Transition: Chapter 31 (The Federal)

Meanwhile, Billy Barton is well on his way to doing something that even he has never done before.

He’s about to get kicked out of the Federal Diner.

“Louise!” he yells, when he and his entourage have been seated in their booth for no more than ten seconds. “Louise! How about some fuckin’ coffee!”

Stevie Hutchinson had begun to relax as soon they had walked into the familiar atmosphere of the Federal, but now he’s suddenly jumpy again. He knows that nobody talks to Louise Palopolous like that. Not in her own diner, anyway.

“Billy Barton!” Louise is, indeed, indignant. “You’ll wait your turn just like everybody else,” she snaps from behind the register, where she sits reading a paperback book. Stevie can’t quite make out the title from where he’s sitting, the first word, in large, hot-pink letters, is FIRE, or maybe FIRST. “And you’ll keep a lid on your foul language,” Louise insists, “or you’ll take your business elsewhere.”

“Oh, shit, Louise,” Billy shoots back, “there ain’t even no one else in here.” Stevie looks around. the diner, which is, indeed, deserted. “Now get the fuckin’ lead outa your ass, and bring us some goddamn coffee.”

Stevie can see the color rise in Louise’s cheeks, it’s visible even through the thick layers of makeup plastered on her face. She dog-ears a corner of a page, closes her book, and strolls over to the booth, where she stands staring down at Billy, arms akimbo.

At this point, Stevie is more than a little concerned. He can handle being banned from the Blind Ox, a place that he visits only infrequently, at best. But banishment from the Federal... well, that would be something else altogether. He’s been hanging out at the Federal for as long as he can remember, sometimes stopping in four or five times a week for a cheap meal or a cup of coffee. Not being able to frequent the Federal would call for major changes in his lifestyle.

“Billy,” he whispers urgently, as Billy and Louise stare at each other with rising hostility. “Billy, this is the Federal,” he points out, significantly. Billy must be so far gone that he doesn’t know where he is, Stevie thinks. And he begins to wonder whether bringing Billy here, in this condition, might have been a mistake.

“You know what your problem is, Louise?” Ignoring Stevie’s pleas, Billy slouches back in the booth, eyeing Louise with a half-sneer.

“You boys better get him outa here.” Louise turns the evil eye on Stevie and Eddie, who immediately scramble to protest that it’s their fault. “Well, you shouldna brought him in here in the first place,” Louise points out “Now go on, take him on home before he says something that all of you are gonna be sorry for.”

“Your problem,” Billy continues, calmly, “is that you’re in desperate need of a good, hard fuck. Make a new woman outa you.”

“Billy Barton!” Louise’s arms fall to her side. She seems to be trying to say more, but she’s only succeeding in sputtering.

“I’d do it myself,” Billy says, helpfully, “if you wasn’t so fuckin’ ugly. You got anything we could pull over your face, Louise? Maybe a potato sack or something?”

“FRAAANK!” It’s more of a wail than a yell, the plaintive cry of a wounded animal. “Frank, get out here!”

“Oh, geez, Louise, you don’t need to be doin’ that.” Stevie jumps to his feet and begins tugging on Billy’s arm. “We’ll get him outa here. Eddie, gimme a hand.”

But Eddie Sweeny, wide-eyed and giggling nervously, appears to be too stunned – or, perhaps, too impressed – by Billy’s audacity to move a muscle. And Billy, settling back into the cracked, fading, red-vinyl booth, shrugs Stevie off like an annoying fly.

The kitchen doors swing open violently as Frank Palopolous bursts into the dining area. He’s a slim man, of no better than average height; but the rolled-up sleeves on his white T-shirt reveal sinewy muscles, and his weather-beaten face suggests that he’s not someone to be messed with.

As Frank strides through the swinging double doors, Stevie’s relieved to see that he’s wearing an expression more of concern than of anger. And when Frank sees that Louise isn’t in immanent physical danger, he slows down and walks calmly to the booth at a normal pace, leading Stevie to believe that perhaps he might be able to defuse the situation after all.

