Shoot the Moon

Chapter Fifteen - The Man From The Mayor

The following morning the Dalton Brothers barked me awake and in the distance I could here insistent ringing of the door chimes. The bedroom door had been closed to insure the Daltons were well separated from the pit bull tied to the kitchen table. If I had to explain the sudden disappearance of her dogs, I might as well start looking for a new wife to be uxorious over.

I got out of bed and grabbed the Louisville slugger from the hall closet and put it on my shoulder. My confidence in the security of the building had been greatly diminished.

"Who is it," I shouted. I didn't look through the peephole, a good way to get shot.

"It's TJ, Murphy."

TJ is Thomas Jefferson Falk. He is a big black man who became a success as a cop. Not everybody gets nothing out of working for the city. When he was on the street years ago, TJ made a bust of three Sicilians who were smuggling dope into the country in statues of the Virgin Mary. Eyewitness News hyped the story. The cracked statues of the Mother of God spilling cocaine had been good TV. TJ is undeniably black and that happened to coincide with the mayor's campaign to show that the city is NOT racist. NOT. It didn't hurt that TJ is photogenic, six foot-five, and looks, in fact, like an ugly Denzel Washington, which is still pretty good. He and the mayor got a lot of airplay side by side and TJ was catapulted into the magic circle of cops to whom the mayor is grateful. There are better things that can happen to an ambitious cop, but not many.

Then TJ dropped out of sight. I hadn't seen him in years.

I opened the door and looked up into his broad black face.

"Is that a baseball bat? You never struck me as the athletic type, Murphy."

"TJ, I like your suit."

"I like your nasty old boxer shorts, Murphy. You always come to the door this way? I oughta nab you for a public nuisance."

"Want some coffee?"

"Yes. I didn't get you out of bed, did I?"

"I'm out of coffee, let's go out."

"Murphy, I don't have time for this shit. I work for a living. Remember what that's like?"

"No, thank God."

TJ was walking around checking out the apartment like a prospective buyer. "You come up in the world since last we met, my man. What happened?"

"I got married."

"No shit!" He reached out and crushed my hand. "Congratulations. I knew this address didn't seem like you. As I recall your taste was a little more, raffish, shall we say?"

"I'm the beneficiary of a hypergamous marriage."

"Say what?"

"I married above my class." Word-a-Day calendar again.

"Uh-huh," he said as he continued his inventory. "You certainly did." TJ wrinkled his nose. "What is that stench?"

Of course. I wasn't that hung over. The nausea and disorientation were due to prolonged exposure to high test industrial strength doggie reek.

TJ looked down at the two little dogs busily smelling his shoes. "Hey, when you go Number Two, little brothers, you make a mighty big stink. Congratulations."

"It's a pit bull in the kitchen. I'm keeping it for a friend." Suddenly the Dalton Boys remembered that they were free to go and greet their new friend and they darted in the direction of the kitchen. I grabbed them up just at the open door and took them back to the guest room and closed it.