Frank Georgalis – Writer

Attempted Robbery: Part I

The Soup and Shelter Inn

The  Target

By:

Frank Georgalis

Nick walked for two days and almost two nights with the sunrise behind him and the sunset ahead. The night was closing in with a dark angry sky ripe and ready to open its cataracts to irrigate the earth. He gazed at the sky but went on, with the hidden pain inside of him and a bundle of his belongings on his back, not a bit wiser or happier than before.

Suddenly the rain began to fall, accompanied by strong gusts of wind, blinding flashes of lighting and crashing thunder, as though Mother Nature wished to thin down the earth’s solid soil rather than refresh its life. The rain didn’t come straight down, but the wind sent it across the road hitting Nick on the side of his face and body.  For a moment the rain would die down and Nick would begin to deceive himself into believing that the worst was over, and then he would hear it growling and whistling again, rushing over the trees and the hilltops, gathering sound and strength as it drew nearer and would dash with fury against him, as if he were the target of its madness, driving the sharp needles of rain into his muscles and its cold breath into his bones, and it pasted him screaming and scowling with a conspicuous roar; as if it were ridiculing his weakness and celebrating its own strength and power. He felt personally offended by that nature’s unkind attitude. The mire and the muddy road, the heavy pouring of pure water and being on the road and on foot for better than two days, Nick felt weak and in imminent danger of fainting. He suddenly saw a bridge ahead of him and gathering the last drops of his strength, he made it off the road and under the bridge. He sat there trembling from lack of will and energy. He opened up his bundle with shaking hands, took out a piece of bread and with much difficulty put it in his mouth, hoping to dig up some leftover power.

He finished his bread, remained as still as a dead dog for five or so minutes and then began to feel alive again, not alive and well, just alive; even though his body felt heavier, it still had more strength than his mind.

The rain had stopped and the lighting and the thunder were now triumphing far away. He stood up, leaned against the foot of the bridge to test his strength, finding it adequate, he walked up the hill and took to the road again. Finally he came to a two-lane blacktop highway. With no mud or water under his feet, he hastened his steps; a couple of cars and an eighteen-wheeler zoomed by, but none stopped to lend him a hand. He walked on and after a while, he grinned as his spirit was lifted a little when he saw, a few hundred yards ahead, an old two-story building with some cars parked out front. He threw a quick glance at the upper part of the structure as he put on his jacket, somewhat dried from the many hours in that summer night’s heat after the rain. The odd structure in that odd place was lit up like a Las Vegas casino with strong lights shooting on a fairly well kept sign SOUP and SHELTER, evidently the name of the inn. Many more lights shot  out of the windows and shedding bright rays of light on the road, some of them even lighted up the hedge on the other side. Making these little observations with his head and eyes roaming around, he walked two steps up and entered what seemed to be a bar and restaurant with sleeping accommodations on the second floor.  He walked on to a booth, and sat opposite the bar with his back to the open door. His eyes fell on the pretty waitress who was working a few tables away from him laying a fresh cloth on a big round table. At times she found it necessary to stoop over, in order to reach the table’s farthest edge. The move caused her dress neckline to dip allowing a big part of her large breasts to poke out, but they seemed undecided whether they were going to come out, stay tucked in, or just hang around looking ahead, as if they were mocking the beholder. This picture of negligence, or maybe negligence with a purpose, had no effect on Nick.

But at the bar there was a stout man with a red face whose eyes were severely nailed on the scene, as if he had made up his mind to see the most he could of her. If Nick were a little closer, he would have seen the man’s mouth watering. Nick just gazed away and around, surveying the establishment. He saw the delightful and charming display of hanging hams, Virginia hams that is, with jars of pickles and preserves together with many liquor bottles arranged on the shelves behind the bar, presenting a delicious collection of food and spirits that would enhance the appetite of any reasonable man. At the end of the bar sat a middle age lady with a very contented face, wearing a white apron, and from her gestures and the confident attitude she was exhibiting, she was obviously the owner and ruler of those pleasing-to-the-eye possessions. On the next bar stool sat a man about her age properly dressed and engaged in parley with her. It didn’t require too much thinking to conclude that the man was endeavoring to persuade her to be his sharer of troubles and cares for the remainder of the night or his natural life, whichever she preferred the most.

