Chapter 8
Nick checked his watch for the fourth time while he tapped his foot on his chair’s metal rung inside the GFD. Nick scanned the street, looking for Vincent riding his hybrid mountain bicycle. He rode that bike to the coffee shop for their mid-morning meetings almost every day. It usually took a snowstorm to keep him off that bike and sometimes the weather made no difference at all. Vincent rode it religiously. The bike’s brand was Yeti, which was particularly fitting for Vincent due not only to his long wavy hair and goatee, but his bushy arms and legs. Nick never saw him with his shirt off, but he could imagine the growth. He rolled his fingertips on the tabletop’s gray metal surface and craned his neck, trying to hit all of the blind spots.
“You just ordered yourself one and not one for me?” Vincent asked from behind Nick’s ear. Nick jumped at the suddenness and proximity of his friend’s voice.
“Jesus, that kind of shit can make a guy’s heart stop cold, you mother fucker,” Nick replied, his shoulders still arched upwards in surprise. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“I parked out in the back parking lot, by the fire station,” Vincent said laughing to himself. “What’s got you so damn jumpy?”
“First of all, nobody parks a bike. You can’t park anything that you can lift with one arm. There are weight parameters and verbiage rules within the continental U.S. that everybody has to abide by, whether you like it or not.” Nick paused to look up at Vincent who stood above him, processing this information and nodding his head in apparent agreement. “Second, I ordered your damn coffee, and Miguel will have it here pronto, so stop lording over me and sit down before I develop a complex.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that to happen. You might start rambling incoherent sentences about non-motorized bipedal transportation rules and regulations. And lording over you? That was an interesting touch.”
“Sorry, I’m a little on edge with the whole dog thing. I think I found one.”
“Really?”
Nick sat on the edge of his seat and spoke fast. “Not only really, but you were right about the women thing, too. I met the girl of my dreams at the shelter.” Intrigued, Vincent yanked a chair from the underneath the table, spun it around, and sat down with his arms folded over its back and dropped his chin onto his crossed forearms.
“Tell me more, Romeo.”
Nick told him about meeting the turtle man, Melvin, and then Shauna. He described her in such detail that he surprised himself. Vincent sat motionless, absorbing every word. Nick shared with Vincent the dogs that were there and how Bernie the St. Bernard seemed to speak to him. He purposely left out the part about how he heard a voice in his head that seemed to be the dog talking to him. After all, he’d written that off as a temporary, love-struck hallucinatory affect caused by Shauna. He was crazy in love, not crazy.
“So when are you going back to get this St. Bernard?” Vincent asked.
“I don’t know. I need a plan. If I get the dog too soon, then I have no reason to go back to the shelter. The Shauna factor is an important part of this decision.”
“The Shauna factor,” Vincent repeated. “You don’t even know this girl. Let’s focus on the dog. One step at a time, my horny friend.”
“It’s not like that, V,” Nick protested. “I think she could be the one. I just need some smooth way to at least have an excuse to get hold of her.”
“I think the shelter offers some obedience training on the weekends. Give that a shot.” Vincent watched Nick’s eyes for some type of acknowledgement, but instead found his attention directed toward the front counter. Nick’s stare remained fixed as Vincent waved his hand near Nick’s face. “Hello in there.”
Nick jolted back in his seat, focused again on Vincent. By the time Nick regained his composure, Miguel placed Vincent’s coffee on the table.
“I don’t know what you did, vato, but he actually dug deep and bought this one for you,” Miguel said. Nick ignored the cheap comment.
“Without looking obvious, Miguel,” Nick said, “do you recognize the neatly dressed black guy at the counter wearing a black leather jacket?”
Miguel turned his attention to the front door and then gradually made his way around to the counter. He turned back toward Nick and said, “Yeah, he came in yesterday, but he was with a big white guy who sort of looked like a walrus in wrinkled polyester.”
“I didn’t think polyester wrinkled,” Vincent said.
“Yeah, I know. Weird, huh?” Miguel said.
“Seriously, have either of you ever seen him before,” Nick asked. “I think he’s a cop. He was with an older white guy at the Beaver last night.”
“I try not to know too many policemen,” Miguel said. “You know what I mean?”
Vincent added, “As crazy as it sounds, I did hear a rumor that Pine Valley did have a police department. I think they might even have black and white cops. Cars, too, I think.”
“White and black, but no Mexican,” Miguel said. “All we get is Cagney and Lacy, but no Rosalita and Carmen. Starsky and Hutch, but no Jiminez and Gonzalez.”
“I’d watch Rosalita and Carmen,” Vincent said.
“Yeah, me too, bro,” Miguel said as he and Vincent bumped knuckles.
Nick’s eyes shot back and forth between the men at the table and the young black man at the front counter. “Yeah, well, last night they just sat there in a booth and watched me. Now they’re here. I’m getting a little paranoid.”
“Relax, muchacho,” Miguel said. “I’ll do my usual new customer chat with him and see what’s up.” Miguel tossed a towel over his shoulder and began whistling as he walked toward the register and stepped behind the counter.
“Did they ask you any questions last night?” Vincent asked.
“No, they didn’t speak to me, but the one that’s in here did come up to the bar and order a drink.”
“Well, that’s odd. Ordering a drink from a bartender. I’ll alert the FBI.”
“You don’t understand. It’s just a feeling. The older white guy and the younger black guy. They didn’t order any booze. And they just kept looking around, but tried to not look like they were looking around. You know what I mean?”
Vincent looked at the man at the counter and back at Nick. “I get it. We’ll see what Miguel can sweat out of him.”
“Funny,” Nick said, not smiling in the least.
By the time the well-dressed young black man left the GFD, Miguel had thoroughly interrogated him. When he walked outside the door with his two cups of coffee, Miguel looked their direction and mouthed “cop”.
“Now do you believe me?” Nick asked.
“I’ll believe he might be a cop, but it will take a bit more to make me think you have something to do with his presence at a bar and a coffee shop that happen to be two of this town’s main attractions. So anyway, we were talking about a dog and a girl.”
The Bernie Factor Page 8