The Cuban Who Paid Dearly by Frank W. Butterfield

Author:Frank W. Butterfield [Butterfield, Frank W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay, detective, Daytona Beach, courtroom, mystery
ISBN: 9781792147968
Google: NIEqwAEACAAJ
Publisher: self-published
Published: 2018-12-22T12:45:54.129000+00:00

Chapter 8

The Electric Kitchen Restaurant

830 Fleming Street

Sunday, October 5, 1947

A quarter past 2 in the afternoon

It was hot outside under the sun that wouldn't stop and in the air that wouldn't move.

And, in the restaurant where he and Tom had stopped in for a bite of lunch, Ronnie thought it wasn't much better. At least there were a few fans blowing the hot air around. That helped. And being out of the sun was a relief.

The waitress ambled up. She was a little plump but mostly looked tired. "Whatcha boys want for lunch?"

They'd already studied the menu that was tacked to the wall. Tom said, "The fried fish sandwich with the coleslaw."

"Now, ours is made with vinegar and a little sugar. Too hot down here for buttermilk or mayo. That OK?"

Tom nodded. "Sure."

She looked at Ronnie. "How about you?"

"I'll take the hamburger sandwich and the coleslaw."

She nodded and then ambled off towards the kitchen.

He and Tom were the only customers except for two couples, obviously from New York based on their speech and their clothes. When he'd spied them up at the front of the joint, Ronnie had steered Tom towards the back. He figured they were part of the same group as Stretch and Shorty.

Taking a long swig from his bottle of Jax, Ronnie asked, "So, what do we do after we talk to Shirley?"

Tom, who had been quiet as they'd walked from the jail up Fleming didn't reply.

"What's wrong, bud?"

Taking a long swig of his own, Tom looked across the table and quietly asked, "What did Claud say to you last night while the two of you were outside?"

Ronnie sat back. That was the last thing he was expecting his guy to say. "He told me you were a good man."

"That's not all he said."

Figuring something must have come up while Tom had been in the jail, Ronnie decided to lay it out and recounted the conversation as well as he could remember it. He finished by saying, "I think Claud was finally free of his dream." He grinned at Tom. "He was dreaming of you, boy. And I can't blame him."

. . .

Tom looked out the window and at the street as he took all that in. He didn't want to admit to Ronnie that he'd felt the same way about Claud. During the war, whenever he could make some private time for himself, he'd thought a lot about Claud. He'd fantasized about the man, in fact. Not as much as he had about Ronnie, of course, but it was there.

Earlier, he'd felt a jolt of attraction when Claud had touched him. It wasn't anything that he would ever act on. The man he loved was sitting across the table. But he certainly had feelings, very real ones, for Claud. He was attracted to the man's carefree attitude, which reminded him of Ronnie, of course. But he was also drawn to something else. It wasn't anything he could name or put his finger on. But, in his mind, he could see the two of them, he and Claud, sitting at work together.

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