First Avenue

by Lowen Clausen

  “Is everybody gone?” Sam asked. He craned his neck to peer into the empty dining room. Dishes were stacked high in the sink beside the dishwasher.

  “I close a little early. Are you hungry? I can still make something.”

  “No thanks. Business was not so good today?”

  “It was okay.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Now I am. My son came in to help with the lunch. You sure you’re not hungry?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “There might be some coffee left.”

  “I’ve had enough coffee today. Do you need some help? I have some time to kill.”

  “Sit down on the stool,” Silve said. He pointed to the stool beside the door where he liked to sit himself when the lunch rush was over. It was cool there away from the stove and the steam of the dishwasher. From there he could see down into the dining room, or direct any help he might have in the kitchen, or talk to friends who came to the door. There was no help in the kitchen today.

  With the old man still behind the stove, Sam didn’t feel like sitting down. “I know how to do this,” he said as he walked to the dishwasher. He lifted the handle at the side of the machine, pulled out a rack of glasses, and headed downstairs. He carried the rack to the counter in the dining room where the clean glasses were stacked. There was no room on the counter. Two heaping bus tubs of plates and silverware took up all the space.

  “Just leave those on the table,” Silve said. He stood at the top of the stairs.

  “I know where they go,” Sam replied. He set the rack of glasses on the table, took off his jacket and shoulder holster, wrapped the gun in his jacket, and stuffed both of them onto a shelf below the coffeemaker.

  “Okay,” Silve said, still standing at the top of the stairs. He shrugged his small shoulders. “I can’t stop you.”

  “That’s right.”

  Sam carried one of the bus tubs up to the kitchen and filled another of the green dish racks with plates. He slid it inside the dishwasher and closed the door. The machine began washing immediately. He wondered how Silve’s son could leave the old man with such a mess.

  He cleaned out one of the sections of the three-compartment sink and filled it with clean water. Silve came to his side and handed him an orange apron like his own.

  “You may as well wear this,” the old man said. “Don’t get dirty that way.”

  Sam took the apron and slipped it over his neck.

  “How do I look?” he asked as he tied the apron string behind his back.

  The old man laughed with a short grunt and dismissed Sam with a wave of his hand. Sam was not dismissed, however. He ran racks of dishes through the dishwasher and scrubbed pots while he waited for the racks to finish. He liked the work. It made the time pass faster. It was better than shooting customers.

  “It looks like you still need somebody,” Sam said.

  “Today I do. Maybe tomorrow I don’t. That’s how it goes.”

  “There’s a girl who works over at the Donut Shop on Pike Street. She gets there by six in the morning, so I know she’s not afraid to get up. She’s got something up here, too,” he said, tapping the side of his head with a finger. “She needs to get out of there. It’s not a good place for her.”

  “Why does she work there anyway?” Silve asked.

  “She just got here from Alaska. I don’t think she knew what it was like.”

  “You send her to me.”

  “I’ll do that. If you don’t mind, I’ll bring her today. I told her I would meet her at three. She and I have some things to talk about.”

  “I’ll be here,” Silve said. “You working on something over there?” He tipped his head in the direction of First and Pike.

  “Maybe. It’s not good for me to talk about it yet.”

  “We don’t talk about it then,” Silve said.

  Silve went down to clean the dining room. Sam scrubbed vigorously. When Silve returned to the kitchen, there were only a few pots left to wash.

  “Now we are almost done,” Silve said. “I’ll finish these last ones.” His voice made it clear that he would tolerate no more opposition from Sam. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sam said. He looked at his watch. It was almost three o’clock.

  “You bring the girl,” Silve said. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you.”

  “I think I’m better in the kitchen than I would be waiting on tables.”

  Silve laughed softly as he thought again about Sam waiting on customers. It was an image dear to him. “Maybe, but I would still like to see that.”

  Sam took off the orange apron, folded it, and put it on top of the dishwasher. He walked down to the dining room and pulled his jacket off the shelf. After slinging the holster over his shoulder, he snapped the straps to his belt. He put on the jacket that he needed even less than before.

  “I’ll be back soon, I hope,” Sam said.

  “I’ll be here,” the old man replied.

  Sam walked on the cobblestones of Pike Place to avoid the crowds around the food stalls. He passed through a line of cars waiting for parking spaces that were not likely to become vacant. At the newsstand he picked up the Omaha paper again. He thought about Silve’s restaurant and the tired, old man. He had never seen the old man so tired.

  Maria was there before he knew it. Nervous, unsmiling, confused by his lack of recognition, she stood away from him until he finally stopped thinking about restaurants. He was startled to see her, much sooner than he had expected, although there was no reason not to expect her. He silently scolded himself for letting his mind wander. Whatever she wanted to tell him could not be good. One girl, one baby, already knew that. He concentrated his eyes on hers as a message for her to follow, and she walked slowly after him.

  When he got deeper into the Market, he stopped and waited for her. He felt safe standing with her between the produce and fish stands. First Avenue was only a block away, but it seemed much farther.

