Mike Faricy: Russian Roulette

“I don’t believe it,” I said once we were reseated and he’d danced off, attending to a table that had been attempting to get his attention for the past few minutes.

“What? I would have lost my mind with that door.”

“No, I mean the chairs pulled out for you. The waiter fawning all over.”

“Is it not what they are supposed to do?”

“Yeah I get that, but here? At Malone’s?”

“At anywhere, Dev, there’s nothing wrong with a little manners once in a while. Oh here, a picture of Nikki,” she said handing a folded manila envelope across the table to me. “I placed a house key in there along with her telephone bill and a credit-card bill. That man, Brad the Cad, his phone number is in there, too.”

I unfolded the envelope, reached in, and began to pull out what felt like a photo.

“It may be wise to wait,” she said nonchalantly.

I glanced down at the photo and focused on two naked women standing on a beach. One of the woman was Asian, I attempted to focus on the other. I registered red hair, boobs, and tan lines before I shoved the photo back into the envelope.

“Thanks for the warning I’ll study it later.”

“Ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience.” Our hovering waiter placed a glass of wine in front of Kerri. “Compliments of the house,” he smiled.

“Oh, that is so sweet. Is that not sweet, Dev?” again with the hand to his forearm, only this time rubbing up and down.

“Really sweet, Kerri. Could we see some menus, please?”

“A very nice wine, perhaps you should try a glass. Did you have to send him off like that? He was only being nice.”

“He can be nice to someone else’s client.”

“Jealous?” she asked looking evil for just half a second.

“I thought we weren’t going to have anything to drink until after we discussed business?”

“Yes, that was your idea, no? But I think everything you need, at least to start, is already in the envelope,” She took another sip and set the glass aside.

“What’s with the naked photo?” I asked.

“The envelope has her address. A key to her front door. It is a duplex, she has the top one. Her name is on the mailbox. Her last name is Mathias.”

“Kerri. The photo?”

“Ma’am.” The waiter suddenly hovered from out of nowhere, carefully presented Kerri with her menu, then quickly discarded another in my general direction.

“I can get you something not on the menu tonight. We have a wonderful steak, stuffed with smoked oysters and served with a special red wine sauce. Comes with whatever else you’d like.”

Kerri giggled, shrugged her shoulders, smiled sexily and said, “I’m sorry, the smoked oysters, they give me the shits. I think maybe the cheeseburger, with the pepper jack cheese, please. Does that come with French fries?”

“If you want it to.”

“I do.”

“Very well, ma’am,” not even blinking.

“I might try that steak, what was it again?”

“Actually I think there was only one left. I can check and see if someone hasn’t already taken it,” implying it was no longer available.

I stared for a long moment.

“Give me the rib-eye, rare, hash brown potatoes, French dressing with blue cheese on my salad. I’ll take a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. A double.” Then gave him a nod that suggested Got it?

“Very good, sir. More wine, ma’am?”

“That sounds very good, thank you.”

I watched him saunter away, took a deep breath to put him behind me. I didn’t mind him hovering, for a bit, but he was close to becoming a pest, and I was the schmuck who was going to get stuck with the bill in the end.

“Are we not happy after last night?” Kerri’s eyes flashed over her wine glass.

“No, I mean yes, yes, I’m happy. And by the way, thanks, that was very nice,” wishing I could remember more of what had happened as I thanked her.

“Nice had nothing to do with it,” her eyes flashed.

Over the course of dinner and more wine, Kerri effectively dodged my question of the naked photo at least half a dozen times. Nikki didn’t seem to have had any full-time employment. A couple of vague cleaning jobs, some house-painting gigs. She’d been a waitress, a bartender, done childcare.

“Did she file taxes?” I asked.

“Taxes?”

That spoke volumes, about both women actually. As enjoyable to look and leer at, as Kerri was, I felt there was something, or maybe, just something missing.

Eventually we finished up the small talk. Even optimistic old me caught on that nothing was going to happen tonight beyond dinner. The bill dutifully washed up on my shore, five glasses of wine for Kerri at twelve bucks each.

“You like the wine?”

“It was just okay.”

“Okay?” I tried to maintain my composure at sixty bucks worth of okay. My steak was a bare two dollars more than one of her glasses of wine.

“Well, he was so sweet and I didn’t wish to hurt his feelings,” she said, then drained her glass. The waiter was nowhere to be seen so I signed the tab and pulled Kerri’s chair out all by myself.

“Thank you, Dev. Shall we talk again, maybe in two days time? You should find her by then, no?” She was walking toward the door at this point, half talking to me over her shoulder.

A waiter nodded, then smiled at her from across the room, called out what sounded like genuine thanks. The bartender waved good night to her like Oliver Hardy, a large paw up at shoulder height, fingers wiggling next to his idiotic grin. Other heads turned to appraise her from the rear then nodded approval as she strutted past, heels clicking.

“I’ll see what I can learn. Who knows, maybe she just went to Disney World or something.”

“Do you think, maybe?” she asked, sounding serious, as if she might actually be entertaining the suggestion.

“Well, maybe, but I doubt it. Let’s see what I can come up with.”

Once outside I asked,

“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”

A little dark blue sports car, a BMW actually, suddenly pulled to the curb. I had no idea what model it was, other than out of my price range.

“Oh, no need, here is my car,” she nodded at the BMW and walked around the front to the far side just as the driver’s door opened and the hovering waiter jumped out. The car came up to just above his knees.

“All set to go for you, ma’am. I left my card on the console,” he added half under his breath, glanced at me, then said. “In case you need anything or forgot something, ya know.”

“Oh, you are so kind,” she smiled and continued to stand just a little too close. He had to brush against her, heavily, to get out of the way so she could crawl behind the wheel.

“I’ll call you later, Kerri,” I said to her tail lights as she drove off, signaled, and took a quick left around the corner. I repeated her license plate number over and over in my head until I reached my car and wrote it down on the back of a dry-cleaning receipt. I toyed with going down to the Spot, thought better of it, and went home. The last vestige of Kerri’s lingering perfume hit me as I opened the front door.

The duplex where Nikki lived was located on the East Side in a corner of town dominated by the stark, imposing edifice of St. Simpert’s Catholic Church. Simpert was an eighth-century Benedictine abbot, nephew of Charlemagne and patron saint of Augsburg, Germany. I’m sure he was unaware of the embarrassment his name would bring to generations of American grade-school kids playing on his teams.

A solid blue-collar neighborhood up through Lyndon Johnson’s presidency the East Side had been in a gradual downward spiral for the past fifty plus years. Drafty old, two, and three-story wood-frame homes had been cut up and sectioned into rental units on block after block. A number of the old neighborhood bars still catered to the locals, but the locals had changed and now the bars sported metal detectors, hip hop, and bouncers. In the ecumenical spirit of the times women of all races hustled themselves on street corners. Child thugs in hooded sweatshirts offered a pharmacy of escape options. The police cars traveled in pairs.