blue and maroon red plaid pajamas under his winter coat. His gray wisps of hair spiked out of his head with static electricity as he pulled off his wool cap.
Michael sat on a counter stool between the two officers, and gave the owner an acknowledging nod. Murphy stood silently by the doorway and listened as the police officers talked with Michael. Most of the people in the place were questioned first. They all seemed to tell the truth, but when it came time to talk about Marcus’ roll in foiling the robbery, they became nondescript. Michael was doing the same thing now. “Yeah, I’d never seen the guy in here before. It’s my second night,” he said.
“But what did he look like?” one of the officers asked.
“I really can’t recall.”
“Was he short?”
“He could have been.”
“Tall?”
“Sounds right,” said Michael.
“In relation to the robbers, you saw them, right?”
“I saw them. They were big, strong looking guys.” Michael’s mind replayed the robbery in slow motion. “I could even identify their voices, I’d bet.”
“That’s good. That’s great,” the police officer said. “Now you’re telling me that this mystery man was sandwiched between the two of them. He karate chops the gun out of guy’s hand, steps on his foot, boxes his ears and then scares the hell out of the other guy without touching him?”
“Right,” Michael said.
“And you can see this in your mind?”
“Clearly.”
“Think hard, now. In relation to the robbers, would the guy in the middle be taller than them, or smaller?” The police officer asked, sounding hopeful.
“I’m not sure,” Michael said.
“Damn,” the other police officer said, closing his notebook.
“Hey, I have a question,” Michael asked. “Did the officer at dispatch hear me say the name Jack’s Joint? Is that how they knew where to send you guys?”
“Yes and no. The person who dialed nine-one-one and left an open line on their cell phone was smart. It’s a lot harder to trace a cell phone, but it can be done. Satellites make it easier. We were zeroing in on the transmission. Then the officer heard your tip and dispatched two units. You and the lady with the phone did nice work,” the police officer said, smiling.
Murphy introduced himself, and the police talked with him for a while by the counter.
“We’re going to need to take the knapsack with your money in it, and the wallets and purses. It’s all evidence. The other officers apprehended two suspects we believe may be responsible for the attempted robbery, and attempted assault,” The police officer said. He looked at Michael: “Tomorrow, first thing in the morning we’d like you to come down and file a complaint and maybe look at a line up.”
“I can do that. I’ll come right from here,” Michael said. He walked away then, letting the officers go back to talking to Murphy.
Fatso sat in the booth Marcus seemed always to sit in. He had his coffee and newspaper with him. Another couple sat at a table near the back of the room, by the payphones. Sandy and Felicia sat at their front booth, in opposite sides this time, facing one another.
Michael went outside and lit up a cigarette.
He propped a foot up behind him, placing it on the building, and leaned back. It was freezing out, but he thought he could use the fresh air. The sky looked brilliant with the stars and moon standing out, highly visible in the pitch-black heavens. His breath mixed with smoke when he exhaled, and it all blew away with the wind, reminding Michael of an old train. Childish as it may seem he pictured his mouth as the smokestack on the train’s engine. Chug-a-chug-a-choo-choo!
“No coat?” Felicia asked. She leaned against the building next to him. “Your arm is covered in goosebumps.” She ran her hand down his arm.
Her touch felt electrifying. Michael watched her as she stared at the goosebumps on his arm. “I just wanted some fresh air. I’ve never been in a situation like that. I ran through a gauntlet of emotions. I guess right now I feel a little shaken up and overwhelmed.”
“I can’t blame you,” Felicia said. Michael had his hand in his pocket. After running her palm over the goosebumps, she latched her arm around his and snuggled in close, like a cat trying to get warm.
Michael was not sure what to do. He did not know how to interpret her behavior. This, hanging out with a prostitute, was something entirely new in his life. It was hard not to couple Felicia’s work with her person. Yet, he did not want her to let go of his arm. “How about you? You don’t even seem upset.”
“I’m not,” Felicia said. “Tonight? That wasn’t so bad. I’ve been in situations much grimmer than two high school boys trying to hold up a diner.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“The robbers. It was those kids who sat in that booth drinking coffee for hours, and hours. That’s what they were doing. They were plotting, casing the place,” Michael said. “I should have known them right off the bat. They were big and strong looking.”
“Oh, I knew it was them. I’ll bet Marcus did, too.”
“What was with him? He comes in, sits at the same booth, and says nothing. He eats his food and just sits there.” Michael shrugged to punctuate his confusion. “I just don’t get it.”
