Becky
Yesterday evening after 'beer bombing' myself and going home, I was wound up as tight as could be. Getting 'beer bombed' was a good way to get away and not being present with what ever happened or what was going to happen. I hope to hell that this wasn't a mistake. This morning I got my daughter off to school on time and went to Wendy's house to watch over her 3 children. The 5 year old boy is a pretty good kid, but the 2 year old twin girls are pretty needy.
Trading childcare with each other works out for me real well as I get to welcome my daughter home from school. She does her homework right away and I get to check it. I fix her an early dinner then drop her off at Wendy's house and go to work. Afterwards, I'll pick her up after my shift ends. The couple of dollars I make has made a great difference in our lives. Now I wonder if I have just put all of that at risk by ridding me of Officer Hoffman. I know that my sanity and well-being were at greater risk with Officer Hoffman going after me.
I arrive at Monty's for my shift and the parking lot's packed full. There's a single open parking spot in the back by the dumpster. Walking in the service door, I see the kitchen going nuts and every table is fully occupied. There is standing room only at the bar, heck, anywhere in Monty's bar.
My boss smiled when he saw me and yelled in his 'normal' friendly 'fake gruff' voice "Get to work". His warm mischievous voice means the world to me. He smiled as he brought out two pitchers of beer to a table. Running around like mad the whole evening, I concentrated on getting the beer out and taking and serving food orders. There is only one subject in everybody's conversation -- Officer Curtis Hoffman who is now known as 'Skids'.
From all the overheard conversations, it appears that now 'Officer Skids' was found wearing shit marked pink granny panties and nylons, drinking expensive vodka, and playing with himself and his gun in his car last night in our locked parking lot. Officer Skids then drove his new SUV into the ditch and totaled it. The paramedics took him to the hospital and cell phone pictures of him in his pink granny panties have been floating around. Somehow the powerful Hoffman family wasn't able to contain this news. The elections are in less than two months and this cannot be good for them.
I never thought that this evening shift would ever end. There so many 'non-regulars' at Monty's today, but no one was out of line. I've never seen a happier group in the 2 years I've worked here. This included sport championships, anniversaries, birthdays, weddings and baptisms as well as some 'fun Irish like' funerals of some very well like people of Irish, Mexican, Polish and 'Mountain William' descent. These 'Mountain Williams' are the grandchildren of the original hillbillies that moved here during the depression and that is what they call themselves when no one is around. I was adopted into their group as an honorary 'Mountain William' a year after I arrived at Monty's. It was great to belong and I was super pleased. I'm also pleased to be a lass as well as a sliczna kobieta or mujer hermosa (beatiful woman in Polish or Spanish).
The regulars spoke about Officer Skids' last night's drinking and putting him in his car and going home. I realized that no one was speaking about me... or Bill. Today was Wednesday and not one of 'Bill days' to have dinner here and I did not see him. My regulars were looking over and protecting me by reminding anybody impatient that I was only human and they'd have to wait.
By the time we closed up, we all were beat. It was profitable and the tips I made were generous and plentiful, but I did not have time to think. Picking up my daughter, we headed for our apartment and then sleep. I was wondering if Bill hopefully destroyed Curtis. Bill was due in at Monty's tomorrow. I still hope this does not unravel on us.
Bill
The break room for the last two days at work has been mind blowing. It appears that nearly everybody had a 'bad Officer Skids' story. It either happened to them, a family member or a friend. There were different thoughts on how he ended up in the ditch but no one entertained the thought that he was set up. His ego was always large and the consensus was that he finally did himself in. "Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad with power" was said several times. We might be blue collar working class people, but it doesn't mean we are uneducated or not intelligent. Most of us, but not everybody, are definitely not stupid. I've met many a person that graduated from high school that was much better than the college educated boss.
After work, as normal I showered and changed clothing and headed over to Monty's for dinner. The parking lot was almost full. My regular table was occupied, but I was able to sit with Johnny, one of the Thursday regulars. He filled me in on what happened the night before. That's when Becky showed up at my table with her glorious smile. "Ok boys, what'll it be?" She then suggested the new menu item to me again and added her award winning smile. It was a bigger smile than I've ever seen on her. I motioned for the menu and asked for my regular beer. She walked away with a bounce in her step. With the crowd, she was not able to spend any time with me, and I understood. Most of the conversations in the bar were all about Officer 'Skids' and I wondered how long that was going to last. He was admitted to the hospital for observation on Wednesday morning at 1 AM and was discharged this morning. No one reported hearing about him since. The wrecked SUV was in the towing lot. It has become a semi-official pilgrimage site as the road on the hill behind the lot gives a great view of the wreck. That SUV was also parked in a way that it was easily seen. The owner of the lot, one of the Hoffman lackeys, was currently sunning himself in Florida and the place was being run by the peasants.
