My thoughts were suddenly diverted by clomping shoe noises. I saw Thomas open the front door and jog down the steps into the cool February twilight. At the same time Claudette suddenly appeared and pulled me to my feet. She explained the need to leave immediately and so we were off following on the heels of her husband. Always a masochist Thomas had run straight for the hills. We hoofed it downhill instead towards the bus stop and adventure.
“Which way are we headed, I asked.”
Claudette paused to think. “Let’s go north. North to North Beach.”
When we reached the bus stop I noticed a man sprawled on the ground in front of a laundromat. I inched closer to see if he was still taking in air. As I leaned over to take a peek his chest heaved and a gurgling snore oozed between his lips. A gold sweatshirt was tucked under his head which made him look at peace in his passed out world. He appeared to be wearing a large wooden sandwich board as a blanket. I read the big block lettered advertisement aloud to Claudette. “Dine at Dempsey’s...Our specials will really knock you out!”
We were still laughing at the scene when a motorcycle cop u-turned and parked at the curb. He removed his helmet and ran a hand through his auburn crewcut. Stuffed into a tight CHIPS uniform and knee-high boots, he swaggered towards us. I leaned towards Claudette and whispered in her ear. “It’s Foghorn Leghorn, I say, I say.” She shot me a warning look. I winked at her then assumed a faux serious expression.
The officer had the watchful eyes of a hawk, ever vigilant and suspicious.
“Good evening ladies, it looks like we’ve got a man down here. Is he a friend of yours?
Claudette stepped forward confidently. “ No officer, he doesn’t belong to either of us. We just saw him on the sidewalk and my sister checked to see if he needed any help.”
“Well, it looks like he’s already helped himself, if you know what I mean.” The officer took the man’s pulse. Satisfied, he reached under the guy’s splayed legs and pulled out an empty bottle of Jameson Whiskey. “Pity, good stuff too.”
I started moving forward. Claudette countered by stepping on my right foot hoping to stop me from wooing trouble. I juked left escaping her body block and approached the man, the one standing. He was humorless and obviously a cop who played it only by the book, SOP, standard operating procedure. Like they say in the military, “Sir, yes sir.” How could he be impervious to Man Down’s obvious aptitude for innovative advertising? It was funny and he missed the whole point. I thought I’d wave a red flag and give him a hint about what he was missing.
I started by hitting him with my boxing repartee. “Officer, this guy is definitely down for the count. I bet he and Jameson had a ringside seat at Dempsey’s. Boy, somebody must have given him the bum’s rush after the bout.” He ignored me by readjusting his name badge, Officer F. Flannery. I continued to harangue, “Are you going to call a paddy wagon to come get him?”
Officer Flannery was definitely irritated. “Look lady, I’m going to call and have this guy picked up by the county. You two are free to run along and finish your little shopping trip.” He leaned his head towards his shoulder and squawked an unintelligible code into his strap-on walkie-talkie.
I didn’t like his chauvinistic jab and continued to tease. “1-Adam-12 we’ve got a man down in need of immediate removal. Is that how you call for a paddy wagon? I guess “paddy wagon” isn’t PC anymore. In years of yore, Irish immigrants were always getting arrested for public drunkenness. The police had to get them off the street so they sent in wagons, as in paddy wagons. Get it? St. Patrick, Patty..Paddy wagon? Sir, I noticed your last name is Flannery. Irish, am I right?”
Claudette grabbed my arm and turned me in the opposite direction. “Come on sis, the officer doesn’t need a history lesson.” She whispered under her breath, “shush up lassy before he calls the paddy wagon for you.”
I looked back in time to see him admiring his cop countenance in the laundromat window. I wanted to whistle but thought better of myself. Plus, the bus had pulled up and offered us refuge in a sea of faces. We were both quiet on the ride downtown. At the end of the line we de-bused and grabbed a cab to North Beach. When we arrived, Claudette and I started looking for places to dine.
“All that yapping with the “popo” made me hungry,” I said. You’re not mad at me are you? That cop was like Joe Palooka in jodhpurs, I say, I say.”
“No, I’m not mad, but you have to admit he has a hideous job. How’d you like to lift up a bum’s butt in search of liquor?
“I can honestly say I’ve never had to stoop that low for a drink. “That’s hitting below the belt, sis.”
Claudette ignored me and paid attention to her stomach instead. “I’m so hungry I could eat a boxing glove.”
“Did someone hit me with a right cross? I thought Boxer Day was in December, not February.
We kept walking north and then took a random right on to Green Street. Claudette and I both stopped, looked up at the sign simultaneously, and then at each other. A bright orange and green neon arrow pointed the way to Dempsey’s Bar, home of the “Knock Out Specials” fame.
Claudette stopped in from of the bar and shook her head. “Are you kidding me? Paulette, is this some kind of joke? Are you doing that intuiting thing again? This is way too coincidental. Dempsey’s, of all the gin joints...”
“Sis, you know I don’t believe in coincidences, I’m a believer in synchronistic events. I never knew this place existed but we are meant to be here, even though I detest anything to do with combat sports... especially boxxxing.”
“Let’s go in and maybe I’ll order one of their “knock outs.” Paulette, all of these boxing references are making me punch-drunk.”