“Not my place to know what his business is about,” Felicia said. She reached up and took the cigarette out from between Michael’s lips. She took a long drag on the end, all the while staring into Michael’s eyes. When she slid the cigarette back into Michael’s mouth, the end was covered in cherry-red lipstick.
“But that doesn’t mean you don’t know what his business is though, does it?”
“I might. I might not. Marcus is an interesting one, you might say. I think he is, or was, Mafia. I’ll guarantee if he was in with the mob, he wasn’t anyone big in the family. He’s always here, never with any buddies, and Italians just aren’t that way. They’re worse than ladies all going to the restroom together, if you get what I mean. What do they call each other, Pisan? Well I don’t know that Marcus has
any Pisanoes.”
“Nice accent,” Michael said, smiling.
“Eh-oh, you talken’ to me?” Felicia said, in an openly mocking Italian accent.
“That don’t sound Italian,” Michael said. “You sound like you’re from Brooklyn.” They started to laugh.
They were still laughing, huddled close, when the police officers came out of Jack's Joint. One of the police officer’s said: “Hey, if you pay more than twenty, you’re paying too much!” Both officers burst into laughter as they climbed into their squad car.
Felicia and Michael felt their own laughter killed. Their smiles disappeared.
As the car began to pull away from the curb, the same officer yelled out his open window: “And for the love of Pete, where a helmet, soldier!”
You could hear the officers laughing as the car sped north up Lake Avenue.
Felicia’s arm slid out from around Michael’s. She hugged herself and turned around. Michael tossed his cigarette butt to the sidewalk then ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey Felicia,” he said just as she was about to go back into Jack’s. She stopped walking but did not turn around. “Why didn’t you say something to them?”
“Why bother, besides, why didn’t you?”
Michael had no idea what to say. Calling out to her might have made things worse. It let her know for sure that he was aware of her embarrassment. “Forget about those assholes.”
She stood with her back to him for a moment longer before going back inside.
Chapter 12
After the police left, Murphy closed the place. There was no money in the register, so it would be hard to make change for customers. Michael thought Murphy looked depressed and tired. He planned to return at seven and try to start the day out fresh.
Michael locked up the back room. They exited Jack’s using the front door. “Sorry about tonight,” Michael said with his hands in his coat pockets. He felt and was sure he looked defeated.
“Sorry? About what? You didn’t rob me. Forget it. When you go down to the police station tomorrow, you file a complaint or whatever, and tell them whatever you know. What do I care if you leave Marcus out of it or not. They got my money, and eventually, I’ll get it back,” Murphy said.
“You know about Marcus?”
“What I heard in there, it could only have been Marcus.”
Michael felt intrigued. “I think I can identify the guys who tried to rob you.”
“Was them two high school kids sitting at that booth, am I right?”
“That’s what I think, yeah.”
“Good. Then you can confirm my suspicions with the police. I told them the same thing. I told them how they came and just sat in a booth. At the time I thought they were harmless, you know? Looking back, I think they must have been here just watching everything. They knew how busy I was. I wouldn’t doubt if they were trying to add up everyone’s orders—get a better idea of how much might have been in the till,” Murphy said, walking up to his car parked alongside the curb. “Go home. That’s what I’m going to do. I still got a few more hours before I have to be back here.”
_____________________________
Michael walked around the side of the building to the back parking lot. Felicia stood, leaning against his car’s rear bumper. She smoked a cigarette and watched him slowly approach. “You know what I hate about winter?” She asked, tilting her head back, exposing her neck and throat, exhaling and sending a large plume of smoke into the night sky.
“What?” Michael asked. Though he had both hands in his coat pockets because he felt cold, his palms felt suddenly sweaty.
“The slush. It’s gross. It’s hard to walk in and it’s sloppy. I think that’s what I hate most.”
“Not the cold?”
“That’s bad, unbearable at times, but I don’t hate it.”
Michael nodded. He had never thought about it. “Yeah. I guess the slush is a pretty bad thing. Hell, look at its name. Slush.”
“Exactly,” Felicia said, moving away from the car. “Heading home?”
“I was going to,” Michael said. He had his keys in his hand. Standing in the secluded back parking lot of Jack's Joint felt a little surreal. Everything was snow covered, but nothing looked pretty the way snow sometimes made things look. The backs of buildings were the backs of buildings. Everything was dark, gloomy and gray. Then there was Felicia, a splash of color on an otherwise drab and dreary canvas. The air was cold and burned his lungs. He knew his ears were turning red, could feel the heat in them.
“Have a good night, then. You working here tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” Michael said, smiling.
“Me, too,” Felicia said, starting to turn as she turned away.
