The Diner

Richard Starns was drunk as he stumbled out of the bar. It was this every night or go home to the woman who lived at his house. He preferred the company of Mr. Jack Daniels to her. Mr. Daniels never disappointed him.

Yelled at him.

Or belittled him.

The cold air whipped his face as he turned the corner on Main Street. He kept his head down and started walking slower, anything to slow down his progress toward the inevitable nagging the woman would give him upon his return home.

He was deep in thought as he passed the brightly lit diner on the corner. The same diner he passed almost every night. He barely gave it a passing glance as he trudged on.

Something clicked through the drunken haze. Something telling him something was wrong. He slowed to a stop and looked through the window.

Something was wrong.

It took a long moment to process what he was seeing.

It was something out of a movie.

The grill cook was leaning over the counter. He was choking a man who had his back to the counter. A waitress had a kitchen knife and was stabbing the man being choked. Most of the knife wounds were in the man’s stomach.

The man was struggling hard against two opponents.

Blood was everywhere.

Starns gasped, his pulse racing.

He looked around the street for someone.

Anyone.

There was no one out there at this time of night.

Especially not in this weather.

Should he run into the diner?

Make noise by banging on the window?

No, they might target him next.

His mind raced as he continued watching the hell just inside.

The man who was being attacked was losing blood.

Lots of blood.

He thrashed wildly as the grill cook almost lifted him over the counter.

The waitress continued with the unrelenting knife.

Payphone.

The payphone outside the bar!

Starns took one last look at the grisly scene.

The man was slowing down, he was losing the fight.

Starns ran and stumbled, almost crashing into a metal garbage can, before regaining his balance and hurrying as quickly as he could to the payphone conveniently located right outside his favorite watering hole.

He shoved the glass door and picked up the receiver. A voice prompted him to enter change. He dug around in his suit jacket until he found the right amount. The sounds of the coins dropping into place and a real voice asked him how she could direct him.

“Operator! Operator! I need the police! There is a man being attacked! I think he is being murdered!”

“Connecting you to the police department, sir.”

Starns took several deep breaths until the bored sound of a man answered.

“Desk Sergeant James, Police.”

“There’s a man being attacked! Attacked! Get your officers to the diner on Main and Walnut!”

“Is this a prank call?”

“A prank? No! Get to the diner! I am calling from a payphone in front of Morris’s Tavern!”

“This better not be a prank. We get too many of those…”

“It’s not! Get your men there now!”

He heard the desk sergeant in the background talking on a radio, directing patrolmen to the diner.

He heard garbled chatter in reply.

“What is your name, sir?” the Sergeant asked.

“Richard Starns! Rich Starns! Get there! Hurry!”

“Don’t worry, sir. I have men on the way. You stay put. Stay at the tavern.”

“Okay.”

The Sergeant hung up and Starns slowly replaced the receiver.

He exited the booth and decided against going back towards the diner. He would wait in the bar like the Sergeant told him.

“Back so soon?” the bar man sneered as he wiped a glass with a dirty rag. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips.

Starns shook his head in frustration and took a seat closest to the door.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the bar flew open, cold air entering. Two police officers wearing heavy winter coats and scowls on their face looked around the room.

One was tall and heavyset.

The other was young and short.

Starns clumsily stood.

“Are you the one who called about the diner?” asked the bigger one. He had one hand on his revolver and one on his night stick.

Like he could not decide which one he wanted to use.

“Yes! Is he okay?” asked Starns.

Both lawmen looked at each other.

“You need to come with us. Now.” The smaller one grabbed him at his elbow.

“You like wasting our time?” asked the big one.

“What? No! What happened to the man being stabbed?”

“Lets go for a walk,” the bigger patrolman shoved him from behind.

The drunken fog was dissipating as Starns almost tripped over the threshold of the door.

Both patrolmen shoved him repeatedly down the block.

Red strobe lights from three patrol cars lit up the street as the trio approached the diner.

Starns braced himself for a bloodbath as the big patrolman give him one last shove. Starns ended up almost crashing into the glass door. He regained his senses and couldn’t believe what was before him.

Inside the diner, an older policeman with white hair was talking to the grill cook and the waitress.

There was no blood.

No injured man.

What the hell?

The older cop inside noticed the men outside.

With his index finger, he indicated that Starns join them.

“Go,” barked the big cop.

Starns pushed on the door.

The diner was warm.

Typical fifties décor.

The smell of grease hung faintly in the air.

In any other circumstances, Starns would feel very welcomed.

“Is this him?” asked the older cop.

“Yes, Captain,” said the shorter patrolman.

The Captain looked at Starns and asked him in a thick Irish accent why he enjoyed making false police reports.

Starns looked around the diner, his mouth gaping as wide as a fish out of water. He frantically looked around.

Maybe the body was under one of the booths…

“I’m talking to you, wise guy!” the Captain snapped.

“Uh, I, I, what is going on here?”

“You tell me! You like making fake phone calls?”

“It wasn’t fake!” Starns pleaded. “I saw both of them killing a man!”

Starns pointed at the counter and the stool he saw the man sitting in.

“Right there! He was being killed right there! He,” Starns said pointing at the grill cook, “Was strangling a man!”

The two cops behind him snickered.

“And she!” Starns said pointing at the waitress, “She was stabbing the poor man with a knife. She was killing him! Arrest them both!”

The Captain reached into his heavy blue jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He shook his head at Starns and lit it.

“Where is the body? Where the blood? Where is your proof? You drunk idiot.”

Starns looked around exasperated.

“Check out back! The alley! Check the garbage cans!”

The Captain took a deep drag. He looked at Starns.

“We already did. There’s nothing there.”

“This…can’t be. It can’t be. I saw them both killing a man! It’s only been…”

“It’s only been how long?” The Captain asked.

“I, I, don’t know.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“That is not the point! Arrest them both! They killed a man!”

“The only one being arrested tonight is you!” The Captain yelled. He got within an inch of Starns’ face and blew a cloud of smoke. “For disorderly conduct and making a false police report.” He looked at his subordinates. “Have him sleep it off in the clink.”

Firms hands grabbed Starns from behind.

“No! No! This, this isn’t right, you bumbling idiots!”

Starns was dragged back to the door when the grill cook finally spoke to him.

He was a fat man with a greasy apron and long sideburns.

“Mister, I don’t know what you saw, but we didn’t kill, much less hurt someone. I think you need to stop drinking.”

“Liar!” Starns screamed.

“I won’t take it personal,” the waitress said. She was homely looking with dark lipstick. “Feel free to visit. We have killer pies I’m sure you would love.”

The last thing Starns saw as he was dragged outside was the waitress giving him a smile and a wink.