Dark Reservations by John Fortunato Page B

little prick better show tomorrow,” Sadi said, anger oozing. “Or I’m gonna slam his ass so fast with charges, he’ll be Bubba’s prison bitch by Halloween.” She clobbered the counter with her fist.
    Stretch gave Joe a sideways look. No one laughed. They knew better. She didn’t see herself as funny, so if anyone laughed at one of her comments, she thought the person was laughing at her, not with her.
    Joe and Stretch talked a little more about the case. Sadi remained silent, resting her jaw on her right hand, fist clenched, her pinkie tapping a beat on her chin to an unknown tune.
    They placed their orders. Mickey returned a short time later with five Combos, and they all dug in. When they were done, each plate sat covered in used napkins.
    Joe leaned back, his belly full and his spirits buoyed. A good meal had that effect on him. Christine was an excellent cook—had been an excellent cook. After a rotten day at work, he’d come home to a set table, his plate piled with whatever feast suited her fancy. Joe, Christine, and Melissa would sit around eating and talking, discussing the day’s events, joking, laughing, enjoying one another’s company and the time spent together. The grime from his job, which had built up throughout the day, would be washed away by the time they cleared the dishes. On the nights that Joe cooked, it was usually something thrown together. Looking back, he wished he had spent more time preparing those meals. He knew now that dinnertime had been important to her. To her, it had been family time. There was so much he would have done differently if he had known.
    Tenny’s loud voice brought Joe back to Mickey’s. “What kept you? We already ate.”
    â€œThe usual,” Dale said. “Crime and politics.”
    â€œWhat’s happening, cappy?” Mickey said. “You keepin’ these miscreants you call a squad in line?”
    â€œTwenty-three years in law enforcement, and I end up a zookeeper.”
    Mickey cleared away the plates. “Should I order you up a Combo?”
    â€œOf course,” Dale said. He grabbed an empty stool and wedged it between Joe and Tenny.
    â€œHey, Mickey,” Stretch yelled. “Joe’s promising to give me a date so we can start planning his retirement party. I’m thinking second week in December. That’s when his daughter comes home.”
    â€œYou tell me when and I’ll have the back room available.”
    Mickey had a reception-size private dining area in the rear that he used for special events and meetings. The room easily accommodated a hundred people. Joe doubted his party would fill more than twenty seats.
    â€œAll I want is something private with the squad,” Joe said.
    â€œToo bad,” Stretch said. “I already have people calling to attend. We’re gonna give you a nice send-off.”
    â€œI say we give him a full-blown roast, dais and all,” Cordelli said. “I’ll write some material.”
    Stretch shook his head. “I heard your material. My gang informant would be embarrassed by it, let alone Joe’s daughter.”
    Tenny came to Cordelli’s aid. “I think a roast would be a blast. We’ll keep it in good taste. What do you say, Joe?”
    â€œI don’t think I’m allowed to have much say in what you guys decide. But keep it small. I’m not into crowds much anymore.”
    Cordelli took the opportunity. “That’s strange. You like happy hour.”
    The group laughed.
    â€œGood one,” Joe said. He was in a better mood now that he had eaten.
    Cordelli stood up and moved to the center of their little group. They all turned in their seats to face him. He held up his beer. “Down a thug, down a mug.” This was the squad’s arrest ritual.
    â€œYou’re a son of a bitch, Cordelli.” Dale said, grinning, a full glass in his hand. Everyone else had half or less. The