The woman, not being sufficiently enlightened by the man’s words or action, and not knowing whether he was trying to get into her heart, her place of business, her pants or all of the above, she stood up and, while walking away, said, “I had one good husband.”

The lady voiced those words loudly and clearly enough for anyone who had his eyes and ears pointed at her to discern. “He died and I will not be attached to anyone else unless he is as good if not better than my late husband and that I find to be improbable, if not completely impossible.” She concluded her recital with an air of secured independence, letting that man know, in front of witnesses, that she was as much in favor of him as his height and the man was not very tall, in fact, he was kind of short, thus she continued her short journey into the kitchen.

The man looked bruised and disappointed seeing all those affectionate familiarities that he tried to pass on the widow passing down the drain. He remained there still and quiet, holding onto the only thing that was at his disposal at that moment, that being his glass of spirits.

The waitress with the large breast went to Nick, took his order and hastily tripped into the kitchen.

While waiting for his hot meal to come, Nick looked outside and saw the lightning, heard the thunder and observed the rain coming down again with the wind blowing, with a bad attitude and strength enough to make every timber in the old house creak and groan as though it was crying for help.

When his food arrived, Nick just looked at the dinner the widow had hurled up for him with her own hands and without losing a second he went to work on it and gobbled it up in no time at all. He finished his wine, knitted his hands on the back of his head and stretched backwards, feeling his body had been through long service and hard usage.

After a little while, the widow came out of the kitchen, stood at the end of the bar with her left elbow resting on the rail and her right hand on her hip, gazed intently at Nick, and this created another rejection for the unfortunate love seeker.

Nick’s constitution was able to endure a considerable amount of trial and fatigue but the combination of attacks from Mother Nature that he had withstood and the process of being battered by the storm and parched by the summer heat, caused him to feel drained and drowsy. He stretched out at the booth with his head tilted back, relaxing to the best of his ability. The well-dressed man with the widow’s rejection in his head, the glass of spirits in his hands and his ego ripped to shreds beyond repair, divided his gaze between the widow and Nick, feeling very justly and properly indignant that Nick, who looked as if he had won the first place in the worst dresser contest, was about to be called upon by the widow herself to keep her company. He was deliberating whether he hadn’t the perfect right to pick a fight with Nick, believing that he was contriving to get into her good graces with the widow. The other man, whose mouth was watering from looking down the waitress’ dress, took a hint of how much the well-dressed man was suffering, and how much damage had been inflicted on his manly pride, divided his gaze between Nick and the man with the broken heart.

The widow had planted herself by the bar looking at Nick. The well dressed man, feeling ill-used and persecuted, and even though he was properly dressed and well mannered had been rejected by the lady. The stout man, acting a little funny from feeling the effects of his drink, was rubbing his knee of his right leg, applying more force than normal, continuing of dividing his gaze between Nick and the well dressed man.

Nick, who was stretched out looking at the ceiling feeling relaxed and tired, saw that a situation was brewing where anything could happen and even though he was by far not the main cause, he was right smack in the middle of that evil twist of fate where dilemmas could flare up into something with serious consequences. According to some religious, well informed and well read theological students, God, and or fate, is monitoring critical situations, and this situation should have qualified as a critical one. At that precise moment when both men at the bar turned their gaze to Nick and the looks on their faces changed to distorting from anger. Nick, feeling their stares, moved slightly and placed his hand on the pistol he evidently carried hanging from a shoulder holster away from all eyes. As the drama was about to unfold and could easily have turned into OK coral shoot out; whether God was monitoring that moment or fate willed it, suddenly two well armed police in full uniform walked into the place.

The widow abandoned her flirtatious glances at Nick and turned to face the police. Nick now, seeing that both men at the bar returned to their drinking, removed his hand from the gun slowly and discreetly.

“What can I do you for, big boys?” asked the lady of the house in a sexy tone of voice, “Hello, Bob, how are you doing big fellow?”

“Anybody I can and the good ones twice,” replied Bob loudly and confidently.

