Chapter 2 – Tuesday? More like Bluesday
Bat hurried out of the seedy brick building where his office was and headed out into the street. It was still very early in the morning for an old boozehound like Bat, but it was prime go-time for decent society. Shops were opening up, cars and taxis were zipping up and down the street, well-dressed men and women were walking briskly to coffee shops and on their way to work. The sight of it all nauseated Bat. Not because there was much in the way of jealousy of these folks in Bat’s heart, but because he had been drinking rotgut corn mash into the tender hours of the night and movement made him queasy. Bat decided that nothing this hangover could throw at him couldn’t be overcome by a boiling-hot cup of java and a fresh pack of smokes. Bat ambled his best down the street to the corner diner, Sam’s where he usually took either all or at least a few of his meals per week. The bell on the top of the door jingled aggressively when Bat entered. In one motion he pulled off his overcoat and hat and flung them onto the pegs which jutted out of the wall next to the cigarette machine that acted as a coatrack. He was an old hand at this. There wasn’t much Bat could claim expertise in, but ordering a coffee at Sam’s after a night of nearly fatal drinking was one of them. As Bat sat down, a young, fresh-faced waiter bolted over from behind the counter to serve the disheveled gumshoe.
”Good morning, sir! Would you like a menu, or do you know whatcha’d like? Start with some coffee, sir?”
Bat snarled and with an absolute look of disgust lifted his head and shouted toward the service window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Sam? What the hell is this and why is it talking to me?” He said this while gesturing to the young man by simply throwing his head in his direction briefly.
”Say, what is your problem, mister?” the young waiter asked with the air of youthful vigor that can only be described as admirable yet poorly timed and wholly unearned. The young man furrowed his brow and leaned ever so slightly forward in order to glare into this rude old drunk’s eyes. This was his counter and he meant to stake his claim to it by showing Bat that he had no intention of backing down or backing away. Bat returned the glare with his own furrowed brow. However, the wrinkled brow was more a product on Bat’s eyes only now coming into focus and his attempt to take a good look at the kid who dared to challenge him.
Sam emerged from the kitchen. Already smelling of grease and fried onions at this early hour, and made his way over Bat and the angry young man who were engaged in a painful staring contest. Sam got in between the two by gently moving the young man away from the counter and up against the service area where coffee cups on saucers and stacks of forks and knives with black plastic handles wrapped in disposable napkins were staged for the morning rush.
”Alright, easy you two” Sam said in his customarily easy, soft but business-like tone.
”Clearly, you two got off on the wrong foot. Now, Bat, you be nice. This here is Will and it’s only his third day. Can’t help that you haven’t met yet and I can’t help that I needed to hire someone. Will, this is Bat. He is a good friend and he works right across the street. If you want to keep this job, you treat this man well. Both of you understand?”
Both men mumbled something which was supposed to resemble an acquiescence to Sam’s request for peace. Good enough thought Sam. Sam had owned the diner going on twenty years and had known Bat for the last ten of those. The diner wasn’t much to look at and the food had a reputation similar to the tap water in India, but for the hard-working shlub looking for a slab of meatloaf and a bottle of suds, it was a slice of alright. The pleather booths were nearly always empty as the counter was the prime real-estate and the same folks came in day after day. The orders were nearly always the same and the conversation was usually kept quiet. The place smelled of onions and coffee constantly as patty melts and gallons of the magma-hot black liquid were doled out at a steady pace throughout the day. It wasn’t a dump, but you wouldn’t take a date here unless you wanted to set their expectations of a relationship with you at a subterranean level. Sam was a tall, slender African American man in his late fifties. Bald with a handsome face and determined peepers that could let a guy or gal know who was in charge with only a glance. He had honed that craft through years of owning restaurants, lounges and bars. Sometimes patrons need to understand that while the customer might always be right, it’s the boss that decides who gets to be the customer. He would manage a few places at a time when he was a younger man and he made quite a bit of money doing it. For some reason he sold off his businesses when he was in his early forties, right when he was in the prime of his career. He only kept one; the Castle Lounge, which was now the dirty spoon known as Sam’s. No one knew why he’d cashed in his chips when he had the world fully by the cojones, but there was something about running this place that he loved. Maybe one day Bat and the rest Sam’s faithful would know. Maybe. (If this series gets any traction, I will write another series… is what I am getting at. So, share this with your friends so I can monetize this shit and justify this to my wife.)
”Sorry, kid. It’s just that Sam usually takes my order and knows that mornings are a little rough for old Bat Merrit.”
”I’m sorry too, mister. I should have known better than to ask a customer what they wanted to eat or drink. I really am sorry.”
”It’s ok, kid. Just as long as you understand that now, then everything is gangbusters” Bat replied.
