Collected Stories and Poems by Joseph Payne Brennan

Author:Joseph Payne Brennan
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

The Business About Fred

(1975)

At the time I was a cub reporter on the local Star Daily, a morning paper. Unless something “big” was still breaking, I’d usually leave the editorial rooms shortly before midnight. I drifted into a regular routine; six nights out of seven I’d stop in at Casserman’s Cafe and drink beer until the place closed at one. A few other newspapermen would stop in; we’d talk and unbend for an hour before going home to bed.

Casserman’s was a quiet place. I suppose it was like a thousand other bars. I can’t remember a single outstanding or remarkable thing about it unless it might be the autographed, framed photograph of Jack Dempsey prominently displayed over the cash register. But on second thought I guess at least several hundred other bars had framed autographed photographs of Jack Dempsey.

Casserman was friendly but not ebullient. If you felt like talking, he’d lend a listening ear. If you didn’t want to talk, he’d respect your silence. He kept the place reasonably clean and he wouldn’t tolerate real rowdiness. It was just a pleasantly drab little refuge to relax in about midnight.

Around this time of night, one of the fixtures of the place was a runty-looking guy whom Casserman addressed as Fred. He resembled a disbarred jockey or a down-at-heels tout, pale-faced, shifty-eyed and always taciturn. He’d just sit hunched up over a beer and never say a word, but his eyes couldn’t stay put.

After awhile we paid no more attention to him than we did to the photograph of Jack Dempsey. His eyes would flick around the place and sometimes sort of accidentally meet your own, but there was never any challenge in them. They seemed vacant, incurious, oddly cold, and they slid away without revealing anything. The pale, wedge-shaped face never showed any expression.

Casserman told us once that he thought his silent customer had something to do with horse racing and “different sports events”, but he was vague about it and none of us were interested enough to make any further inquiries.

The months and finally several years passed. I got a city-room promotion and a raise in pay. Several of my reporter friends left and several others took their places. And almost every night, about twelve, I went to Casserman’s and drank beer. And every night when I went there, Fred, the runty little guy with the pale wedge of a face, sat at the end of the bar and silently sipped his beer. His eyes roved around as always, restless but empty looking. Sometimes I’d give him a short nod when I first went in but I never could figure out whether or not he gave a half nod in reply. If he did, it was scarcely perceptible. I never saw him talking to anyone except Casserman and even then only a few perfunctory words were exchanged.

As time went on, the funny little runt seemed to get whiter and smaller and more silent—if that was possible. He seemed to be shrinking.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.