4

I pulled up to Mulberry’s just a sliver before 8. Being punctual was important to me. I knew Chris would show up a few minutes after, but it didn’t bother me much. I would normally just sip my drink and browse the talent until he showed up.

Mulberry's’ was a local joint that had trouble deciding whether to be more of a family place, or a bar. For us it was a good blend, not too rowdy, but good cheap drinks. Inside the establishment Mets memorabilia covered the walls (perhaps the reason I liked the place). The owner used to play triple A ball in the Mets farm system; he never could let that dream die. Sometimes he would make rounds at the tables to share baseball stories with customers. Either he rubbed pants with one of the greats or he was having the season of his life and almost got called up. Not to say they weren't interesting stories, but I thought he needed to let the past go, give it a rest.

I was seated by the host at a two person table situated near the far end of the bar. The waitress was pretty cute and couldn’t be more than her early twenties. Her pinstripe dress and baseball jersey complimented her figure. I’m sure she got generous tips.

“What woulda like to drink sir?” She flashed a smile my way and it made for a nice first impression.

“Um…. lets see how about Captain and Dr.pepp--”

“Ohh I’m sorry we only carry Coke,” she interrupted.

“I guess that’s fine,” I mumbled. What a disappointment.

“Say, whose jersey you got there?

“Hmm,” She twirled around trying to see the name on the back. The uniform was none other than Nolan Ryan, the legend himself, but the puzzled face, the fact that she needed to even look at the name, told me she was clueless.

“I’m not sure". She sounded impatient. She probably had other customers to charm, and more tips to make. Hell, I was going to tip her nicely. Before I got the chance to enlighten her on Mets baseball, she scurried off to the bar to put in my order. I wondered where girls like that we're back in my prime years. I mean, I was a rather sharp looking guy. Those years came and went without me taking advantage of them much. Now I was far too old for someone like her to consider. Her whole future was ahead of her with much better prospects chasing her. She dropped the ticket at the bar. It still stunned me she didn’t know who Nolan Ryan was, me and my dad used to worship him, even after he left the Mets.

The waitress brought me my drink swiftly. I watched her dodge between packed tables in the effort to deliver. I thanked her, but she was nearly gone by the time I had gotten the words out. I wasted no time sipping the potent concoction . A little too stiff for the first one, but I could manage. I eyed the entrance of the bar, and sure enough, a couple minutes late, Chris hustle in. He looked the role of a cop, about 6’3’’ 240lbs, an intimidating frame if you didn't know him. Though on the inside, the guy was one of the softest I’d ever seen. He was loyal to a fault, honest and had a calm friendly demeaner that radiated off him. Tonight he wore a black blazer, with blue sweats, and an white undershirt. He notoriously dressed himself terrible, and if not for getting married, the outfit tonight would have been much worse. He took pride in his attire. If he approved then he didn’t need anyone else's. He scanned the restaurant for me. His head weaving back and forth. First a quick glance around, then slowly to each table. He knew I was here. I put up a half wave then his eyes caught mine. He hustled over, carefully avoiding the patrons in his way.

“I’m sorry, wife wanted to hear about my day before I drove down” he apologized.

“Aw naw no problem, you're only 15 minutes late, that’s actually early for you". He shot me a c'mon smile, but I wasn't done.

"Say you knew we were meeting here tonight and not at a high school gym right"? He shook his head and chuckled in defeat as he got settled in.

Scanning the menu and not finding anything too appetizing, we both settled on a burger when the waitress approached. While she collected menus I asked him if he had any decent stories from the week? (being in the NYPD, he had plenty to offer).

He laughed and flashed me a look like I wasn’t going to believe what he told me. I noticed the waitress had lingered collecting our menus and now was fixated on Chris. Of course he got her attention. I could tell she wanted to eavesdrop, but the busy tables pulled her away.

Leaning in like it was a government secret he started a story about a paranoid schizophrenic who lived on the streets. A guy who use to be an accountant but who the illness had taken a hold of him in his thirties. He formally had been successful, with a wife and kids until he devolved into madness.

"Everyone hears paranoid schizophrenic and thinks a murderous maniac, but this guy never harmed anyone before and he had been around the streets for six months" Chris explained. "His only fault was carrying garbage bags of rats and talking to himself, so the officers usually left him alone. Then on Tuesday see, witnesses saw him stab a man in a rat costume outside a pest control storefront. Unprovoked, he just dropped his bag, screamed and assaulted the man". He nodded his head as my face surly resembled a look of disbelief.

"It created quite a panic in the city. A stabbing in broad daylight, on a busy street, well it had folks worried. I had the brass breathing down my neck the second after I got wind of the story. Fortunately, some local cops knew his usual stomping grounds and within an hour we had located him in an abandoned warehouse. Then...." His voice trailed off in suspense. He shook his head like he couldn't believe the story he was telling.

"Then I kid you not they discovered hundreds, upon hundreds of dead rats, just rotting in the place. Dried blood stained the floor, flies so numerous it was a black buzzing haze. It reeked like nothing you could ever imagine. Even some of the veteran officers couldn’t hold their lunch. And there, in the middle of it all sat that crazy bastard, calmly holding a deceased rat talking to himself in his own little world. It was a little fascinating to me really. How the human brain works, that a reality so sickening to us, could be so normal for him".