  “It’s nice to see you away from that place,” he said. They both knew what that place was. “We’ll go down a little farther. I have a friend who has a restaurant. We’ll talk there.”

  He walked with her through the Market, past the neat rows of tomatoes and cucumbers, past the stacks of green onions, the salmon on ice, and the geoducks with their long obscene necks that stopped all the tourists. What are those? they all wanted to know. He stopped at the ramp that led down to Silve’s kitchen.

  “Ever been in the Market before?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You should look around sometime. There are all kinds of interesting places here. Over in that building there’s a great oyster bar.” He pointed as if he were giving a tour.

  “What’s an oyster bar?” she asked.

  “A place where you eat oysters—fried, baked, raw. Any way you like them.”

  Her expression showed she did not like oysters.

  “Let’s go down to my friend’s restaurant,” he said, giving up the tour guide business. “I told him we might be coming.”

  She walked with him to Silve’s door. This time Sam reached inside and unlocked it himself. Silve watched from the stove and didn’t step forward until Sam introduced them. Then the old man wiped his hand on the bottom of his apron and extended it to her. Sam could see from her awkward response that she was not used to shaking hands, but when she got hold of the old man’s hand, she grasped it firmly.

  “No sissy,” Silve said. He chuckled and pointed to her biceps.

  It was true. She had strong muscles. He wished he could have taken her hand as easily as Silve.

  “You go down there,” Silve said, directing them out of his kitchen. “I’ll talk to you later. I made fresh coffee if you want it.”

  He led Maria down the steps to the dining room and pointed to the first table beside the stairs. It was the place where he sat in the morning. Maria slid into the seat closest to the kitchen wall. He poured each of them a cup of the fr
esh coffee Silve had made and sat across from the girl.

  “So what would you like to tell me?”

  He thought it was a question she would be ready to answer, but she took a moment to begin.

  “There’s something strange going on there,” she said. Her voice was almost a whisper, similar to the way it had been in the Donut Shop, as though she didn’t realize she was now in a safe place.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It’s like they’re waiting for something. I can’t really explain it, but I see it in their faces.”

  “Whose?”

  “Pierre’s, Bill’s, those other kids. They come in the morning, and he sends them away. At first I thought they came for free doughnuts, but it’s not that. It’s something else. They’re waiting for something.”

  “Any idea what that might be.”

  “No.”

  “Do you think any of them would tell me?”

  “They won’t have anything to do with you.”

  “But you do, Maria. Why is that?”

  He was back in business again. When he said her name, he meant to bring her into his confidence. A name could do that. He had seen it often. Say the name aloud and watch the transformation. Instead of being fooled, if that was what he intended, she seemed to understand. She understood more than she should have. She didn’t answer his question.

  “He hates you, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “Pierre.”

  “I don’t like him very well, either. That’s my job.”

  “He doesn’t hate the other policemen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The two men that come in the afternoon. The two with the sticks.”

  “The beat cops?”

  “I don’t know who they are.”

  “Big guys?”

  “Yes.”

  “McDonald and Fisher. They’ve got the walking beat on First Avenue.”

  “Yesterday Pierre left the store after they came in.”

  “Do you think that’s unusual?”

  “I think he went to meet them.”

  “How do you know that?” His voice was harsh enough that she pulled back from him. He hadn’t meant to be harsh, but the girl needed to be careful making up stories like that. “What makes you think that?” he asked more softly.

  “I saw them yesterday. He told me to take a break when they came in. He stood beside them and poured their coffee. He never does that. He won’t wait on anybody. They pretended that they weren’t looking at each other, but I know they were. After they left, he walked down the street the same way they did.”

  “With them?”

  “No. A few minutes later.”

  “That doesn’t mean what you think. He walked out today when I was there, too.”

  “He walks out all the time.”

  “See. That’s what I mean,” Sam said.

  “They know each other. I could see it. They didn’t pay for their coffee, either.”

  Jesus, he thought. Would McDonald be so stupid as to still freeload a cup of coffee? He had worked with McDonald a few times after graduating from the academy—he had been just a kid, a few years older than Maria. McDonald, the veteran even then, had showed him how to walk like a cop, had showed him, too, how whiskey tasted in a coffee cup. The old days. Everybody had gotten over those days, hadn’t they?

  “I have to tell you I can’t imagine that those two cops would get mixed up with Pierre. I know them. Now, Pierre is a different story. I could believe anything about him.”

  She said nothing for a moment, and he wished he had kept quiet, too.

  “I know what I saw,” she said, looking at him with sharp defiant eyes.

  “Yes, I guess you do.” He nodded slowly, reluctantly. “You’re going to need to be more careful. We both need to be careful,” he corrected himself as he thought about the walk through the Market where he had felt so safe. McDonald and Fisher walked there, too. My god, was that possible?

  “I think you should quit working at the Donut Shop,” he said. “Don’t go back tomorrow. It’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s closed tomorrow.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. I could help you find another job. Silve could use some help right here.”

