HARRY SAVES THE DAY

I'd settled into a routine. Most weeknights I stopped here at the Paragon Cafe and had a feed and a stubby of light beer. Jenny, the manageress/waitress and her hubby, the chef, owned the place. I like it here, the food's good for the price, Jenny's friendly and she keeps the place sorta calm and quiet.

“There you go, Harry, a meal fit for a king,” Jenny said. “Hang on, I'll get you a steak knife.”

“Gunna be tough, is it love?” I asked.

“I hope not. Just suck it until I get back with a steak knife.”

It took her a few minutes. “Here you go, I sharpened it so be careful.”

She drifted about swabbing a few tables. I noticed she kept looking over at me. I don't mind being looked at and I don't mind looking at her. She's probably forty, nice looking, kept the weight off and got a large head of violent red hair. Jenny's friendly, chatty and quick with a smart-alec quip.

She worked her way over to my table. “Hey Harry, can a girl buy you a beer?”

“Dunno. Depends,” I told her, “if yer tryin' to crack onto me, you're wasting your time. I've taken a vow of chastity.”

She marched off and returned with two stubbies of light beer. “That's your tipple as I recall. Enjoy. My shout.”

I'm surprised, staring. I'm none too quick these days.

“Well, are you going to ask me to join you or will I sit at the next table?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry. I'm not used to pretty ladies wanting to sit with me. One of 'em said I looked scary.”

“Pretty lady? It's been a while since anyone called me that. Thank you. Enough about me. You do look a bit scary. But I’ll take my chances and sit with you. But no sudden moves, right? ”

“That'd be nice. Yeah, I've gotta rough mug. It's been punched too often.”

“Now you've mentioned it,” Jenny said, “I feel that I can ask you about your rough mug and who and why it's been punched too often. Ooh, I know! Jealous husbands?”

“Nah, I was boxing for a living.”

“Not too successfully.” Jenny said. By the look of you.’

“Mixed successes,” I told her. "I was part of Mick Sharkey's Travelling Tent Show. Heard of it?”

"'Oh yes, I saw it once or twice, years ago when it came to town. It was part of every carnival.”

“That's it. Did you notice the handsome lad beating the big bass drum? That was me.”

“Go on! I think I do remember you. You had a lot of fair hair. We girls used to think you were a bit of all right.”

“Yer shoulda told me.”

“Well, we went into the tent and watched you getting beaten.”

“That was me. Second palooka. The first palooka would get beaten in the first round. Me bein' the second palooka didn't take a dive till the end of the second

2

round.”

“It was all fixed?” Jenny asked

“Yeah Mate. And all the locals would be ushered out then pay again to see their local hero come back in and thrash the outa towners. When we'd run outa palookas they'd put the poor local sucker up against a gen-u-wine big city champ who'd play with the poor lad, dance around him and slowly dismantle him.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Out of season, I went down to Melbourne and fought three-rounders for Ambrose Palmer in Festival Hall – The Punchatorium,” I said. “ I won a few, lost a few and then our champ come down crook so Ambrose asked me to fill-in and fight his ten-rounder. I'd never trained to go that distance. I was slaughtered! I lasted eight rounds and my opponent was holding me up for most of that.”

“My God, Harry, you've had a tough trot.”

“True, I'm just working for a security firm now. That's a lot easier.”

“Yes, I know.”

At that moment her husband Berty came through, “the kitchen's ship-shape and Bristol fashioned. I’m off, Jen. Hi and bye, Harry.”

“See ya, Berty,” Jenny said and I waved my fork.

“What? He doesn't wait for you?” I asked

“No, he's got his own life.”

I'm staring, daring to ask her what's none of my business.

“Well, Harry, you told me your life story so you're entitled to hear mine. That's if you want to.”

“I do but only if you let me buy us a cuppla more beers.”

“Deal, Tuffy. Get your money up.”

Away she went and came back with two stubbies. “Brace yourself Harry for the sad tale of Jenny.”

It wasn't too sad. Her'n' Berty had been married for nearly twenty years: they'd bought this cafe for a give-away price from an old widow-woman. Built it up into a good paying business, Berty being a good chef and they’re about to sell it for a good price. Their relationship had cooled when they found that they couldn't have kids but they were still good friends. When they sell up, Berty's going to Sydney, he's had an offer from a major hotel there. Jenny wants to stay here. She's got a sister living here in town. Berty's had an offer for the cafe and Jenny's had an offer to work behind the bar in the local pub. “So Harry, that's the story of Jenny. Did it bring a tear to your eye?

There's a few customers starting to leave and Jenny's buzzing about. “How's your steak, Harry?” She called in passing.

“I decided to go back to sucking it,” I told her. But I had a chunk of steak on my fork.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

A big bloke in a cheap suit came in. I know the suit was cheap, it was the sort that I’d buy. If I bought a suit. The big bloke walked over to a bloke dining solo and sat

down. There was a quiet but intense conversation. Then the big bloke pulled a gun out and jammed it in the face of the first bloke.

