by Dan Taylor
Leo says, “What were you expecting? An iPhone? Anyway, I’ll be in contact when the time is right. You just sit tight, Jake, enjoy that sirloin I ordered.” He gets up to go, but then stops midway. “Want my advice, Jake?”
“Would it matter if I didn’t?”
“Less than a fart in a high wind. Play ball. You’re probably thinking we’re the types that are going to kill that limping freak and her son, anyway. But you can’t think that way. Performing to the best of your ability is the only way you’ll get to see them again without their being in closed caskets. Believe that. You got it, chief?”
“I got it.”
Terry and Leo leave.
A couple minutes later, the waitress comes over, carrying the pie that I ordered—which looks like apple—and the sirloin and coffee.
I say, “You can put both plates with me. My friends have just remembered they have an errand to run. They won’t be dining with me.”
She puts them down. Her eyes looks busy, a question seems to hang on her tongue.
She goes, takes three steps, and then turns back to me. “You okay, Mr.?”
“Never been better.”
“It’s just…and you’re going to have to forgive me for prying…those men didn’t look like they were your friends. They didn’t look friendly at all.”
“They’re soccer fans, June. And what you just witnessed is called banter. But thanks for being worried about me.”
“You’re welcome, Mr.”
“Call me Jake.”
“’kay, Jake.”
She leaves again. Just as I pick up the cutlery, she turns back again. “Just thought you’d might like to know. Wendy back there, my supervisor, just phoned the cops.”
4.
I PUT DOWN the cutlery. “Now why’d she go and do a thing like that?”
“Forgive me for saying, but they didn’t look like soccer fans.”
“Terry did, at least.”
“Which one was Terry?”
“The one in the tracksuit.”
“Oh, yeah. He did. But not the other one. The one that slapped you. That’s why we called them, among other reasons.”
“No, no he didn’t. But he’s gone now. You can tell Wendy to cancel the cops. Tell her I insist.”
“I can’t do that.”
I sigh. “Why not, June?”
“Wendy said your table raised a lot of red flags.”
“What were those?”
“One, you’ve got a mighty lump on your head. Reminds me of when my cousin slipped and banged his head on the swimming pool entrance ladder—looked right out of the cartoons.”
“Would you believe me if I said that’s exactly what I’ve just done? That’s why the lumps look so alike.”
She looks at me funny. “I may be a waitress, Jake. But I won’t be answering that.”
“What was the second one?”
“Second what?”
“Red flag.”
“The slap, of course. Let me guess. You had a fly on your face, and he was just helping out. In the way soccer fans do.”
“No, he was pissed. I kissed his sister last night. He was momentarily angry, but now he’s simmered down.”
“My uncle Jimmy said that a man slapping another man is worse than punching.”
“Is this the uncle that’s father to the nephew you mentioned, the one that ran around the pool?”
“Yeah, why’d you ask?”
“No reason.”
“Anyway, he shouldn’t get away with that.”
“Agreed. And he won’t. He’s gone now. I tell you what, I’ll phone the police when I leave. They’ve left and I wouldn’t want to make a scene in your restaurant.”
“I can try and argue that point with Wendy but I don’t think she’ll see my way of thinking.”
“Tell Wendy I appreciate her concern, but this situation’s much more complicated than she thinks. She might think she’s helping but by phoning the cops she’s actually making this whole situation much worse than it already is.”
“She said you’d say that.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, said you look pussy-whipped. Said she can spot your kind all over town. That your kind never want to phone the police, mentioned something called Oslo syndrome…wait, that’s not right.”
“Stockholm syndrome?”
“That’s the one. That was one of the red flags.”
I look round June to an overweight woman with a mullet who’s watching our conversation. She diverts her eyes, starts wiping the cash register with a dish cloth.
I say, “That doesn’t really apply to this situation. I’m not captive, see? And forgive my curtness, but I’ve never been pussy-whipped in my life.” I lean in close, lower my voice. “During the years of marriage guess how many times I remembered our anniversary.”
“How many?”
“Not once.”
Her eyes narrow. “Still, there was the last red flag.”
“What was that?”
“That you just ordered pie. We’ve got many varieties of pie on our menu, and you just said pie. Wendy said any man that does that—in her experience—is a man that’s ordering food under duress.”
“How perceptive of Wendy.”
She pauses. “Still want me to cancel the cops?”
I go to answer, but there’s little point. Two cops have just walked through the door.
5.
I LOOK BETWEEN the police officers, to see that both Wendy and June are standing by the cash registers, with dish cloths in their hands.
“So your friend slapped you for kissing his sister?” Officer Dukes, a stern-looking man with a neatly trimmed mustache, asks.
“Clean ‘round the right cheek,” I say.
“And you don’t want to press charges?”
“Would you press charges on your friend in the same circumstances?”
The second officer, a rookie-looking type, interrupts. “Hell no I wouldn’t. I’d slap myself.”
