Chapter 9 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - You Ain't Fat Marty Muldoon

 Chapter 9 – You Ain’t Fat Marty Muldoon

The door to Larue’s Diner opened again and the tinkle of the bell announced the presence of Frank Calabrese. He quietly strolled past the two tables and then looked at the counter. Fortunately, the place was empty. The supper crowd probably would show up until five o’clock at the earliest. I was never so glad in my life that Dad wasn’t in the back room. He had gone home to lie down for a few hours after his shift.

Danny appeared at the kitchen window. He pounded the bat on the floor to get Frank’s attention and then, in one fluid rotation, moved it to rest on his shoulder.

“So, you’re in charge of this place?” Frank said in an unhurried manner.

“Danny took the toothpick out of his mouth. “I’m the fry cook, but yeah. I’m in charge right now.”

“You have a sweet little place here. Back in the day, there used to be live music in here and a room with a bar in back where a guy could get a drink or two.” Calabrese adjusted his fedora, moving it back. Lifting it so that you could see the ripples of scars covering his forehead.

Frank blinked. It was a deeply disturbing sight. The rate of blinking was uneven. The lid on Frank’s dead eye moved more slowly. Even more disturbing, the misshapen right eye, which no longer was useful for sight, still tracked objects that the left eye could see. Both of Frank’s eyes moved together seemingly to take Danny’s measure.

If Danny was intimidated, he didn’t betray it. Watching the two of them, I felt a bit detached from reality. Like I was watching a scene on a movie screen.  

“Times change mister. Now, if you want music, it will cost you a quarter.” Danny pointed with his left hand at a jukebox in the far corner.

Frank smiled. He was a predator. The smile should have seemed predatory, but it wasn’t. His teeth had yellowed from years of smoking. I noticed he was missing one tooth on the left upper side. But the old man’s smile felt genuine, even warm. “Two important items right now, just so we understand each other.” He cleared his throat. “Number one. Please, put the bat down.” He pulled back his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster with a six shot .38 pistol resting close to his left side.

“I’ll consider it.” Danny slapped the business end of the bat in his left palm.

“You would be wise to do just that.” Frank said good-naturedly. “What is your name fry-cook?”

“Danny.” He placed the bat on the counter but never took his hands off it.

“Nice piece of wood.” Frank admired the bat.

“Regulation size. Twenty-six ounces.” Danny replied.

“Do you know how much a .38 slug weighs Danny?

“No, but I’m thinking you do.”

“A little bit over one ounce. There’s a life lesson for you.” Frank put his enormous hand in his pocket and pulled out a .38 shell. He approached the counter and placed it next to the bat.

“What’s would that be?” Danny voice never wavered.

“It’s the small things that can kill you.” Frank said.

“You said that there were two things we needed to understand. What’s thing number two?”

“Number two is that I’m looking for a guy named Fat Marty Muldoon. You ain’t Fat Marty Muldoon. Hell, you ain’t even fat.” Frank chuckled.

Danny let out a short laugh, a short bark and then channeling the tension of the moment threw back his head and let loose a barrage of his famous Danny DeWitt lunatic laughter. It echoed through the entire diner.

I saw Norbert peep around the corner at Frank and Danny. I started to rush the kid, with an intent on disarming him, but he was too fast for me. He ran straight at Danny waving the small handgun as if it were birthday party favor. Norbert skidded to a stop when he saw Frank up close.

Frank looked down at Norbert. “You’re ain’t Fat Marty either.” Frank’s gaze bore into Norbert. “Drop the gat kid.”

Frank looked back at Danny “There’s always some young punk trying to make a name for himself.”

Danny nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Norbert screamed in terror and dropped the .25 automatic. Frank looked across the restaurant into the next room. “Come on Mikey. I got your hardware.”

Frank picked up the gun and dropped it in his jacket pocket. Mikey reluctantly walked towards his great uncle Frank.

“That kid musta’ found the weapon I stashed in the restroom. Probably was going to try to hold up this diner with it. I’m usually not this sloppy.” Frank squared his hat so that the brim covered his scars. “You know Mikey, some days I think I’m getting a little too old for this work.”

Mikey remained silent for a moment. “Maybe you just need to eat something and then take a nap.”

Frank looked around at the diner. “Not here. Someplace where they have live music and I can get a steak. Take me into the heart of the beast. Let’s roll over to C-town.”

Then they both walked out of the diner. I heard the car doors slam and the engine start.

Danny walked over to me as Lisa tried to comfort Norbert. “How did you say you knew that Mikey guy?” Danny asked casually. He was as cool as a cucumber. It seemed like his heart never even stepped up during the entire encounter with Frank.

Clara finally managed to drag Fenton out from underneath a table and then came over to stand next to us. Danny looked over at her and held out the .38 shell Frank had placed on the counter. “Souvenir?” he asked teasingly.

“Damn Skippy!” she said with glee as she snatched it out of his hand.

“Mikey is in our Men’s Anxiety Treatment Group on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.” Fenton blurted out before I could reply.

Danny grinned. “I’m thinking that’s a good thing, at this point. At least someone is going to make money off this deal!”