Matchstick Men

Ten The diner is nearly empty this afternoon, so Roy and Frankie sit at the counter longer than usual. There's no point in bringing out the playing cards yet, not until more people show. There's an old couple in the back booth and a little family across the way, but neither set is a good pull. On a day like today, it's best to wait. This is just for fun, for practice. No need to get tricky. The deer wander into your sights when the deer wander into your sights, Roy always says. No use forcing the issue. No use shooting badgers. The waitress, who has served Roy and Frankie almost every day for the last six years, walks by the counter and, without stopping the motion of her feet, fills both their coffee mugs to the brim. She does this fluidly, perfectly, like a ballerina, like she's been trained to do it all her life. Roy grunts his thanks. Frankie eats his burger. "Gonna get sick off those," Roy says. The corners of his mouth are smeared with mustard. "Off what?" "Off them burgers. You got the gout last month, you're gonna get it again." Frankie shrugs. His bony shoulders barely move inside the thin cotton button-down. "I got a lot I can bother you about, do I do it?" "Sometimes," says Roy. "You're a fat bastard, I bother you about that?" "Sometimes." "Am I doing it now?" "Not saying you are. I'm saying the last time you ate a bur- ger . . ." Roy shakes his head, wipes his thick cheeks with a paper napkin. "Fuck it, eat what you want." "Thank you." Juice runs down Frankie's face. His grin is shot with ketchup. They eat in silence. The waitress makes her way back across the diner, behind the counter. This time she comes to a full stop. Her name tag is a laminated sheet of paper. The ballpoint scrawl reads Sandi. Her hair is limp, dead across her shoulders, sunk low and heavy. Like she washed it with gasoline. "You two gonna want dessert today?" she asks. "Nah," says Frankie. Roy points to his coffee mug; Sandi fills it. "We're gonna sit for a while, sweetheart, if that's okay." Sandi coughs and walks away. It's the same every day. Roy and Frankie always tip her well and treat her better than most, so she lets them sit at the counter as long as they like. She looks away when they do the things that they do. Sometimes she listens in, but mostly, she looks away. Frankie polishes off his burger and sets to work on the garnishings, crunching whole strips of raw onion between his teeth. "That guy I told you about last week" "The one from the docks?" "Yeah, he wants to get together soon. He's top-heavy, Roy, he's got people ready to take a fall" Roy shakes his head, takes a bite of his turkey on rye. "Not now," he mumbles. "We'll get to it later." "Later." "Later," Roy repeats. Frankie spits out the unchewed onion in his mouth, leans into his partner. "What's a matter with you? Everything's later these days. You don't wanna run short, you don't wanna run longI can't get a break. Meantime, I got guysI got my own guys, you knowbreathing down my collar, steaming me up. Can't front money if I can't make money, partner." Turning around on the diner stool, slowly spinning the ruGarcia, Eric is the author of 'Matchstick Men' with ISBN 9780375505225 and ISBN 0375505229.