  “I can find my own job. You don’t need to help me.”

  “Sure, it was just an idea. I’m kind of worried about Silve, that’s all. He’s trying to find some help, but he’s not having much luck. He works too hard. He’s not a young man anymore.”

  She looked at him as though she were trying to see his words, not just hear them, and he permitted her to look in his eyes as long as it took. She seemed to regret how quickly she had turned away from his suggestion.

  “Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

  “Every day,” he said, “but not like the Donut Shop. This is a good place.”

  She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and rubbed it like a talisman.

  “It would make Pierre angry if I just walked out. He might not pay me. He’s supposed to pay me next week. Or he might think I know something. It would be better if I stayed another week.”

  His mind creaked and groaned like a rusty winch pulling up a heavy net on the fishing boat where he used to work. He doubted she would listen to him, anyway.

  “Would you quit after a week?”

  She nodded, and her black braids dropped from her shoulder with a sign of consent.

  He got up to refill their coffee cups. Something seemed to please her. He stopped to look at her rare smile, standing above her with coffeepot in hand and a question in the half-smile he gave back. She tossed her braids back over her shoulder and straightened her posture. A light flashed across the shadow surrounding her.

  “It’s nice having somebody else pour the coffee,” she said.

  He told her how he had offered his services to Silve, and how Silve had thought it was a fine idea because then he could shoot any customer who complained. She laughed for a moment, but her laughter startled her as though waking from a dream. He watched her eyes turn sad. He put the coffeepot back in its place, sat down in his, and wondered how this girl could become sad with laughter.

  Silve labored down the steps. His legs were less confident than early in the morning. He stopped at the coffeepot and looked to see if the others were in need of a refill. Sam held up his hand and made room in the booth for Silve. He was glad Silve had come.

  Silve took off his chef’s hat and put it on the table. He smoothed back his silver hair that showed the line of his hat, sipped noisily from his cup, and let out a sigh. He and Sam spoke for a few minutes about the day’s business with each knowing their lines by heart. Then Silve turned his attention to Maria.

  “So maybe you want to work? Sam says you have a job over at the Donut Shop.”

  She seemed surprised that Silve got to the point so quickly, or maybe she was surprised by the point.

  “That’s right,” Maria said.

  “He told me you get up early,” Silve said. “Said you have brains, too. Muscles and brains. Good.”

  Sam shifted in the booth, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was not sure how much Silve would tell, but the girl seemed not to mind yet. She smiled at the old man.

  “He washed the dishes today,” Silve said, pointing at Sam. “So I think maybe he wants to find somebody else to take his job.”

  “He washed the dishes?” the girl asked.

  “Yes,” the old man said and laughed the way he did in the morning. He looked better already. It must have helped to get off his feet and to see the young face across from him.

  “Maybe you want his job?”

  “I could do it.”

  “Good. When can you start?”

  “I have to work there another week. I could start after that.”

  “Good. You see me Monday. We’ll set up the schedule then,” Silve said.

  Silve got up from the table and picked up his cup. The intervi
ew was over. “You stay and talk if you want,” he said.

  “I think we’re all done,” Sam said.

  He picked up the other two cups and slid out of the booth after Silve.

  “Just leave them here,” Silve said. “I’ll get them Monday.”

  “I already have them,” Sam said.

  Silve walked slowly up the steps, using the handrail to steady himself. Maria slid out from her side of the booth and followed Silve. Sam walked last up the steps and put the cups on the stainless steel pass shelf.

  “Don’t leave any money today,” Silve said as he anticipated Sam’s reach for his wallet. “I owe you today. You come on Monday, and I’ll have oxtail.”

  “You’ll make me fat with your oxtail.”

  “You, too,” he told Maria, who stood in front of the door. It was the only place where there was room. “You come on Monday, too.”

  “Yes. I will.”

  Sam reached behind Maria and opened the door. She tried to get out of his way and stumbled against a pail that stood on the floor. He reached for her arm to steady her.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m just getting the door.”

  He opened the door and let her out first.

  “We see you soon, honey,” Silve called after her as she walked with Sam up the ramp. Maria turned and waved. Silve waved back from inside the half door.

  Sam didn’t want to walk far with Maria. He stopped in front of the fish stand at the top of the ramp and moved a step away from her. “We’ll separate here,” he said as though he were talking to the fish sign overhead. “I’ll keep an eye on you next week as much as I can.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He could be stubborn, too. “I’ll see you here Monday after you get off work.”

  Then he looked at her directly, forgetting for a moment his communion with the fish sign.

  “I appreciate the information, Maria.”

  He tried to smile, but it was strangely difficult. He could not imagine calling her “honey” as Silve did, making it seem pleasant and natural, but he wished he could. He wished he could at least smile like Silve.

  As he turned to go, he got an uncertain smile from her. It was no better than his, much like it, he expected. They were a strange pair, he thought.