Closing Time by Fusilli Jim;

Author:Fusilli, Jim;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2018-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

The diner was crowded this time, with people in every booth, and almost every sea-green stool at the counter was filled. They were all looking at Beck, who was screaming at his father.

As I came in, I saw that it wasn’t too far gone: Sid, fumbling to remove his bifocals, had jumped in front of Beck. Rosenzweig was still in his seat. He seemed thoroughly unimpressed.

“Let him go, Sid,” Rosenzweig said.

I bumped into a man who had stepped into the aisle to watch. Behind me, I heard flatware hit the floor.

“You coward! You God-damned coward!” Beck shouted. “You tried to ruin my show and then you attacked her. You bastard!”

I reached Beck, who was pointing at his father over Sid’s shoulder. I grabbed the collar of his black jacket and yanked him back toward me.

“Ha!” Rosenzweig shouted. “Your bodyguard is here.”

I tried to spin Beck around, but the aisle was too narrow. Instead, I grabbed his right wrist and held it tight.

“Cool down, Sol,” I whispered.

He tried to shake free but it was no use. He was small and light.

“Don’t hurt him,” Sid said. The old man’s round face was pale from fear, and he trembled from the sudden exertion.

To assure him, I nodded gently.

As they’d scrambled away from Beck, the people near the far end of the counter had formed a knot near the kitchen. A man in a white t-shirt, white slacks and a long apron, the one with the uneven mustache I’d seen days ago slumped at the cash register, emerged from the crowd with, of all things, a bullwhip. And he held it firmly at his side, as if he was going to crack it.

“Sid,” I shouted. “Get back.”

Sid turned, saw the man with the whip and jumped back into the booth across from Rosenzweig.

With a heavy Greek accent, the man ordered, “Get him the fuck out of here.”

Rosenzweig stood. “It’s all right, Alex.” He put his right hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s just some kid I used to know.”

“I don’t care, Chick,” the man grunted. “Get him out.”

I had my jaw near Beck’s ear. “I’m going to release you now,” I said, “and I’m going to walk you outside.”

Beck snapped his head away from me in anger.

I continued, “Before I let you go I’m going to tell you something: You are wrong. You hear me? Your father has nothing to do with this, Sol. Nothing.”

And I let go of his wrist, and took my hand from his collar.

He turned and looked at me. He was the saddest man in the world.

I stepped aside and let him pass. As we went down the aisle, I put my hand on his back, leading him past people whose looks of fear had turned to confusion and sympathy.

I led him through the last of the crowd and we went outside. Bella was there with Mango. She didn’t seem frightened, but she was bewildered: She’d just peered through the glass doors to see her father drag Sol Beck, the brittle artist, away from a confrontation with a bullwhip.

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