Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

“No. I don’t have any… powers, or anything,” Dett said. “Not like that. I mean… I could just tell.”

“You don’t even know my name,” the girl said, smiling. “We used to have these nameplates,” she said, red-tipped fingers lightly fluttering over her left breast, “but the pins tore up the uniforms something terrible.”

“My name’s Walker,” Dett said, holding out his hand.

The girl hesitated a second, then reached over and shook his hand, formally. “You have nice manners, Mr. Walker,” she said.

“Way I was raised.”

“Then you weren’t raised around here,” she said, flashing her smile again.

“No…”

“What?”

“I was… stuck, I guess. I was going to say, ‘No, ma’am,’ but I couldn’t call… I mean, you’re way too young to be called ‘ma’am,’ but you’re too old… I mean too grown for me to be calling you ‘miss,’ so I was just…”

“My name’s Tussy,” she said, flashing her smile.

“Tussy?”

“Well, that’s not my real name, but people have been calling me that since I was a little girl.”

Dett stared at her until he realized his mouth was slightly open. He tightened his lips, said, “Where did you get a name like that?”

“When I was little, I was a tomboy. My mother didn’t know what to do with me. One day, she was telling my dad he’d have to spank me himself because hers weren’t doing any good. But he just said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with our Carol. She just likes a good tussle, that’s all.’ From then on, that was my name, Tussy. Even my teachers at school said it. Tussy Chambers, that’s me.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“Well, I like it. But I never heard anyone call it ‘beautiful’ before.”

They must have called you beautiful, Dett thought, then smothered his thoughts as firmly as he had tightened his lips. “It’s… unusual,” he finally said. “Different.”

“Pick up!” came a good-natured bellow from the kitchen.

“Milk or cream?” she said, ignoring the noise.

“Black’s fine.”

“Be right back,” the blonde said, over her shoulder.

1959 September 30 Wednesday 22:19

Dett stared at the slice of lemon pie, examining it minutely, as if it could explain what was disconcerting him.

The counter girl came into his field of vision and his thoughts at the same time. “You did say black, right?” she asked.

“Thank you, yes,” said Dett. He drank coffee only occasionally, preferring Coke with every meal except for juice at breakfast. When he did take coffee, he always laced it heavily with sugar. He was about to explain… something, when he felt the air behind him compress.

“You got the rent?” a voice said. A man’s voice, young and trying too hard.

“Just a minute,” Tussy said. “I’m serving a customer.”

“Yeah? I could use a cup of coffee myself.”

“Then have a seat. I’ll get to you.”

Out of the corner of his left eye, Dett saw a man in his mid-twenties take a stool near the register. He was wearing a one-button gray sharkskin suit, cut too tight to conceal a weapon. Dett’s eyes went to the man’s camel’s-hair overcoat, which he had carefully folded on the stool next to him. Right-handed, Dett thought.

“Here you go,” Tussy said, expertly sliding a cup of coffee onto the countertop in front of Dett.

“Thanks. I-”

She was already in motion, moving toward the man in the sharkskin suit. He said something to her Dett couldn’t make out. Whatever it was didn’t earn him a response, much less one of her smiles. She punched two keys on the register simultaneously, took out a couple of bills, and handed them over. The man in the sharkskin suit pocketed the cash.

“You’re not going to try my pie?” she said, as she walked back toward Dett.

“I was just… looking at it,” he told her.

“What good is looking at a piece of pie?” she said, smiling to show she wasn’t being critical.

“It’s part of… I don’t know, exactly. You’ve picked flowers, haven’t you?”

“Well, sure I have.”

“But first you looked them over, right?”

“That was to make up my mind,” she said. “There’s lots of flowers, but there’s only that one piece of pie.”

“I-”

“Oh!” she said, blushing. “I’m so dumb. You’re making up your mind, aren’t you? Deciding if it looks good enough to-”

“No!” Dett said, more sharply than he had intended. He mentally bit down on his tongue. “I’m not good at explaining things, sometimes. I was trying to say… I was trying to say that it looks so good, I wanted to have that, too. Not just the taste. The whole… thing.”

“I think I-”

“Hey!” the man in the sharkskin suit called. “What about that coffee, doll? I got other places I need to be tonight.”

Tussy turned and walked toward the man. But she strolled right past him and into the kitchen. As Dett saw the man’s face darken, he felt his heartbeat accelerate. It’s not supposed to do that, he thought. Not when I’m-

The waitress came back through the swinging doors hip-first. As she passed the man in the sharkskin suit, she quickly placed a cup and saucer on the counter and kept moving, until she was standing in front of Dett again.

“You’re never going to eat that,” she mock-pouted.

“I… can’t.”

“Well, why in the world not?”

“Because you can’t talk to a lady with your mouth full.”

The waitress stepped back, as if the changed perspective would give her greater insight into the man before her.

“You’re some piece of work, Mr. Walker. One minute, you’re all tongue-tied; the next, you’ve got a line as slick as that boy’s hair oil,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the man in the sharkskin suit.

“It’s not Mister Walker,” Dett said. “Walker is my first name. My name is Walker Dett.”

“Uh-huh…” she said, but her lips were beginning to turn into a smile.

“If I start eating, you’re going to go away?”

“Well, I have to-”

“Oh, I know, you must have a lot to do, being the manager here and all.”

“Manager? Me? Managers don’t wear uniforms like this.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought, with you paying the landlord, this must either be your place or you’re running it for someone.”

“Oh! That guy, he’s not the landlord. He just collects rent for the jukebox.”

“Rent? I thought you bought those things.”

“Well, you do. But you have to pay for the space. It’s… a little complicated.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I was just… interested, I guess.”

“You better eat that pie!” she said, sternly, and went back to the kitchen.

1959 September 30 Wednesday 23:09

By the time Dett was done with his pie, the man in the sharkskin suit had been gone for over a half-hour. The waitress had removed his cup and saucer, plucking a single bill from underneath. As she walked back toward Dett, she held up the five-dollar bill for him to see.

“Big shot,” she said.

“He always tips like that?”

“Meg-she works the same shift as me; we take turns behind the counter-Meg says he does, but it’s always a dollar, not a five. This, this is ridiculous.”

“It made you mad?”

“Mad? Why would you think… Oh, damn! I’m blushing, right?”

“You’re a little pink.”

“You mean I’m a lobster! I know what I look like when I get mad. You don’t have to be nice.”

“Why did it make you mad, what he did?”

“Some of the girls, if they know a guy’s a big tipper, they’ll give him a little… extra. You know what I mean. Meg knows you’re a big spender, you get a real floor show!”