With those words, that he repeated with great emphasis and violence, Bob, one of the two officers, dashed his hat upon the bar in a most unusual show of excitement; and then grabbing Pam with both hands by the shoulders brought her close to him, looked firmly and fixedly in her face, “You’re the only woman who snuck and coiled herself in my poor and hurting heart.”

The waitress who was setting the tables upon hearing those words of sycophancy, cast her eyes on that overplayed scene, looked around with a vinegary smile and turning to her work, she moved her hands sadistically.

Pam playfully disengaged herself from Bob the policeman and backing off a couple paces she said in the same manner she broke away, “I have never known bricks to hurt, they only swing.”

“Pam, those words have reduced this two hundred and twenty pound statue to nothing, so nothing it can be knocked down by a feather,” said Bob, hitting his chest with both hands, “you mean to tell me that I have a swinging brick for a heart?”

“What a bull shit artist,” mumbled the waitress in a low voice, but loud enough for Nick to hear, as if she were venting some anger.

Staring at her for one long moment, Bob said more affably than before. “I’ve a little something to trouble you with, Pam. Come into the kitchen for a just a moment.”

Pam slowly led the way into the kitchen and Bob and the other officer followed, as this happened the man with the red face rubbed his knee again, stood up and moved out limping and the well dressed man followed very calmly and cautiously. Nick maintained his original position of relaxing but he moved his eyes on the two departing costumers.

 

Nick, seeing the two men walking out together, understood that they were old pals but had sat separately so the one of them could make a move on the widow, but leaving as soon as the police arrived and moving out with a calm and cautious manner, created a suspicious feeling in Nick’s mind but he remained visibly unaffected.

After a little while, both police officers walked out of the kitchen with the lady leading the way. The trio stood behind the counter for a moment with the two officers exhibiting the appearance of discipline and looking as if they belonged to that learned profession of the police force.

The questions and answers were completed to everyone’s satisfaction and the two officers walked away hastily as all busy men with purpose often do. Suddenly Bob stopped, turned and looked at Pam, “You can bring the horse to the pond, but you can’t make it drink.” Then he grinned and looked at Pam, “I wish you would drink from my pond.”

“I’m not thirsty yet. When or if I get thirsty I’ll jump in your pond with feet and shoes, but don’t keep it full on my account. There must be plenty of mares around who’d love to play in your pond.”

Picking up his hat placing carefully on his head, he imparted a wink, turned and walked away quickly trying to catch up with the other officer.

Nick, seeing them disappearing out of the front door, seemed to be calm and idled. The widow looked around with a searching eye and she then walked over to Nick. He, evidently being a man of class and good manners, restored himself to a proper sitting position and stared at her with a vacant look on his face.                                                                                                                                                                                                               “Welcome to “Soup and Shelter” I hope you find the acommandations neat and proper.”

“What happened to lover boy,” asked the lady, nodding her head towards the door as if she already knew that he was gone.

“They went out together.”

“Together?” asked the lady, with more concern in her question.

“Yes they were together, friends, you know. They damn near held hands.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m telling you something, those two were friends. They only separated in here so one could hit on you” said Nick, with much solemnity in his manner.

”May I sit down?” asked the lady, with a revolting sigh “Linda!” yelled the lady apparently to the waitress, “Bring me a cup of coffee, Honey. Do you want anything?  I’m buying,” she asked Nick.

“No, thank you ma’am. The food was delicious I meant to complement you earlier.”

“Thank you, stranger. I wish I could hear the same thing about the shelter.”

“Call me Nick. I like the name of your establishment, SOUP and SHELTER.”

“Hello, Nick. My name is Pam. Pamela Flood. One of my previous husband gave me the name. He is a cook at another town He used to say that the three most important things in a person’s life are the three Eses: Sex Soup and Shelter. I provide the two of them the rest, you have to hunt for yourself” said the lady, offering him her hand with a smile.

”Fair. Fair enough for me.  I’m glad to know you, Pamela Flood,” replied Erik, shaking her hand gently, “All the rain that fell the last two days, you must have a lot of floods down here,” said Erik humorously.

