The Detective
The detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress’s arm and said the first thing he could think of. “Wait! Is this decaf?”
“Listen, hon.” She leaned across the diner’s counter, locking her slightly bloodshot but still mesmerizing blue eyes onto his as she peeled his clammy fingers off her skin one by one. “First, you don’t tip enough to be puttin’ any part of your body on any part of mine. And second, I’ve been servin’ you breakfast and battin’ my eyes at you every morning since before I had wrinkles. Now you finally decide to talk and the best you can do is ‘Decaf’? What, you brought your wing man today to help you come up with that?”
She stared at him for another instant and then sashayed away. Even with her words still ringing in his ears, the detective couldn’t help but follow her twitching white skirt until it came to rest in front of the trucker at the other end of the counter.
“Smooth,” said the detective’s partner from the stool to his left. “But you’re ruining my reputation. You at least gotta tell me when I’m supposed to be your wing man so you don’t make me look as nerdy as you really are.”
“Shut up and finish your coffee. We’re on duty in ten.”
“Decaf.”
“Huh?”
“She just told you it’s decaf. Every morning. Since before she had wrinkles. Though I don’t see too many.”
“I said, shut up. And when were you ever anyone’s wing man? You and Deb have been married a thousand years.”
The detective’s partner sopped up the last of his soft-boiled eggs with a heel of toast.
“You know, Deb worries about you. She’s not going to be happy that her big brother is chowing down on the Big Oink Plate every morning.”
“So don’t tell her. Besides, it’s not every morning.” He gave his partner a half smile. “Sometimes I have the Porky.”
“I didn’t realize the food was that good here.”
“It’s not. It’s mostly crap, actually. Coffee ain’t bad, though.”
“True.” The detective’s partner downed the last of the one cup he knew he could handle without having to make multiple pit stops before lunch. So why don’t you ask her out?”
“Who?”
“Who,” his partner repeated. “Kim Kardashian. Who do you think?”
“The waitress?”
“Sally.”
“Huh?”
“The waitress. Her name is Sally.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I figured. So?”
“Too soon.”
“No, my friend, it’s not. Barbara’s been gone two years. You gotta stop hiding behind Porkys and Big Oinks. And if you don’t believe me, ask Deb. No one loved Barb more than she did.”
“Except me.”
The detective’s partner got up and clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. “Yeah. I’m going to take care of the bill and hit the john. See you at the car.”
“Thanks.” The detective put both hands on the counter and swiveled on his stool. He waited until he caught Sally’s eye, then got up and slowly moved towards her.