Officer Dukes turns to him, fixes him with a stare. “Control yourself, Officer Peoples.” Then turns back to me. “Whatever the reason, sir, a slap is still an offense in the State of California.”
“It wasn’t really how the ladies described. I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Then how do you explain the lump on your forehead?”
“I had baseball practice this afternoon. Someone hit a high one, and the sun got in my eyes during the descent. The ball hit me right on the noggin.”
“I have to tell you, sir. This sounds a lot like a case of domestic abuse.”
“A case of what now?”
“We have counselors who can help you with this sort of thing, real smart people who can help you see that your domestic situation isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
“There is no domestic situation. Those two gentlemen were my friends.”
He looks at his notepad. “So that wasn’t your boyfriend and his—what’s the word for it?—like a mistress?”
I look between them at Wendy, raise an eyebrow. She’s overheard and looks sheepish.
I say, “No, certainly not. I’m married, legally.”
“In my experience, that never stopped any man from doing this sort of thing.”
Officer Peoples interjects, “Yeah, there’s this glory hole at a bar downtown. Most of the guys we arrest there are as ‘straight as an arrow,’ so to speak.”
We both turn to Officer Peoples and look at him with the same quizzical expression on our faces. He says, “What?”
“Officer Peoples, go and wait out in the vehicle.”
He takes two steps, then turns back, and says, “But aren’t we going to make an arrest? That needs both of us present, right? Legally.”
“We definitely won’t be making an arrest. The perpetrator has left the scene.”
“Oh yeah, didn’t think of that.”
We both watch Officer Peoples leave, blank looks on our faces.
Officer Dukes p
uts his notepad and pen away, says, “I never made detective and now I know I never will.”
“Bummer.”
He gets out a card, hands it to me. “You ever change your mind about pressing charges on your…friend, give me a call down at the station.”
I take it. “Sure will.”
“You have a nice night, sir.”
“You bet.”
He leaves, and I turn my attention to the sirloin. It’s gone cold. Knowing Wendy and June are watching, I hold up the plate, and Wendy scurries off, goes to talk with one of the chefs.
While I wait, I think about the situation I find myself in. To quell the feeling that this is some elaborate practical joke, I take out the phone I was given, and begin to inspect it. It doesn’t look tampered with, and all the keys do what they’re supposed to do. I look round, toying with an idea, then think, Fuck it! Then I dial the number for the local cab rank. Seems to work at first, then an error code comes up.
“Shit,” I mutter, then lean back in my seat. It is going to be a long night.
6.
NOW THAT THE initial madness is over and done with, I can turn to my attention to panicking about this Mary and Randy situation.
You might think I’ve been the three Cs after finding out the news, cool, calm, and kick-ass. But that’s just part of my training. I keep my head when the heat gets turned up, having been undercover numerous times, the last time deep undercover.
So I can act the part.
But the truth is, I’m shaking like a shitting leaf. I live a bachelor’s life, using my strange brand of charm—which is accidental but effective—to emptily bed dumb blonde after dumb blonde. What I’m saying is, my life’s emptier than a hobo’s coin purse, apart from a few relationships I’ve just formed with women. So my family is my life. Mom and Dad are retired in Florida, and are too busy going on coach trips and baking in the sun, while they read trashy novel after trashy novel to make quality time for me, so my sister Mary and her son are two of the few meaningful relationships I have in my life.
On top of that, I’ve been a shitty uncle to Randy and an even shittier brother to Mary. I’ve got a lot of making up to do.
In a nutshell, there’s more on the line than at the starting line of a fat camp’s hundred-yard dash.
As I wait for the fresh sirloin, the phone I was given starts to ring. I take it out. The ring tone is ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’. I shake my head, then answer, “Jake.”
“I’m pretty sure I said no cops, Jake.”
It’s Leo.
“They came to investigate the slap. The waitress phoned them.”
“Don’t get cute with me.”
“It’s true.”
“How did you handle the situation? You didn’t go spilling the beans, did you, Jake?”
“I got rid of them.”
“Good. Because they can’t help you.”
I think about Officer Peoples and his glory hole story. “I know that.”
“Right. Let’s get down to brass tacks. I want you to take a cab to Extreme Bowl in Glendale. You know the place?”
“I know it.”
“Good. You’re to meet an associate of mine there, a Charles Anderson. He’ll fill you in.”
“What’s he wearing?”
He sighs. “Not this again. Doesn’t matter. He knows what you look like.”
“I’ll be there.”
He hangs up and I put the phone away.
I look up to see Wendy practically pushing June towards me. She’s carrying the fresh sirloin. When at my table, she smiles apologetically, then puts down the plate.
She says, “Sorry about that, Jake.”
“Don’t worry about it. Can I get that to go?”
“What about the apple pie?”
“That too.”
“Sure.”As she walks away, I think about how the hell I’m going to phone a cab without loose cannon Leo blowing Mary and Randy’s brains out. Then I think about how he knew the cops had come. That’s when I notice a balding guy with glasses looking over his shoulder at me.
7.