“No relation to the floods created by the rain, only related to the real Floods.”

“I am sure that they feel honored to be related to you. Anyone would be delighted, no matter what the nature of the relationship is,” replied Erik with a grin on his face.

“Smooth, very smooth,” returned the widow Flood, “are you going to try to hit on me too, stranger?”

“No ma’am. It’s not my style. Nothing personal; humor is my cup of tea.”

The waitress with the low neck line, whose breasts were half exposed and had made the other man’s mouth to water without her knowledge or concern, brought the coffee and glanced at Nick out of curiosity but much to her surprise he didn’t returned the glance.

“Anything else, Pam?” asked the waitress, looking at Nick who still didn’t oblige her.

Pam only shook her head negatively.

“How about you, sir?” asked the waitress.

“No thank you, ma’am” returned Nick with a grin and a quick glance. The two remained silent until the waitress disappeared in the kitchen.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the police were doing here at this hour of the night?”

“You just called me stranger. What kind of a stranger would I be if I’d tried to learn your business?”

“You have a funny way of answering questions with a question.”

“I told you that humor is my cup of tea.”

“You’re right. I remember you told me that. They are looking for two men. I have a number of people who are sleeping upstairs but none of them are connected with each other.”

“Now that you made it my business, why are the police looking for them, did they say? I am curious.”

“They tried to hold up a convenience store outside of Farmville. Do you know where Farmville is?”

“I know Farmville; I left there the day before yesterday.”

“I’m from Farmville, I was born there and my first marriage was blessed there but the blessing wasn’t strong enough to keep it together. My second marriage was done here.”

“Blessed?”

“Not blessed, cursed. The second marriage ended with my husband’s death; accident. My first husband is still there.”

“I hate to interrupt your autobiography, but tell me about those two men,” asked Erik seriously.

“What are you? A justice seeker?”

“No, that’s the police, they are the justice seekers. Liberty is my lady. I am just curious.”

The widow looked at him for a long moment and then grinned.

“The police didn’t have much on them. The owner of the convenience store said that he only saw them running. He saw them from the back. Oh, one was slightly….”

“Limping?” interrupted Nick.

“Yes. How did you know?” asked the lady concerned.

“Very interesting,” mumbled Nick, looking downwards.

“What’s very interesting?”

“Very interesting,” repeated Nick, in the same way.

“What’s interesting?” asked the woman in a louder voice, “You are driving me crazy.”

“Never mind,” said Nick, looking away.

“What do you mean, never mind, after you planted something in my mind?” stated the lady.

“Look and Listen to me. Do you have a hand gun?”

The lady didn’t respond, she only stared at him with a deep concern in her eye.

“Look, the police came and told you that they are looking for two bad guys. The bad guys are here.”

“Were here, you mean.”

“No. They are still here. They will be back. That I know.”

“Why will they come back?” asked Pam terrified.

“They forgot to say good night to you,” said Nick sarcastically. “Why will they come back?”

“To rob the place?”

“By golly, you’ve got it. I asked you if you have a gun.”

“What am I to do with a gun if I have one?”

“To shoot them.” responded Nick harshly. “Can you shoot a handgun?”

“Maybe yes or maybe no.”

“I hate that answer. My lady, everything in life is maybe yes and maybe no.”

“I can’t shoot anybody.”

“I can,” returned Nick. “Let me have it.”

“Why will I give it to you? I know you have one. I saw it the moment you walked in. It’s hanging from your shoulder.”

“Look, my name is Nick Kalis and I am your side,” returned Nick.

“You’re Greek?” asked the widow with a lot surprise.

“Yes, you are sounding as if being a Greek is some kind of a rare animal,” said Nick, hurriedly.

“My first husband is Greek”

“Good,” interrupted Nick again quickly and politely, “we’ll talk about your husbands later. Now, are you going to hand over to me your gun? I asked you before.”

“Why? I asked you before, too.”

“A gun is no good unless you want to use it to kill. Can you do that? And don’t tell me again, maybe yes of maybe know, I’ll spank you.”

“Are you always this gentle with women or this is your first time?” she asked.

“We’ll talk about that later when we’ll talk about your husbands.”