Old Jim called me as I was trying to get topics outlined for some uplifting pre-holiday thoughts. The phone was buried in my back-back, and I had to burrow around for a while before I got to it, just in the nick of time before it rolled over to “missed call.”
“Yes, Jim,” I said. “I will be over to Willow in a little while.”
“They fired Tex,” Jim growled.
“What?”
“They axed him. He came in for his shift and they canned him.”
“Jim, it is five days to Christmas.”
“Only four working days for the restaurant. See you.” Jim is a man of dew words on the phone, which he maintains is just for making calls, not researching the internet, reading books or watching clever videos of cats doing improbable things on the internet.
I got my affairs, such as they are, together and jumped in the Police Car for the short drive from Big Pink to the restaurant. It was eerie quiet, and the sun was sinking well before 1700. Solstice tomorrow, I thought, and brightened a bit. We will be getting another few seconds of daylight right into Spring from there on.
But not that night. We were slipping into darkness as deep as it is going to get this year.
Thinking back on it this morning, I was not surprised that things were a little subdued at the bar. Big travel day, I imagine.
I slid into the seat to Jim’s left, which is not his good side, but some civilians had formed a knot around the base of the Amen Corner and I was not in the mood to tell them to move.
The official who did the firing was to my left, so I felt that discretion was probably the right approach. I wished Jon-without or John-with were there, or Jerry the Barrister to give us a legal opinion on what had happened.
Sotto vocce, I leaned over and said: “What the hell happened? Did you talk to Chris?”
“No. I was sitting in the front window of our unit up the street and I saw his big black SUV pull into the loading area that goes unrestricted parking at four o’clock. He got out in his civilian clothes like usual and walked across the street to the bar.”
“So he had no idea anything was coming?” I asked. “That is weird.”
“He came back out a few minutes later and got in his car and drove off.”
“I am not sure I would have terminated a large and heavily armed Marine who has a CCP without significant back-up,” I whispered.
“Five days before Christmas,” said Jim, and waved at Jasper for another beer. “Five freaking days. What are they thinking? They didn’t want to give him a bonus?”
“Lot of that going around,” I mused. Big Jim was there behind the taps and back in the black shirt of a bartender instead of his white waiter’s shirt and tie. “Can I buy a shot of that Valentine craft-distilled vodka I brought in for Tex to sample last night?”
“Sorry, nothing in back of the bar ‘cept the usual stuff.”
“Well, I hope Tex took it home,” I said. “Give me a stiff one, hold the wine for tonight.”
The Terminating Official got up from his stool at the top of leg of the Amen Corner and wandered off to check in on the rest of the restaurant. We were free to talk.
“So what happened?” we asked Big Jim.
He shrugged. “No one is talking, and they have not told the staff, but as you can imagine, this is a restaurant and the kitchen is buzzing.”
“They never give us the story,” said Old Jim.
“Restaurant code of omerto,” I said.
“Food and beverage industry,” said Big Jim. “’shah.”
“I can’t stand it. It is like losing family. It may be an ersatz family, but it is family none-the-less.” I sighed and took a slug of vodka. It warmed on the way down, but did not buoy my spirits. “The people that leave just vanish like they were kidnapped by aliens.”
“Maybe they were. It took Liz-with-an-S a couple months to come back on this side of the bar.”
“At least she is still in our lives. Remember Peter and Javier and Nina all the rest? I can’t even remember the names of all of them, and we used to see them every day and knew their life stories. Gone like the freaking wind.”
“Fuck me,” I said. “Five days before Christmas.”
“I wouldn’t touch that one on a bet,” growled Jim. “But it sure sucks. I didn’t have a lot of holiday spirit to dredge up after this.”
I looked at the level of vodka in the glass in front of me. “Goddamned right. I am only going to have three more of these and then I am going home and turn on the Christmas lights.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but only the ones outside.”
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303