Merlot (6 page)

He relaxed for a moment, let the cold air
envelop him, cool his sunburned skin, as Johnny Cash sang about
Folsom Prison.

He gave a little two fingered wave to the kid
watching the gate. The kid waved back and winked, grinning like an
idiot, holding one of the sticks of Deep-Fat-Fried Cajun Bar-B-Que
Bacon Otto had given him. They were pals now, just old buddies
looking out for one another and he reminded himself to bring the
kid some more of whatever they couldn’t sell.

He parked in the bank lot, climbed out of the
truck, and strolled to the night deposit drop, a heavy-metal plated
affair that he had to unlock with a key before he could drop his
deposit down the chute.

It was when he walked back to his truck that
he noticed the car. He’d seen them before, three guys all crammed
in the front seat of a battered two-toned Fleetwood. Even in the
half light of the evening he could tell they needed shaves and
haircuts. He deftly touched the butt of the forty-five tucked into
his belt.

Come and get it, trash, he thought as he
drifted back to his days in Saigon, buying drinks for bar girls.
And the heat, hot, like today only worse, the strange smells, not
knowing the language, the smell of burning shit and people shooting
at you and, and… Otto took a deep breath, reminded himself to just
worry about Deep-Fat-Fried-Bacon-on-a-stick.

* * *

“You see that goofy clown,” Elvis laughed.
“He was looking at you, Lucerne. Bet he was thinking I’d like to
waste that guy. That’s what he was thinking.”

“Guy looked like Porky Pig. You see him, all
sort of pink and whatnot.”

“Pull over,” Mendel commanded, hopping out
before Lucerne had come to a complete stop along the curb. “I want
to walk around here, get a feel for this place.”

“You think that’s such a good idea? They
might be taking our pictures right now, man.” Elvis called,
scanning his good eye around a little nervously, searching the
outside of the bank to see if he could spot any cameras.

“Naw, them cameras might be if you was making
a deposit, maybe use that ATM. Sides, all I’m doing is walking
past, ain’t against the law just to walk past now is it? Public
sidewalk after all.”

Mendel circled the building, cut across the
parking lot where Otto had parked just a few minutes before. Then
spun around, walking backward, facing the redbrick bank building,
thinking about how he might approach it, wondering what it was like
during the day.

“I think on Monday we’ll come back here.”

“Monday!” Elvis exclaimed, alarmed.

“Just to look, get a feel for it when she’s
open, that’s all. Go in there, look around, see how they work when
it’s crowded. Take it easy, it ain’t like we’re coming to rob the
place. Yet.”

* * *

Once he got home Merlot dropped his softball
uniform on the floor, stepped into the shower and in just a few
moments felt better, the combination of the Benadryl and shower
working their magic.

He put on a pair of blue slacks and a
starched, long-sleeved white shirt, his standard Saturday-night
uniform. It was after five, and Saturdays were always busy. He’d be
doing everything from bussing tables to kicking ass, making sure it
all went right.

* * *

“Nothing seems to be going right,” Osborne
hissed to no one in particular. He was furious at the spreading
stripper’s revolt he had on his hands. That heavily uddered Sassie
had somehow managed to spread the word and a majority of the girls
had phoned in feigning illness.

All right, thought Osborne, we’ll see about
this. “Nursey, Milton, you shall join me at dinner.”

“I’ll just change,” offered Serpentina.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Bring the
disinfectant spray and let’s be off.” Then strode to the door, and
waited impatiently for Milton to catch up.

* * *

At 8:30, Merlot found all six, scrawny,
pierced, Kiss of Death members doing their final sound checks on
stage.

“Just checking, everything going okay
tonight? You need anything?”

“Totally awesome, man. Those were the best
Caesar salads last night, really inspired, Dude, tres cool.”

“Great, you guys want those again, I’ll have
them sent back to you or if you feel comfortable I’ll have a table
arranged for you in the dining room.”

“We have to prepare for the show. I’m
thinking a big crowd, man. So if you can get six salads, just like
last night, some Cokes, we’re good.” Dildo quickly looked around,
received nods of agreement from the other five, then stuck his fist
out to Merlot.

Merlot bumped off dead center and reminded
himself how he hated phony shit.