The evening was getting on and I had to hit the bathroom before I went home. On the way back to my table, I saw that Becky had positioned herself by the hallway. She smiled sweetly and pressed a piece of paper in my hand whispering "Look at it later." I quietly thanked her and got back to my table to finish my beer. The room was starting to empty and my table buddy said his goodbyes and headed on out. Glancing at the note in the palm of my hand, I saw that the paper had a phone number and 'Call me tonight Late is OK' written on it.
It was after 11 PM when I reached for my phone. I knew that it was late for Becky and her daughter should already be in bed, but she did ask me to call. I hope that an 11 year old goes to bed long before 11 PM. I'm sure that it'll be ok for me to call now.
Punching in the number, I made a mental note to delete the call log. If this goes south and an official police investigation starts, I really don't want to bring anyone else down. The things that I remember about Project Managers? Everything in life is a project. I planned out Asshole's 'accident' as a project. And more importantly, a good project manager is a more than bit paranoid that things will not go according to plan. The last bit is Murphy's Law. Murphy has been a close companion of mine from time-to-time. Ignore him at your peril.
I hear the first ring and a breathless Becky answers 'Hello?" I clear my throat and say "Becky, this is Bill. What can I do for you?" All I hear is a gentle laughter and "You've really so done much for me already. I was wondering if I could invite you to dinner at my house this weekend?"
I'm kind of taken back. I've just been invited to dinner. "I... I... I... errrrr..."
"Bill, I'll take that as a yes for Sunday at 5. Here is my address. Got a pen and paper ready?" I copied the address down and barely got into asking what I could bring. We ( I mean she ) agreed to a bottle of dry red wine and a light desert.
"We have a lot to talk about but it is late for me, and probably you too Bill. See you on Sunday." I have a feeling that I started something, and I'm no longer in charge of it anymore.
Becky
This has been the slowest and fastest couple of days since I came to this town. Work has not gone back to normal. It's been running non-stop. For some reason, our bar quickly became the unofficial meeting place 'to bitch about the Hoffman family' - and the next election. It seems that everybody had a story of how that family had abused their power.
Sometimes it was something as 'small' as the Hoffman's getting their streets and the streets of their cronies repaved every couple of years while other streets only getting their patches repatched, and then repatched again and again. Driving on those repatched streets was better than a massage because your whole body vibrated. The joke was that it would loosen your fillings too.
Then the Hoffman family abuse expands to property tax assessments for them and their cronies as well as the odd facts of their 'friends' being awarded no-bid contracts or contracts directly geared to the cronies' specific abilities and experience. The pent-up anger over 'Skids' Hoffman ruling people like a petty dictator was just a spark. I can see that things are on course for big changes.
Every night since that Tuesday, this place is packed and the conversations go on till closing. Some of those groups have even approached the owners to close the bar for a 'private party'. That act of defiance was more than the owners were willing to go, but opening the back hall to this group was OK. We've been doing a week's of business every day and a half.
The part of life that was going slow was waiting for dinner with Bill. From Thursday night, Sunday afternoon was supposed to be soon, but that time just dragged.
I know that Bill likes me. I see the smile on his face when I speak with him. He's been looking out for me since right after I started here. Removing Officer 'Skids' Hoffman took planning, skill and courage. He never promised me anything but asked for my trust. He's never asked me for anything else. The regulars all spoke about Bill being a very decent man, a very decent human and....? What will he be to me?
Now he is due here in 15 minutes. I know that he likes grilled juicy burgers, so the small steaks should be a step up. He likes slaw, potatoes, fresh vegetables, olive oil with a grated sharp cheese, crusty French bread and lots of anything fried. He also likes more craft-like beers. I've seen him with a Miller or an Old Style a couple of times when we ran out of his favorite. I remember a conversation with him on a slow night where we talked about how to 'properly' prepare crusty French bread, olive oil and grated sharp cheese. How we spoke about it intensely for over 20 minutes I'll never really know. There was a loud play-off game on the bar's TV screens that night and he only glanced at the TVs when the crowd went wild. He paid attention to me, to us, that day.
I got a couple of craft beers for before or after dinner. Natalie is spending the evening with her friends from school. The girls will be talking with some of their Girl Scout and Boy Scout leaders on joining. There are a couple of girls that are part of both. The leaders of both groups have daughters and it looks like a good group. I just need to pick her up around 8 pm. My 'garage sale hibachi made in the early 70's' functions because I repaired it with multiple layers of extra-thick commercial aluminum foil' obtained from the bar, WITH PERMISSION. The coals are just about right and it's time I put the steaks on.