“Listen, Frank,” Stevie starts to say, “we don’t...”

But Frank shoots Stevie a look that tells him to shut up, which Stevie does.

“What is it, my pet?” Frank inquires solicitously in a raspy voice. He wears a paper cook’s hat and a white apron; a cigarette dangles perilously from a corner of his mouth, its glowing tip jaggedly marking red streaks in the air as he speaks. “These boys giving you a hard time?”

“Frank,” Louise says, calmer now that her protector has arrived, “Frank, these boys are saying foul things to me. I can’t even repeat them to you. I can’t even bring myself to say the things that they called me. I just want ‘em outa here.”

“You heard the lady,” Frank says, quietly, sounding for all the world like a cowboy defending the honor of a beautiful barmaid. “Get out.”

“Frank, we don’t want any trouble,” Stevie says, anxiously, pulling on Billy’s arm again; but Billy seems to have become immobile. “We was just leaving, weren’t we Eddie?”

“You’re smart boys,” Frank observes, nodding slowly. “But it don’t look to me like your fat friend is so smart. He don’t look like he’s going nowhere to me.” He taps his foot impatiently.

“He is, Frank, really he is,” Stevie assures him. “Billy,” he whispers hoarsely. “C’mon, Billy, we gotta get outa here.”

But Billy seems to be half asleep, and not at all inclined to move. “Fuck you, asswipe,” he informs Frank, as he surveys the proceedings through half-closed eyelids. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til this cunt brings me some fuckin’ coffee.”

With surprising speed, Frank grabs Billy by the back of his head and slams his face into the table. Stevie clearly hears Billy’s nose break with a sickening crunch. Blood spurts from Billy’s nostrils, staining the green Formica tabletop with thick, red blobs.

Frank glances over at Stevie, but Stevie’s already backing off, hands up, no trouble here. So Frank grabs the back of Billy’s collar, yanks him out of the booth, and throws him roughly onto the white tile floor.

“It’s okay, Frank, we’re leaving,” Stevie nearly screams in Frank’s ear as he rushes past him and kneels by Billy, who lies sprawled face-down on the floor. “C’mon, Billy, we gotta get you outa here.” He shakes Billy’s shoulder. Billy struggles to his knees and turns his head to look at Stevie with blank, uncomprehending eyes. Then, unceremoniously, he barfs all over the clean, white tiles.

“Oh, Frank,” Louise says, disgusted.

“You got five seconds,” Frank informs Stevie, who has nearly leapt away from Billy. “You get this sorry son-of-a-bitch outa my diner in five seconds, or I’m gonna flat-ass kill him.” And Stevie doesn’t doubt Frank’s word for even one of those seconds. Every tendon in Frank’s face is tensed; a vein at the base of his neck bulges ominously.

“Eddie,” Stevie yells, “get off your ass and help me!”

“Five,” says Frank.”

“C’mon, Eddie, MOVE IT!”

“Four.”

Grasping at Eddie on one side and at Stevie on the other, Billy makes motions as though he might be attempting to stand. But his legs don’t seem to be fully cooperating.

“Three.”

Billy is actually making some progress in his attempt to stand up, but they’re running out of time, so Stevie and Eddie begin to drag him to the door. He has an arm around each of their shoulders, his feet flap as he tries to gain traction, but his weight is dragging them down so much that his kneecaps are bumping along the floor.

“Two.”

The glass door pushes slowly open as Stevie leans his free shoulder into it; and with a final, desperate yank, he and Eddie manage to pull Billy through the doorway. Their momentum carries them to the top of the short flight of steps that leads down to the parking lot. They teeter there on the edge for a few seconds...

§ § § § § § § § § §

“One,” says Frank, mostly to himself.

And although he and Louise can’t see what’s going on out in the night in front of their diner, they share a smile as they listen to the sound of three bodies bumping heavily down the stairs.

And Louise even gives Frank a quick peck on the cheek when Billy screams in bloody agony as he tries, unsuccessfully, to break his fall with his injured hand, and lands, instead, squarely on his broken nose.