Oh, no! Lindt Cafe, Martin Place, all over again. Two killed and probably everybody emotionally scarred for life. The gunman's got his back to me. I stood up quietly, not scraping the chair, took a couple of paces over, grabbed his face with my left hand and rested the very sharp steak knife against his throat.

“Drop the gun or I'll cut yer bloody head off.”

“Who--- What---” He said.

“Three and counting.”

“You don't---”

“Two.” And he dropped the gun.

I saw Jenny hurrying across the cafe towards us. “Jenny, get everybody out and call the cops.”

“Harry, you've got 'em moving out smartly by yourself,” she paused. “Just as well they pay when they order. As for calling the cops, you've got your own personal one right there.”

What the hell! I went cold all over.

“You're a cop, aren't you, Alvin?” She asked.

“Oh yes! As this idiot is going to find out. I'm gunna charge him with interfering with an officer in the course of his duty, attacking an officer with a deadly weapon and everything else me and my mates can think of as we belt him to a pulp.”

“Alvin, you are aware that I'm hearing all this?” She paused and sniffed. Have you been drinking on duty? You reek of alcohol.”

“Of course not! This idiot aided and abetted the escape of a major drug dealer.”

I looked over. Yup. His victim's taken off during The Great Exodus. “If you're a cop, show me your badge.” I demanded. In for a penny in for a pound

He got very excited but I still had my steak knife at his throat. “Inner right coat pocket.” he said.

Jenny fished it out, opened it and showed me.

Damn, he's a cop alright. I lowered my knife. “You can pick your gun up now.” I told him.

“I told you so, Harry,” Jenny said. “Now that we're sure that you're a cop Alvin, tell us, don't you blokes have policies and procedures to follow? Like not drinking on duty. Not doing a Dirty Harry and pulling a gun in a crowded restaurant? Organising back-up? Covering the back door? Oh, and the front door, that's where your dangerous drug dealer went five minutes ago?”

Policeman Alvin was seething. “I'm gunna put you away for a very long time, Harry,” He sneered.

"Think about it Alvin," Jenny told him. "Because of you, Harry thought there was a bad situation going on.”

“Yeah, like Lindt Cafe in Martin Place a couple of years back.” I said.

“Exactly, Alvin. Harry was trying to save lives. But you came in after you'd been drinking, waved your gun around and created havoc,” Jenny said. “Will this look good on our CCTV and of course, your personal file?”

The cop was red in the face.

“Alvin, as a friend, I think you should forget this incident and go and find your bad man. Or better still, go home and sleep off the drink.”

Alvin stalked off, slamming the door. “What an unpleasant chap,” I told Jenny.

“The word is a pig but sit down and I'll get you a fresh coffee.”

I was doing some serious thinking. When Jenny came back with my coffee I said, “Jenny you may have saved my life or a large portion of it. Thank you.”

“No probs, Harry, but next time you feel heroic, consult me first, okay?”

I lingered over my coffee, reviewed the situation and figured that I'd let everyone die next time. I left the cafe, paused on the footpath and savoured the cool, refreshing, night air and stepped out for my room.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, spun me about and a large figure sucker-punched me in the gut. I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to get some of that refreshing night air into meself.

“And that's just the start, Harry.” The cop said, I can feel his hot, boozy breath as he leaned over me.

“ A minute! A minute! Please.” I begged.

“I don't mind prolonging your agony, Harry. I got all night.”

A big breath and then, hands on my knees, I propelled myself up into the perfect headbutt. I felt his nose crunch then heard a second crunch as his head flew back hitting the brick wall behind him. He sagged down the wall settling in a sitting position. Blood from his nose poured down over him.

I looked about, nobody close, thank heavens. I stepped around him and headed for my rented room. There may be consequences. No! There will be consequences! I'll pick up my overnight bag and head off. I believe Melbourne's quite nice this time of the year.

----

A month later to the day, I rang the Paragon Cafe. “That you Jenny?”

“Yup. Which one of my admirers are you?”

“Harry. Do you have kind memories of me?”

“Of course I do. My favourite hero.”

“Yeah, well--- Is that cop still looking for me?”

“No Mate. It's safe to come home. Where are you, anyway?”

“Over the hills and far away,” I told her. “That cop struck me as being the vindictive type.”

“Harry, when he left the cafe, he went hunting for that drug dealer you prevented him from arresting. And found him. The drug dealer took umbrage at the cop finding him. And beat him up. He's been in a coma ever since and on life-support which they're about to turn off.”

“Huh,” I said philosophically.

“If you come back we can go to his funeral together.” Jenny said.

“No thanks, Jenny, I'd rather treasure my memories of him.”

"That's a shame, Tuffy. The local pub's looking for a security man."

"Yeah?" I said and thought to meself, that sounds like an invitation from a nice lady. I haven't had one of those for a while. I wonder--- Should I?

"Harry, if accommodation's a problem, you can use my spare bedroom until you find something."

Read more of Vic's Short Stories, Short Stories