The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10) by Butterfield Frank W

Author:Butterfield, Frank W. [Butterfield, Frank W.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2017-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Mildred's Diner

At the corner of Ellis and Van Ness

Tuesday, January 18, 1955

A quarter before noon

"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" That was Mildred's usual call whenever we walked into her diner. She was a thin woman with a big voice and hair that always changed colors. We hadn't seen her in a couple of months.

As we moved back to our usual table by the kitchen with Sam in tow, Mildred called out, "Be right with y'all."

Carter waved in reply as we sat down. Sam looked around. "So this is the famous Mildred's?"

I smiled. "Yep. It ain't fancy, but it's good."

Carter punched Sam in the arm. "It's rib-stickin' food."

For the first time since I'd known him, Sam frowned as if he didn't understand something. I chuckled as a look of curiosity crossed his face. His American accent faded as he asked, "Why do I want food to stick to my ribs?"

Carter poked Sam in the side and laughed. "Cause you need fattenin' up, son."

"Sometimes I hear these things and wonder if you just make them up to confuse me."

I shook my head. "It's the real deal. You must think the same thing about that beatnik talk that Ike is throwing around these days."

Sam smiled. "I dig his hep-cat ways, Daddy-o." He sounded just like Ike had. Carter and I both burst out laughing.

Mildred walked up right then with a pot of coffee in one hand. "What's so funny?"

"Sam was just giving us a lesson in North Beach beatnik talk."

She began to pour coffee for Carter and then me. "For the life of me, I can't understand a thing those kids say. Course, most of 'em don't make their way over here. Van Ness is too square for 'em." She grinned as she said that. Looking at Sam, she asked, "You want somethin' besides coffee, hon?"

"No, I'll have coffee, please."

I asked, "Have you never been to a diner before?" I reached across and turned his coffee cup over. "You gotta let your waitress know if you want coffee. That's the signal, see?"

"Learn somethin' new every day." Now Sam sounded just like Mildred.

We all laughed as she poured him a cup. "You an actor or somethin' like that, hon?"

"No, ma'am. I'm a real-life private dick."

Mildred didn't laugh that time. "Keep talkin' like that around me and you're liable to get a pot of coffee in your lap."

Sam sat up and said in his normal American voice. "Sorry about that. It's a bad habit of mine."

Ignoring him, she asked Carter, "Y'all ready to order?"

. . .

After we put in our orders, Mildred walked over to the kitchen and called them out to George, her cook. She made her way to the front of the diner and began to pass coffee around to the other diners.

Sam took a sip of his and said, "Sorry about that."

"People from the South don't like it when anyone else tries to mimic our accent," said Carter with a slight edge to his voice. "Sounds like you're making fun of us.

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