* * *

Cindy stood in her underwear holding a new
top next to a half dozen different pairs of slacks, unhappy with
all the combinations. She was painfully aware she was due for
dinner in twenty minutes and it was a ten-minute drive. And, since
the air conditioning in her car wasn’t working she would be
completely pitted out by the time she arrived. None of which was
helping her decision-making process.

She had wondered off and on what it would be
like having dinner with the owner of a restaurant. Would he say
something like? “Let’s order off the special menu.” Or, “I hope you
don’t mind but I took the liberty of preparing something completely
unique, just for the two of us.”

Would they be eating at a special table?
Maybe a couple of waiters standing at the edge of the candlelight,
ready to take care of her every wish? They’d pour the wine. Maybe
he was a champagne guy, he would pull her chair out, a waiter would
dish up a half dozen courses.

It was bound to be romantic. All she had to
do was decide what to wear, in the next four minutes. With time
slipping away she threw up her hands, dropped the top on a pile of
slacks and pulled a slinky, tight dress out of the closet, wiggled
into the thing and walked through a cloud of perfume she misted on
her way out the door.

* * *

It had been a normal busy night of narrowly
averted catastrophes. Merlot sat for the first time in three hours.
He was sipping a Coke with Tommy the bartender in the Lounge room,
pleased to see the dinner rush hour extending this late on a
Saturday.

“I’ll tell you Tommy, it’ll probably curse me
once I say it, but with this crowd tonight, I thought for sure
something would get screwed up. I mean no major headaches, just the
usual nonsense.”

He had been dogged all night long by the
feeling he had forgotten something, but he couldn’t remember what,
until he saw her step into the Lounge bar and search the crowd. She
waved and walked toward him.

“Hi, sorry I’m late, there was an accident on
Snelling and they had it down to one lane of traffic. You didn’t
invite anyone else in my absence, did you?”

“No, Cindy, no problem, just catching a quick
Coke with Tommy here, while I waited,” he lied.

“Cindy, you remember Tommy,” he introduced
the bartender.

“Yeah, hi, nice to see you again.”

“Merlot?” Tommy asked, meaning her drink, not
his boss.

“What else? Nothing but the best, right?” She
half laughed, wishing to god she didn’t always say stupid things
when she was nervous.

“Okay, let’s grab a seat for a minute and
take it easy before we sit down to dinner.” Merlot said once she
had her glass of wine. He directed her along a carpeted ramp
outlined with runway lighting that led up to a pink-and-red
upholstered booth. There were three separate levels of booths, all
sort of loosely facing a small stage area where a Neil Diamond
impersonator was doing a last minute sound check.

“Gee, Cindy, I really can’t thank you enough
for coming here on such short notice. I mean, I know you’re swamped
at work, and it sounds like you have just a hell of a week lined up
ahead of you, so thanks for making time for me.”

“My pleasure, it’s really no trouble at all,”
she replied, suddenly feeling famished, ready to kill for whatever
special romantic dinner he had prepared.

“Merlot to the dining room, Merlot to the
dining room, please,” a rather urgent page over the
loudspeaker.

“God, I’m sorry, would you give me just a
minute? I’ll be right back. Can I get you anything while I’m
up?”

“No, no, just fine, I’ve got this glass, go
ahead, take care of whatever it is, I’m fine, honest.”

“Okay, back just as soon as I can.”

* * *

“God, Merlot!” Allie the dining room hostess
sounded more than a little flustered. “We are seriously overbooked
in here and there’s some weirdo really putting the pressure on to
talk to you. He’s giving me the creeps and, well, the whole thing
is just weird.”

“Point him out to me without being obvious,”
said Merlot.

“Point him out? God, no problem! He’s at
table sixteen, the creepy guy with the mustache, that Neanderthal
kind of guy and the slut in the nurse costume with the boob job.
Little early for Halloween, don’t ya think? Look, look, there she
is wiping the menu before he holds it, some kind of germ nut if you
ask me.”

Merlot immediately recognized Osborne, just
as Osborne glanced up and caught his eye.

“Shit! Make sure he gets top service,
anything he wants, and no bill. Bring him a bottle of champagne,
some good stuff, with their dinner. Make sure you tell him it was
compliments of me and that everything is on the house.” Merlot
smiled and waved across the room at Osborne.

