want anything?"
"Nah, kid," Tommy says,
still looking down at his cheesecake. "I got everything a man could
need."
I get up from the table and walk
down the aisle past Jack Pirone, who's sweating profusely, gesturing wildly,
and telling a stupid joke.
"Hey, Judas," Jack says
as I try to squeeze by him.
"Jack," I say, "I'm
not Judas, and you sure as hell ain't Jesus. You're too fuckin' fat. You'd
break the cross. So get off my back."
The other P.O.s laugh as I keep
going toward the counter. I turn to see Jack bowing and smiling as though acknowledging
my point. I lean over the counter and order a Budweiser and a slice of regular
cheesecake.
"Hey you," says a
familiar voice.
I turn and see Ms. Lang looking at
me, with a glass of vodka in her hand. A couple of buttons on her blazer are
undone and her hair is out of its bun. Her eyes seem a little glassy and she's
even smiling a little. She's not quite drunk, just a bit more relaxed than
usual. Lloyd Bell, looking trim and handsome in a dashiki and jeans, is sitting
on a stool between her and me.
"So what're you doing
here?" Ms. Lang asks me.
"Just saying good-bye to
Tommy."
"Oh." She gets quiet and
puts a finger to her lips. From the back of the place Jack Pirone's voice is
saying much too loudly, "So the tribal chief says, 'We will grant your
request and put you to death, but first, a little Boom-ba.'"
"Keep it down, Pirone!"
Ms. Lang suddenly shouts. "Show a little respect for Tommy."
There's an abrupt silence. She
looks more surprised than anybody by her outburst. In two years I've never seen
her lose her cool this way. I've never liked her as much.
"I think I'll be going to the
ladies' room now," she says softly, turning around on her stool and
getting off.
"All right," says Lloyd.
"Sure you don't want to join
me?" she asks, running her fingers along Lloyd's taut, muscular arm.
"My wife would prefer that I
don't," Lloyd says gently.
"Suit yourself."
She smiles crookedly and goes
teetering off toward the bathroom. Lloyd looks after her, shakes his head, and
sighs. Then he takes a long sip of water.
"She's a good woman," I
say.
"She's special."
"Yeah."
"I'd be interested,"
Lloyd says, twisting the watchband on his wrist. "Except I'm married, you
know."
"Yeah."
"And she's a little old for
me."
I stop and give Lloyd a good look.
He doesn't seem that much younger to me. He already has wrinkles around his
eyes and his neck. The guy behind the counter sets my beer, dessert, and check
down in front of me.
I ignore the food for a moment to
watch Tommy, Jack, and the rest of the scene around the restaurant. There's
something a little strange and a little sad about a lot of the people from
probation, I decide. So many of them started off wanting to do something else
with their lives and then got waylaid. I remember how Jack once told me he'd
wanted to be a chef years ago. I see Cathy Brody standing near Jack with a
drink in her hand and her arm wrapped around her waist. She wanted to be a
psychiatrist. And Lloyd Bell, sitting next to me, wanted to be an actor. For a
moment I'm glad I didn't set out to do anything else. There are already too
many disappointed people running around.
"So did you see my homeboy
Darryl King today?" Lloyd asks me.
"Yeah, I think he's a
psychopath. You want him on your caseload? I'll trade you him for two chain
snatchers and a token sucker to be named later."
"Not necessary." Lloyd
leans back with his elbows on the counter. "I already got his friend Bobby
'House' Kirk as my client. Remember? Anyway, I just heard something I wanted to
pass on to you."
"What's that?"
"Well, you can't believe
everything you hear on the street, but the word is Bobby had something to do
with setting a fire at a crack house the other night."
"Oh yeah?" I fumble with
my wallet.
"It had to do with a fellow
named Pops Osborn," Lloyd says calmly, turning around and tapping the
counter with his long fingers. "You don't know if Darryl had anything to
do
"Nah, kid," Tommy says,
still looking down at his cheesecake. "I got everything a man could
need."
I get up from the table and walk
down the aisle past Jack Pirone, who's sweating profusely, gesturing wildly,
and telling a stupid joke.
"Hey, Judas," Jack says
as I try to squeeze by him.
"Jack," I say, "I'm
not Judas, and you sure as hell ain't Jesus. You're too fuckin' fat. You'd
break the cross. So get off my back."
The other P.O.s laugh as I keep
going toward the counter. I turn to see Jack bowing and smiling as though acknowledging
my point. I lean over the counter and order a Budweiser and a slice of regular
cheesecake.
"Hey you," says a
familiar voice.
I turn and see Ms. Lang looking at
me, with a glass of vodka in her hand. A couple of buttons on her blazer are
undone and her hair is out of its bun. Her eyes seem a little glassy and she's
even smiling a little. She's not quite drunk, just a bit more relaxed than
usual. Lloyd Bell, looking trim and handsome in a dashiki and jeans, is sitting
on a stool between her and me.
"So what're you doing
here?" Ms. Lang asks me.
"Just saying good-bye to
Tommy."
"Oh." She gets quiet and
puts a finger to her lips. From the back of the place Jack Pirone's voice is
saying much too loudly, "So the tribal chief says, 'We will grant your
request and put you to death, but first, a little Boom-ba.'"
"Keep it down, Pirone!"
Ms. Lang suddenly shouts. "Show a little respect for Tommy."
There's an abrupt silence. She
looks more surprised than anybody by her outburst. In two years I've never seen
her lose her cool this way. I've never liked her as much.
"I think I'll be going to the
ladies' room now," she says softly, turning around on her stool and
getting off.
"All right," says Lloyd.
"Sure you don't want to join
me?" she asks, running her fingers along Lloyd's taut, muscular arm.
"My wife would prefer that I
don't," Lloyd says gently.
"Suit yourself."
She smiles crookedly and goes
teetering off toward the bathroom. Lloyd looks after her, shakes his head, and
sighs. Then he takes a long sip of water.
"She's a good woman," I
say.
"She's special."
"Yeah."
"I'd be interested,"
Lloyd says, twisting the watchband on his wrist. "Except I'm married, you
know."
"Yeah."
"And she's a little old for
me."
I stop and give Lloyd a good look.
He doesn't seem that much younger to me. He already has wrinkles around his
eyes and his neck. The guy behind the counter sets my beer, dessert, and check
down in front of me.
I ignore the food for a moment to
watch Tommy, Jack, and the rest of the scene around the restaurant. There's
something a little strange and a little sad about a lot of the people from
probation, I decide. So many of them started off wanting to do something else
with their lives and then got waylaid. I remember how Jack once told me he'd
wanted to be a chef years ago. I see Cathy Brody standing near Jack with a
drink in her hand and her arm wrapped around her waist. She wanted to be a
psychiatrist. And Lloyd Bell, sitting next to me, wanted to be an actor. For a
moment I'm glad I didn't set out to do anything else. There are already too
many disappointed people running around.
"So did you see my homeboy
Darryl King today?" Lloyd asks me.
"Yeah, I think he's a
psychopath. You want him on your caseload? I'll trade you him for two chain
snatchers and a token sucker to be named later."
"Not necessary." Lloyd
leans back with his elbows on the counter. "I already got his friend Bobby
'House' Kirk as my client. Remember? Anyway, I just heard something I wanted to
pass on to you."
"What's that?"
"Well, you can't believe
everything you hear on the street, but the word is Bobby had something to do
with setting a fire at a crack house the other night."
"Oh yeah?" I fumble with
my wallet.
"It had to do with a fellow
named Pops Osborn," Lloyd says calmly, turning around and tapping the
counter with his long fingers. "You don't know if Darryl had anything to
do
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