”He’ll have a black coffee and a Danish. Doesn’t matter what kind he just needs to get some sugar in him.” Sam’s words meant business, much like his glances so at once the kid got to work setting up Bat with the order. Sam headed back into the kitchen to oversee the cooks that were lazily frying eggs and whisking pancake batter. The kid placed a cup and saucer from the service counter behind him in front of Bat and poured the blackest, hottest coffee in town into it up to the brim. Sam’s place had a reputation for its coffee. It was as black as night, as thick as road tar and as strong as a toddler’s grip on a bag of cheese puffs. Bat took a deep swig and even though the liquid had just finished boiling, years of smoking, boozing and slurping down this lava had turned his mouth and throat into a sort of catcher’s mitt of a maw. The kid had just put the pot back when he realized that Bat needed a refill. He decided better of asking whether or not he wanted another coffee, as the first time he attempted to be hospitable had led to a stare down and a warning. He grabbed the carafe, brought it back to Bat and poured another.
”Ya know, kid, you might be alright.”
. . .
After Bat finished his breakfast of three cups of the rocket fuel Sam called coffee and a couple bites of a cheese Danish, he threw a sawbuck on the counter and grabbed his hat and coat and walked out. Said goodbye to no one on the way. Sam came out of the kitchen and began to busy himself with some work in the register. Bank-facing notes and adding change to the trays that were getting low from a bag of rolled coins that he pulled up from the shelf below the register. Will had finished taking an order and after pinning the ticket to the service window turned and leaned against the wall for a moment.
”Say, Mr. Holden, what’s with that guy? That Bat character. What’s his story?
Sam closed the register and slowly lowered himself onto the stool he kept next to the coffee station. He sighed lightly and lit a cigarette that he retrieved from a pack in his chest pocket. Sam began to talk.
”First off, just call me Sam. I’ve already asked you not to call me Mr. Holden. Second, that ‘character’ as you call him was one of the best cops this piece of shit city has ever seen. He did more for the people in these streets than any charity or city outreach. He knew what people needed and more importantly he knew the difference between someone just trying to make a buck to feed their families and a real gangster. If you were small time… just some chump, he’d rough you up a little. But you’d walk away. If you were from out of town coming around to make trouble… you’d limp away. But if you were out to do the real dirt? The real awful shit? Well, you’d just go away. If you catch what I mean.”
Sam took a drag and ashed into a paper cup that sat down by his feet. The kid adjusted his lean against the wall and looked quizzically at Sam.
”Sounds like a hero. Yeesh, what has to happen to a guy in order to go from hero to drunken mess?”
At that, a patron who’d had his head hovering only inches above his tapioca for the past ten minutes or so, lifted his head and exclaimed, “he watched his partner get blown away. Is that enough for ya, kid?” Sam looked over at the tapioca town-crier and then back at the kid.
”He did. But it ain’t anyone’s story to tell other than Bat” chirped Sam while at the same time casting one of his customary glances at the man sitting at the counter. The man didn’t flinch, however. Instead, he swiveled around to face the kid and straightened himself up.
”Aw hell, anyone can tell the damn story. It was in the paper when it happened. I ain’t saying nothin’ that people don’t already know and the kid oughtta hear it, so he knows to steer clear of that two-bit moron.”
Sam stared at the man now sitting sideways to him and slowly took a long drag.
”Well… go ahead then. But just know, when you finish that story, you’re finished in here.”
The man chuckled lightly.