“You kidding me?” Allie asked, having known
Merlot to bitch more than once about getting a round of beer.

“No, I’m not kidding, use every ounce of
charm you’ve got,” he said, then walked to the rear of the dining
room and Osborne’s table.

“Thank you for coming,” Merlot said, “no
please, please, sit down Mr. Osborne, you’re our guest. The prime
rib is excellent, or if you prefer, the lobster tails are great and
I’ll gladly pick some out for you myself.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll look at the
menu, if it’s all the same. Nice to see you again,” Osborne said
making no effort to introduce the nurse.

There seemed to be just the hint of a
medicinal scent in the air, the table glistened from a recent sheen
of disinfectant spray. Merlot noticed that Osborne wrapped his
fingertips with the cloth napkin before picking up his menu.

The larger man, Milton, had a swollen right
hand sporting a series of small purplish gashes. He rested his hand
on the table, holding the menu with his left.

“Call me if you need anything Mr. Osborne,
otherwise I look forward to our meeting in a few days. Enjoy your
evening. Ma’am,” he inclined his head to the nurse.

***

“You want another drink, hon?”

The cocktail waitresses had come on duty.
They were dressed in what could only be described as black velvet
French maid outfits, with little white aprons and very low cut
tops. The Lounge room was filling up with the Saturday night
meat-market crowd. Cindy felt as if she had a large spot light
shining directly on her, dressed to the nines, alone in the
booth.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have another.”

“What are you drinking, hon?” The waitress
asked, not sure by the outfit if Cindy was a working girl or
not.

“Merlot,” she said, blushing as she said
it.

“Five fifty, hon,” the waitress said,
returning ten minutes later balancing the tray, almost spilling out
of her low cut top when she set the drink on the table.

Cindy nodded and hoped Tony returned
quickly.

“Five fifty, hon,” the waitress repeated,
smiled sweetly, not meaning to be sweet, then looked bored and
waited.

“Oh yeah, sure. Here you go, thanks” Cindy
said, finding a ten in her wallet.

“Did you want change?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll be back, hon,” suggesting maybe she
wouldn’t.

Cindy wasn’t pounding it down, she was just
sipping, but they were big sips. She wanted to leave, but she would
be damned if she was going to leave four dollars and fifty cents of
hard earned cash with a bitchy cocktail waitress.

“How’s it going?”

She turned, expecting to look into Tony’s
eyes, but instead found herself looking at a class A Lounge Lizard.
He wore an open collar shirt, the top four buttons undone, exposing
what looked like wall-to-wall carpeting. Tight, iridescent slacks
with a large brass buckle and cowboy boots she couldn’t help but
notice since he’d placed one on the seat next to her. His orange
tinted glasses were bifocals, with very large steel frames. He had
a pencil line mustache. If he’d had hair Cindy figured it would be
combed back in a sort of bouffant style from the 1960s.

It was at that moment that the Neil Diamond
impersonator opened his act, launching into a rendition of
“Cracklin’ Rosie”
. The Lounge Lizard began snapping his
fingers, bouncing to the beat.

“Yeah baby, yeah, come on, Sugar what do you
say?” he yelled at Cindy over Neil’s alter ego, taking a step back
waiting for her to fly out of the booth.

“Come on sugar, let’s shake that thing,” he
spun round in front of the booth as she sat dumbfounded. “Yeah,
let’s go, baby!”

That was enough. She wasn’t going to wait all
night looking for all the world like an hor d’orve for some sexual
feeding frenzy. She drained her wine glass, gathered her purse and
was sliding out of the booth just as Merlot slid in alongside of
her.

“Sorry that took so long, things just got
crazy.” He looked at her empty glass. “You should have ordered from
one of the girls,” he said and waved to “bitchy” still standing at
the bar hoping to pocket Cindy’s change.

Cindy thought she could lip-read a reaction
when the woman looked up and saw who had joined her in the booth.
The dancing Lounge Lizard was suddenly nowhere in sight.

“Heidi,” Merlot said to “bitchy”, “I’ll just
have a Coke, and,” he looked at Cindy.