I pushed open the red double doors and we entered Dempsey’s dimly lit interior. It was a classic Irish bar in every respect and heavily accented with boxing paraphernalia. Patrick the bartender took our order, a Guinness for Claudette and a Grolsh for me (anarchist). After the food and drink orders were secured I inquired, “Is Thomas joining us this evening?”
Icy steins of beer arrived and Claudette reached for hers first. “Arghhhhhh.”
“Are you a pirate or did you didn’t just stroke out on me?” I took a slug of my Dutch beer. “What’s up, were you and Tommy sparring earlier?
Claudette tapped her fingers on the bar top in time to an Irish folk tune playing on the jukebox. She stopped tapping and slammed her fist into the red Naugahyde barstool beside me. “You are so right Paulette, there are no coincidences. First we see Man Down flattened between his sandwich board, and then we couldn’t stop with the boxing jokes. Now we’re in the midst pugilist heaven. Go figure.”
“I read somewhere it’s called, “The Law of Attraction,” or even better, “Where attention goes energy flows.” I nodded my head indicating our surroundings. “Synchronistic events happen a lot if you’re paying attention, but most people are somnambulists like Robcop. By the way, you didn’t answer my question, is Tommy coming or not?”
“No, he isn’t coming. I told him we couldn’t wait for him to get back from his run, then shower, dress, and finally walk Bonkers before we’d eat. Truthfully, we did put up our verbal dukes this afternoon. It was not a fight though, more like a power struggle and I lost.”
Gratefully, the food arrived along with our second beers and we dove eagerly into both. “Sis, you acquiesced, you didn’t lose. It’s called the art of compromise which I know you are well versed in since you’re married, thirty plus and counting. Riddle me this, what were you two power struggling about?”
Claudette took a long sip of Guinness. “Typically I have no problem respectfully disagreeing with Thomas, but today was different. I really wanted to say something to him, but I couldn’t get the words out. He was hyper and already had one foot out the door. I felt anxious and wishy-washy at the same time, do you know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean. Not to beat a dead horse (boyfriend), but Theo would get into one of his lock n’ load modes and nothing could blow him of course. At times, he was so self-absorbed I could’ve taken a chain saw to the bedroom furniture and he wouldn’t have noticed, unless I’d cut off one of his appendages in the process.”
“What a vision. I get the picture.” She laughed and pushed her empty soup bowl to the side.
“Claudette, I’m not sure what happened today between you and Thomas. It sounds like you had irresolute feelings to be sure. If you want to try to explaining I’m all ears. I'd like to understand.
Claudette shook her head in the negative and remained quiet.
“Maybe it’s time to pay homage to our dear old mother. Mom always said it best. “Trust your intuition,” “To thine own self be true,” and “Men are a different species than women.” I couldn’t help but smile at the latter. “In my book, men have much more simplistic needs than women. At least that’s what Joyce Brothers preached.”
We’d been so involved in conversation neither of us noticed that the bar had filled with patrons waiting to be seated. We gathered our things and got up to leave and that’s when I saw him. It was a perfect ending to a particularly peculiar day. I led Claudette by the hand to the last stool at the end of the bar. “Officer Flannery? My sister and I saw you earlier today at the bus stop. Remember the man in the sandwich board?
Flannery, sitting alone sans uniform, upended a shot of Jameson before he answered. “How’d you find Dempsey’s of all the places? He pointed his finger at me, and then at Claudette. I do remember you, or was it you? Seriously, I’m off duty and I’m trying to forget. Besides, I’m getting double vision just looking at you two. Skedaddle.”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “Hey, that’s a low blow officer! I don’t want to go toe-to-toe with you either. My sister and I know the ropes and can we roll with the punches. We know when to throw in the towel.”
Flannery’s face and scalp flushed scarlet. He clenched his fists and opened his big flounder lips to say something, but I beat him to the punch.
“Did you know the name Flannery translates to “red eyebrows” in Irish? Take a look in the mirror, your brows are on fire. Officer, I bet I can guess what the initial F stands for on your name badge!”
Claudette grabbed me under the arms, and for the second time today steered me away from Officer Flannery. A cab pulled up just as she’d pushed me out the red double doors. I yelled to passersby, “we’ve been saved by the bell.” Safely inside and heading home, I smiled conspiratorially at my sister. “Well sis, did you get your fill of zip in your do dah today?”
Claudette smiled back. “We went quite a few rounds.”
As we crept up the stairs an ivory moon cast a pale pathway through a maze of deck furniture, plants and assorted footwear. Bonkers bravely muscled his way towards me, and along the way picked up a sneaker in the process. He dropped the sandy, slimy, stinky shoe at my feet and grinned widely at his accomplishment. In his world sharing a shoe was as good as giving up a bone. I thanked him for his present with a quick muzzle massage. “Bonkers, where’s Tommy? Did you get your walk? Bonkers perked his ears at the hallowed word “walk.”
A voice called to us from the shadows. “Hi Twinettes, I’m glad your back. Old Yeller and I have been holding down the fort. Bonkers missed you Claudette. He’s still a bit upset because our badass cat used him as a punching bag again.”
I looked at Claudette and she stood there shaking her head.. again.
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