“Still gonna work? Tonight, I mean?”
She stopped, and turned to look at Michael. She shrugged. “Nah. Night’s shot.”
“Heading home? Do you need a ride?” Michael asked. The conversation was headed somewhere. He did not know what kind of answer he was looking for, or hoping for. He felt an opportunity approaching.
“No thank you. I was thinking about going home, but I doubt I will. Too early,” Felicia said. She smiled and waved. “I’m something of a night owl. Have a good night.”
When she turned around, Michael closed his eyes and thought hard. He did not want to go home. He wanted to spend some more time with Felicia. Why did he want to spend more time with her? He wanted to hear her stories. Was that really all? What about Ellen? Ellen. “Yeah. I’m not very tired either.”
Again, Felicia stopped walking and turned around. “No?”
“Know anyplace that serves a good cup of coffee?” Michael asked.
Walking back toward him, she said: “I know of a place, but it closed early tonight. Mind if I join you?”
Mixed feelings spread throughout Michael and seemed to congregate in his chest. He thought his hands might be shaking, but dared not look. The last thing he wanted to do was call attention to the fact that he was nervous. “I’d love to have you join me.”
Michael unlocked the passenger door and opened it, like a gentleman. Felicia climbed into the car. “This place you know of, why did it close?” Michael asked.
“Place was robbed,” answered Felicia, grinning.
Michael shut the door, went around to his side and got in. He started the engine and let it run while the car defroster kicked on, blowing hot air onto the windshield. “Robbed, huh? Maybe we should go somewhere else, then. What do you think?”
“I know just the place,” Felicia said with a curious grin.
Michael backed out of the parking spot. “Tell me which way to go, and we’re out of here!”
Chapter 13
Felicia had Michael drive west down Lyell Avenue. The city of Rochester ended at the Erie Canal Bridge. Just past the bridge, to the right, stood a large sports bar and restaurant. Years ago the place had been a party house. When business decreased drastically, and ownership changed hands from father to son, the place underwent major renovations.
Michael had come to the club before. He liked it. The food was good, the prices fair, and there always seemed to be a good crowd, but you never had to wait long for a table.
“It’s too late to have drinks served, but I like it here,” Felicia said, as Michael parked. “Ever been here before?”
“A couple of times.” They got out of the car and walked toward the sidewalk. Felicia immediately coiled her arm through his. Michael felt relieved that Felicia did not dress, or look like some stereotypical prostitute. This was Rochester, New York. The working girls did not dress like the women portraying hookers on television shows, or like the ones out on the busy streets of L.A. No one would know he was on a date with a streetwalker.
He opened the door and Felicia thanked him. A hostess in tight jeans and a red and black striped company pullover shirt led them to a cozy booth in the corner. “Your server will be right with you,” she said, and sauntered away.
Sitting across from
each other, Michael was given an opportunity to stare into Felicia’s eyes. He took advantage of his position and studied her face. Her eyebrows were thick, a feature he found himself attracted to. Her nose was small, with a tiny hump at the bridge. The lips, so full, so sensual, held his attention and he watched them move while she talked. “I’m kind of hungry, too. Are you going to eat? I’ll only get something if you will.”
Michael patted his belly. “I can eat. They have the best Buffalo Chicken Sandwich I’ve ever had.” It consisted of chicken strips, breaded in a beer-batter, served on a roll, fully dressed, and doused in Buffalo style chicken wing sauce and with blue cheese.
“Sounds fattening. I usually get the salad.”
“Salad,” Michael repeated, as if insulted by the suggestion of a salad over a sandwich.
Felicia laughed. “It’s that good?”
“It’s better than a, a salad,” Michael said. “If you can’t finish it, I’m sure someone at this table will.” He smiled.
The server showed up. Michael ordered for them.
“Anything to drink?”
“A water,” Felicia said.
Michael grimaced. “I’ll have a large vanilla milk shake, please.”
Felicia raised her eyebrows at him. While staring at Michael, she said: “Make it two shakes.”
“You little piggy,” Michael teased as soon as the server walked away. Felicia reached across the table and playfully slapped his arm.
_____________________________
The server cleared away the plates. Michael slurped up the rest of his shake from the straw. “I can’t believe you ate all that,” he said.
“It was good,” Felicia said. “I gave you most of my fries.”
“Most, ha! You gave me a few.” Michael wanted a cigarette. This place did not have a smoking section. Most places did not, unlike Jack’s Joint which claimed to be seventy-five percent smoke-free. Non-smokers were more than welcome at Jack’s, but an ashtray is readily available on every table.
Johnny Blade Page 5