Chris then explained how he talked to a psychiatrist at Bellevue psych hospital. The doctor explained that the man thought rats were spies that would turn him into the government, and when he stabbed that person on the street, he saw them as a rat spy and not a person. That was his reality and he was just acting upon what made sense to him. We couldn’t charge him because he was legally insane, so he would just remain at Bellevue until, he was deemed capable to stand trial. I looked at him speechless, he had a crazy job.

Right then our burgers landed in front of us. The white saucers steamed with the fresh food. Both me and Chris exchanged glances indicating the story should’ve waited until after diner. I gazed down at a rather delicious looking burger embedded in a mountain of fries, and all I could think of were those damn rats. Judging by Chris’s face, he was having similar thoughts. With neither of us hungry anymore we made small talk and nibbled at our food. After pounding a few drinks the conversation turned more serious.

“Hey Nick uh, I was wondering how you’ve been doing lately, I mean honestly. This time of year is usually pretty hard for you and well... ya”. Chris asked this every year, but never as an empty gesture, he was always concerned.

“Oh I’ve been alright". I tried to pass that off as a suitable response, but Chris had cracked plenty tougher guys then me. He just waited stone face until I provided him a real answer.

"I think about him a lot, but there’s nothing I can really do about it. I just can't stop thinking about him....it....it makes me so angry". My fist had curled up."I always was curious about who did it too, you know, what I would say to him. I've thought of a million things I would say, but if I actually did ever see him, I don't know if I could find the words". I took a sip.

"I've had an image all these years of what the guy was like. Some mangy beard strung out druggie. A younger gritty man with fair skin and the eyes of shifty fox. One who long ago abandoned his conscience for a thirst of money and misery, leaving destruction in his wake and recharging off the memories of his victims....." I had caught Chris by surprise. "Or who knows maybe I'm completely wrong and it's a women...or a alien"! I was just being silly now.

“Ahh... Nick.." Chris shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Here I thought you didn't have an imagination". The fourth coke was settling in.

"See, when my father died it was easier knowing that no one was responsible, and there was nothing that could’ve been done, but you man, that uncertainty is something I'm not envious of". Chris sure was making me feel better.

Over the years Chris seemed to put his father's death behind him, forgiving god and refusing to speak about it negatively. He was strong, but also had the help of closure.

Right then an idea crept into my head. Almost instantly I became excited by the thought. Closure, maybe that’s what I needed.

"What are you smiling about over there? Probably imagining me in a bikini or somethin, ya perv". Chris wasn't immune to the booze either.

“Chris, now you work in law enforcement".

Instantly he began to applaud my observation.

"No, no, I'm serious here. What I’m gonna ask is a huge favor, and I completely understand if you don’t want too, but…." Chris leaned in uncomfortably close with wide eyes and I shoed him away back in to his seat. If he kept this up, he was going to get on my nerves.

"What if you could help me out by looking into my father's murder again? Perhaps they missed something the first time, and well....what--" Chris shot up his hand then lifted a finger to give him a moment.

It was a lot to ask from a friend, even one like Chris. He paused, looking toward the ground for an eternity, deep in thought. Only interrupting his stare with sips of bourbon which would transition him from one pose of contemplation to another. The suspense was killer, my face stone cold serious, but the excitement inside felt like a child on Christmas morning. It was one of those ideas that should bring anything but excitement, but I couldn’t help but be giddy at the thought.

“Okay, I’ll help ya,” Chris conceded.

In my mind angels sang alleluia at our table, I was ecstatic. Showing my jubilation the form of a fist pump.

Chris continued, “I will do all I can. Now the case happened in New Jersey which is outside my jurisdiction, but it was so long ago I won’t be stepping on toes if I poke around a bit. I won’t make any promises for results, but there is also a new DNA technology we’ve been starting to use that wasn’t around when your father was killed”.

He started explaining the process. Basically everyone's body has a different blueprint, and now they had the technology to read that blueprint, and match them together from a crime scene through bodily fluids. It was like sci-fi. Chris said it was the biggest thing to happen in law enforcement since fingerprints. The problem with DNA was that it was still in the very early stages and it would be difficult to run a scan for me if needed. I told him we would cross that bridge if we came to it. I thanked him profusely though he shrugged it off. We then turned our attention the neglected burgers.

The burger was actually really tasty when I wasn’t thinking about rats. The bun was toasted golden brown with just enough crisp from the lettuce and bun to offset the soft juicy beef. The brown mustard I requested was just the icing on the cake as they say. It brought a slight bite that complimented the seasoning in the patty. The fries were average, rather salty, and not as crisp as I would like, though overall I was pretty satisfied. The dinner conversation turned to his family, Chris had a wife, Helen, and two sons. One was six years old named Damion, and the other four named Ben. He told me they both wanted to be Yankees one day. Stuffing my face with fries drenched in barbeque sauce, I informed him that if they were smart the Mets should be the team they strive for. He knew my obsession with the Mets, but he was always more of a Yankees guy so there wasn't much for me to refute. I couldn’t blame him though, the Yankees were always in contention, while the Mets struggled to put together a decent team. Either way though, it was nice to hear his kids were interested in baseball. We finished up our drinks and decided to call it a night. I left a generous tip and we promised to get together soon. Chris said he would check into the case and get back to me as soon as he got anything relevant. One last thanks in the form of a hug, then we parted ways in the parking lot. I located my vintage Challenger, and drove home.