”Never having to eat this shit again ain’t much of a threat so here goes, kid. A few years back, Bat watched his partner get blown away and he didn’t do a damn thing after. He froze. Like a frozen thing. See, he and his partner were fresh faces on the force. Bat had already made a name for himself, but it was only a few years into his time on the force and he was still a rookie considering everyone else there was as old as Sam an’ me. His partner, young guy named Dale had only been on the force for a few months, young wife, kid on the way, was thrilled to be partnered up with this city’s answer to Batman. They spent day after day doing the right thing. But Bat is a chance taking man. The closer he comes to the edge the happier he is. His partner wasn’t that way, but he wasn’t gonna let the great Bat Merrit down! So, he went along taking risks he normally wouldn’t just to please that big doughy faced dope. Well, one day they’re chasing these two bad guys…. really bad guys…. up into a building over on Fairfield Avenue. Shooting back and forth the whole way. Bat and Dale pushing people to the ground, yelling for everyone to get down. They chase these two up the stairs of some building and trade shots in the stairwell. Dale, the kid, well he ends up taking the top of one of these guys heads right off. Lucky shot, aiming up the stairwell. BOOM! Scalped ’em. Guy falls forward and his brain comes toppling out and he falls ass over tea kettle over the railing and splats on the lobby floor below. Well, the kid, see he’s never seen anything like that let alone been the reason for it. He gets real queasy and freezes up, staring straight ahead, can’t move a muscle. That’s when old Bat jumps down a flight of stairs to him and says, “c’mon kid, you just gave your first haircut!” They keep chasing the other guy who is still shooting at them. They end up on the roof and it has a lot of ya know, roof stuff all over the place. Utility boxes and vents for the heating and ya know, roof stuff. Bat tells the kid to get over by the end of the roof to the rear where they know the guy ain’t. Kid’s shaking like a leaf and can’t shoot straight. I mean he just saw someone’s brain fall out! Anyway, Bat ends up cornering this guy and they trade a couple more shots. The guy runs out of ammo and old Bat jumps on him. The guy was scared shitless and gave up pretty easy. So, Bat cuffs the guy and they head back over to the door that leads to the stairwell. Meanwhile cops from all over are streaming in and all you can hear are sirens everywhere. Dale’s wife just happened to work near there answering phones for a plumbing company which ain’t there anymore. She hears the sirens and hears a lot of ’em and peaks her pretty little head out the window. Every cop in the city is there so she heads out to see what’s up. Ya know, she want’s to see if Dale’s there or not. So, she waddles her pregnant ass over to the building where the cops are already keeping a stadium’s worth of gawkers back from the area. She almost falls backwards into a freakin’ open manhole because the sewer guys are even out of the tunnels watchin’ this whole thing! Meanwhile up on the roof, Bat calls to Dale who stands up and comes out from behind a roof thingy. Ya know, one of those metal utility boxes. He’s standing by the edge and Bat and the cuffed guy join him to lean over to give a little wave to the crowd ya know? Cops are showmen, I guess. Well, wouldn’t ya know it, as soon as Dale spots his whale of a pregnant wife down there he leans over too far and just then, like it was some sorta bad joke, a gust of wind whips around the buildings, up and up and over the roof and blows him away! He starts flyin’ like a damn goose! People below are screaming their heads off as this poor guy is flailing and hollerin’ like crazy! SPLAT!” The man then slammed his hand on the counter rattling the spoons in the saucers against the cups and making a racket.
Sam put the cigarette in the cup and stood up. “Alright you crusty son of a bitch, you told the damn story now get out!”
”I ain’t finished, Sam! I’m gonna tell the whole damn thing whether you like it or not” yelled the man. He began again. Sam slowly sat down.
”So, Dale has taken a half gainer to the street and the perp looks at Bat, who is frozen solid. He turns to light on out of there and makes it all the way down the damn stairs with his hands cuffed behind his back! He makes it to the bottom floor, bolts out the front door as everyone is crowding around the smooshed rookie right? Except for one person. This red-head with a pretty face but a tank of a pregnant body. She can’t believe what she seen, right? Her husband just literally got blown off a building. I mean what kinda guy gets blown off a building? What kinda shitty bone structure do you have to have to not be able to withstand a small gust of wind? Anyway, the perp can’t believe his luck that no one see’s him getting away so he ain’t looking forward while he’s running. So, he goes plowing into preggo and sends her back down INTO the manhole! She busts her nut, she’s dead, kid’s dead, husband’s dead, bad guy get’s away and there’s old Bat stuck up on that damn roof watching the whole thing. Never moved a muscle. Well, after that the force tried to cover it all up for him, but he wasn’t as sharp anymore. He had no edge. He couldn’t climb a ladder without soiling his pants. It was only a matter of time. They had to let him go. Ever since then, well, it’s been the bottle for Bat. Makes just enough to stay loaded and keep the lights on. Works off of name recognition to get piddling little private eye cases here and there. That, kid, is Bat’s story.”
At that, the man stood up and looked at Sam. “I know, I know, I’m goin’.” “You’d better figure out why you protect that rotten bastard as much as you do, Sam. You’re gonna end up like Dale one day if you keep letting that skunk hang around.” The man ambled toward the font door and noticed that the morning hadn’t brightened at all. Rain was now coming down steadily and people were rushing here and there under umbrellas and with unfolded newspapers over their heads. “Ah great.” The man retrieved his worn-down hat from the peg it had been hanging from and opened the door. He stood under the awning for a minute and jogged down the five concrete steps in front of him and took a left down the rain-soaked street. There, unseen by the man, in the corner with his head down, water pouring off of the brim of his cap onto his coat and a ring of cigarette smoking curling up around his head and dancing in the rain drops, stood Bat.
“She was a blonde, you knucklehead. She was a pretty young blonde.”
Stay Tuned for the next Chapter! Chapter 3 – The 4B Boys and the Roman Funk
The Yankee Privateer 