HE’S DEFINITELY THE GUY. He doesn’t look like he would be associated with them, as he looks like a depressed chocoholic middle-aged accountant, but that’s who you’d choose for this gig, right? If you were Leo…?
Part of me wants to wave, let him know I’m onto him. But I have a better idea.
I avoid making eye contact with him and get up, adjust the position of my belt buckle and then make my way to the restroom.
I go to a urinal, get out my johnson, and start whistling the first tune that comes into my head.
Sure enough, he follows, stands in the urinal at the far right, and as soon as I hear the sound of his urine splashing into the urinal, I turn, run to him, and try and slap the taste out of his mouth.
8.
“YOU SLAPPED ME in the fucking ear! What the fuck?”
The bald guy is stunned from the blow, looking at me with wide eyes as he rubs his ear. I want to deliver a follow-up blow, but I’ve just realized I didn’t put my johnson away, so while I do that, I say, “Sorry, I was going for your cheek.”
“Well you missed!”
I’m no longer exposing myself, and I realize the absurdity of what I just said. I grab him by the nape, try and force his head down into the urinal, but he proves stronger than I thought.
He says, “What the hell are you doing?”
“You know what? I’m not sorry.”
“Why are you doing this? I didn’t try and look at your penis, I swear!”
“I know that. I would take that as a compliment, even from an ugly piece of shit like you. Who the hell are you?”
He’s struggling against me, trying to force his head up, but I deliver a blow to the back of his thigh with my knee, which drops him. He’s now kneeling in front of the urinal. Those trousers are definitely going to need a dry clean.
“My…my name’s Donald Luke.”
“Not your name. Who are you?”
“I…I don’t understand the question.”
“Let me rephrase it.”
His face is inches from the urinal, which looks particularly unclean.
“Please do!”
“You’re following me. Why?”
“I’m not buddy, I swear.”
I wait for a proper answer.
“Seriously, friend. I’m at Denny’s because I didn’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“You look like you never cook. No offense. That story doesn’t hold water.”
“Okay, I admit it. I eat out often. But my being here the same time as you is merely a coincidence.”
“I don’t buy that. And you just happened to piss at the same time as me?”
“Look at it from my perspective. As far as I knew, I was just pissing at the same time as some random guy. I didn’t even see you come in here.”
I’m holding him with both hands, but I release one, slap him on the back of the head, dislodging his glasses, which fall into the urinal.
“I just bought those, friend. Let me get them out of there.”
“Think I give a shit about that? You were watching me, why?”
“I just glanced over my shoulder at you. Everyone was glancing at you. You got slapped by the other guy in the suit, remember?”
“Of course I remember. People were looking at me, but you’re the only one that followed me into the restroom. I find that very suspicious.”
“Again, I just happened to come in here at the same time.”
I sigh. “We’re going round in circles.” I look at the urinal cake, which has a pubic hair on top of it. I look in the urinal to my left, and see that the one in there looks clean. I pick it up. “You forced me to do this.”
“What…what are you going to…do? I’m married! Please don’t shoot me!”
“I’m not going to shoot you, Donald.” I bring the urinal cake close to his mouth, ask, “Do you know how many strains of bacteria are on one of these things, on
average?”
“No…”
“Neither do I, but you look like the kind of guy that would.”
I bring it closer still.
“But we can both agree these things are pretty disgusting, right?”
“Right!”
“If you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to grate some of it onto your teeth.”
“Please don’t do that!”
“Wrong answer!”
I do as I said, forcing the urinal cake between his pursed lips, leaving disgusting blue deposits on his teeth and gums. Donald starts to retch, and I’m struggling not to, myself.
I take the urinal cake away.
After throwing up a little bit, and after controlling his stomach spasms, Donald says, “Okay!”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you.”
I throw the urinal cake away, go to wipe my hand on my pants, then stop myself, and then wipe my hand on the sleeve of Donald’s jacket.
“Go ahead, Donald.”
“This guy comes up to me in the parking lot, says he’ll give me five hundred dollars if I’ll sit and watch some guy in Denny’s. I would’ve said no to him, but his friend looked like he might hurt me if I did.”
“Who did the guys say they were?”
“Shit…I don’t remember.”
I pick up the urinal cake again.
“Okay! Leo and…Terry. They said even they’d throw in dinner.”
“How nice of them. So you’ve never seen these guys before in your life? You’re not part of some terrorist organization?”
“I sort post for a living and sit and watch Netflix most nights, eating pizza.”
“Help me here, Donald. I don’t think you’ve told me everything you know.”
“I swear it! I’ve told you everything.”
“There are far worse things in a restroom than urinal cake, Donald. In fact, one of the cubicles over there smells pretty ripe, like someone forgot to flush. And after a number two. How about I drag your sorry ass over there and find out what you really know?”
“Please don’t do that!”
He starts sobbing. I almost feel sorry for the guy, until I think of Randy and Mary.
“You’ve forced my hand, Donald. This time I think I will shoot you.”
