Post by OscarWillebeest on Apr 3, 2008 10:56:01 GMT -5
The piping water sluiced my tired body, the radio loudly blaring out Frank Sinatra’s determination to do things his way. Still, the phone managed to persistently shrill its urgency amongst, demanding my immediate attention. Somewhat unwillingly I closed the tap, and shedded little pools of water onto the paraquet floor as I slonsed my way over to the clamouring instrument.
I pulled the plug on Frank, and grabbed hold of the phone: “Hello?”
It was another Frank, Frank Bertoli, generally referred to as Frank the Loud, dealer in second hand cars, dope, women, and whatever, booming across the wires “Oscar, my friend! How come you’re awake at 2 o’clock in the morning? A conscience attack?”
I counted to ten, before answering: “No, Frankie, some idiot decided to phone me.”
“Har-de har-har-har” he exercised his overly used ersatz bonhomie. “ A real joker you are! Listen up, old son, I need a favour….”
Now, Frank the Loud is not someone whom one denies willingly, at least not if your physical health is high on your priority list. Besides, at present I was driving around for free in one of his second hand Mercs. “Sure thing, Frank.”
“Good good come over immediately youll’l find me in the den,” and he slammed the phone in my ear. As always I wondered how the heck did he sometimes manage to talk without any punctuation?
It was about half an hour later when I pulled into his driveway. The porch light offensively glaring ,the front door agape, and the Loud voice booming: “Step right in, Oscar!”
I complied, and walked into the den, where he was slugging it out with a bottle of brandy, the impression being that the brandy was on a losing streak. “Sit down, my boy, sit down and join me in a quick one.” Which I willingly did.
As we settled back, I asked about the favour that he needed.
“Oh, nothing much, just take a dame on a trip.”
“Jesus, Frank, could she not at least wait till the sun is up?”
“Nope.”
“Ok, then, but after dropping her off, I am not sticking around!”
“Har-de har-har har! Definitely not. No, just drop her off, then hightail it back home.”
“Where would she like to go?”
“The funeral parlour, the one next to the cop shop. Har-de har-har har!”
“Ok, Frank, mind if we hurry it up? Still need to catch up on my sleep.”
“Oh, she’s already in the car, waiting for you.”
“Who is she?”
“Mizz Daisy, and please drive carefully, you hear?”
“Jeez, Frank. You phone me 2 o’clock in the morning to drive mizz Daisy around, then tell me to drive carefully? Jeez, man, if she wants to visit a dead uncle, surely he ain’t going nowhere anytime soon?”
“Har-de har-har har!” and he slapped me between the shoulders with a meaty hand. ‘Oscar, you are too much!”
It was when we neared the car, it was when I could not see no dame in the passenger seat, that I turned towards Frank the Loud, a million questions in my eyes.
He was dabbing his tears with a hanky, and I realized: This is to be Mizz Daisy’s final trip, and fate has picked me as the Driver. Probably trussed up in the boot she was, like a chicken, devoid of any dignity.
Wordlessly I siddled into the driver’s seat, gingerly turned the key in the ignition, and gently backed out of the drive way, sedately driving Mizz Daisy towards her final destination.
I pulled the plug on Frank, and grabbed hold of the phone: “Hello?”
It was another Frank, Frank Bertoli, generally referred to as Frank the Loud, dealer in second hand cars, dope, women, and whatever, booming across the wires “Oscar, my friend! How come you’re awake at 2 o’clock in the morning? A conscience attack?”
I counted to ten, before answering: “No, Frankie, some idiot decided to phone me.”
“Har-de har-har-har” he exercised his overly used ersatz bonhomie. “ A real joker you are! Listen up, old son, I need a favour….”
Now, Frank the Loud is not someone whom one denies willingly, at least not if your physical health is high on your priority list. Besides, at present I was driving around for free in one of his second hand Mercs. “Sure thing, Frank.”
“Good good come over immediately youll’l find me in the den,” and he slammed the phone in my ear. As always I wondered how the heck did he sometimes manage to talk without any punctuation?
It was about half an hour later when I pulled into his driveway. The porch light offensively glaring ,the front door agape, and the Loud voice booming: “Step right in, Oscar!”
I complied, and walked into the den, where he was slugging it out with a bottle of brandy, the impression being that the brandy was on a losing streak. “Sit down, my boy, sit down and join me in a quick one.” Which I willingly did.
As we settled back, I asked about the favour that he needed.
“Oh, nothing much, just take a dame on a trip.”
“Jesus, Frank, could she not at least wait till the sun is up?”
“Nope.”
“Ok, then, but after dropping her off, I am not sticking around!”
“Har-de har-har har! Definitely not. No, just drop her off, then hightail it back home.”
“Where would she like to go?”
“The funeral parlour, the one next to the cop shop. Har-de har-har har!”
“Ok, Frank, mind if we hurry it up? Still need to catch up on my sleep.”
“Oh, she’s already in the car, waiting for you.”
“Who is she?”
“Mizz Daisy, and please drive carefully, you hear?”
“Jeez, Frank. You phone me 2 o’clock in the morning to drive mizz Daisy around, then tell me to drive carefully? Jeez, man, if she wants to visit a dead uncle, surely he ain’t going nowhere anytime soon?”
“Har-de har-har har!” and he slapped me between the shoulders with a meaty hand. ‘Oscar, you are too much!”
It was when we neared the car, it was when I could not see no dame in the passenger seat, that I turned towards Frank the Loud, a million questions in my eyes.
He was dabbing his tears with a hanky, and I realized: This is to be Mizz Daisy’s final trip, and fate has picked me as the Driver. Probably trussed up in the boot she was, like a chicken, devoid of any dignity.
Wordlessly I siddled into the driver’s seat, gingerly turned the key in the ignition, and gently backed out of the drive way, sedately driving Mizz Daisy towards her final destination.