A steady drizzle was falling, giving the darkened streets a sugar glaze that hid the bitterness of the city night. As I walked into the coffee shop the polished chrome on the counter gleamed a promise of hot coffee and maybe something else to help fill the emptiness inside me. A flash of green caught the corner of my eye. Sitting in the last booth next to the aging Wurlitzer was, perhaps, the best looking woman these eyes had ever seen, and these eyes have seen everything and not liked most of it. Dark red hair, the color of Irish heartbreak, fell to her shoulders. A cup of coffee, half gone, sat in front of the lady, completely gone. The flash of green was a crisp hundred dollar bill that she was spinning on the formica tabletop. I ordered a coffee and told the guy behind the counter, an old friend I'd never met, to give the lady a refill, on me. He grunted. He'd played this scene a thousand times before. Deja vu on a damp night. I moseyed over, letting the brim of my imported fedora lead the way. "Hi, Doll. My name's Henway. I'm a Dick. Head of the best P.I. outfit in town". She looked up at me with two green eyes that flashed more than the "C" note and gave me a look that said both, "Hold my hand" and "Go hold your own". I sat down and waited until our cups were filled with the hot inky liquid and my old pal went back to his station by the cake dish. "Tell me about it", I said. "Maybe I can help". Those two emerald colored eyes looked over at me and her two too red lips parted. "Phffffaaaafht", was all she said. I used a napkin to clean my glasses. "I think I understand", I said, nodding my head the way I do sometimes. "Your guy's been two-timing you and tonight he got a little too rough when you called him on it. You ran out of the house in tears and now you're here at three in the A.M., afraid to go home. All dressed up and no place to go, right? And the hundred? You keep that pinned to your slip for emergencies. It's enough to get you bus fare back home, right? Your name is Lily, you're a Taurus and you think men in pointy shoes are a turn-off, right? You had fried clams and a valium for dinner and you think Barry Manilow sucks like a Hoover. Right, Dollface?" They don't make paper napkins like they used to. It was obvious that the lady had a problem staring her in the face. I leaned closer across the table. Her two too green eyes sparkled like the hood of a brand new Buick. "I guess I hit too close to home, eh, kid? Well, maybe you just need to be left alone to work it out". I tossed a quarter onto the table and it rolled a lazy figure eight around two crumpled napkins and came to rest in the small pile of sugar next to her spoon. "Here, call a cab and go home", I said. "It's late. A swell looking dame like you shouldn't be out alone this time of night. Nothing but freaks, geeks and unemployed telemarketers out on the streets now." I started to get up, my thoughts already focusing on the last piece of German Chocolate cake that I had seen sitting under the plastic dome on the counter. "Hey, Mister", she said, in a voice like white silk. "Hey, Mister". I stopped and turned. "Yeah, Dollface?" "Phffffaaaafht!" Some people just ain't got no class. |
The Henway Chronicles - Part Two |
