THE DEADLINE CAFÉ EPISODE #18
It looked like one of those circus scenes where the clowns keep coming out of a tiny car. On Saturday, just as Hank was starting to think about closing up, one after another, four men and one woman stepped out of an old VW van. They were dressed in jeans and country-style shirts sprinkled with sequins and one or two neckerchiefs and each of them was carrying a case. By the time the van pulled away, they were standing in front of the café, having a smoke and laughing.
The woman, blond, had a fire engine red mini-skirt with enough poofy crinoline to warrant a second look. The skinny guy beside her had a long beard. Next to them were five black instrument cases: a fiddle, a guitar, a banjo, a mandolin and a gigantic base. Unseen at the time was a small green case with three harmonicas, a sweet potato, a Jew’s harp and two spoons.
The fat guy joking with them stumped out his cigarette with the silver toe of his cowboy boot. Then, with the little guy in a fedora and a white shirt and black string tie in the lead, the gang snaked into the almost-empty café. They searched the room for the stage, found the little riser in the back and started setting up.
Whittler, packing up his carving tools, looked up and blurted out, “The hell’s going on here?”
Sherman bolted on big cat feet for the back room. Seeing Sherm coming in, Lissa and Oakey poked their heads out and saw the little guy approach Hank. For a second they thought it might be a stickup. But the little guy stuck out his hand to Hank.
“Hi Buddy, we’re the Big Onion and we’re here for our gig. My name’s Wee Willie. We’re really the Door County 5, the DC5 from Sister Bay, but when we play around here, we’re the Big Onion. Nice place you got yourself here,” he said, sizing up the café, which now had a few more curious customers.
“Say, you remember us, don’t ya? We were playing the hotel around the corner that night it snowed...” He pulled out a contract and sure enough, there was Hank’s inebriated scrawl, signing them up for three sets, two 15-minute breaks, and all the beer they wanted.
Oh God, Hank thought. This is all I need, with that legal stuff still pending. What he had hoped might be a nice quiet evening at home with Sherman, two slices of Gigio’s pepperoni, an Old Style and a movie was looking a little different now. He broke into a sweat and looked back at Lissa, whose head was sticking out of the back room like a smiling turtle. The band was already starting to tune up.
“Doesn’t look like much of a turnout tonight. Say, you did put out some posters, didn’t you?” asked Wee Willie.
Hank nodded. Not because he liked to lie, but because there was nothing else he could think of except to nod while his brain was running through its Rolodex for some local connections and a way to recover.
Suddenly, the band kicked into life. Wee Willie, the lead singer and mandolin player, gave a thumbs-up to Hank. In turn, Hank gave Lissa a what the hell are we gonna do look.
Lissa came out from the back, patted Hank on the shoulder, and said, “I’ll make some calls.”
By the end of the first set about 45 minutes later, the place was full to brimming and Jimmy D’d gotten special permission from Evanston’s finest to stay open until midnight. The way Jimmy explained it, “Music brings people together, but donuts makes ‘em friends.”
So it was that the café had an understanding from that day forward to give any cop from anywhere a free cup of coffee and a donut any time they wanted.
They were all there: the Whittler, who had gone over to Mrs. Worthley’s retirement home and walked her and a couple of her Canasta partners back to the café; Jimmy and his gal Leila May; the grad student and his newest squeeze; even the Rolex guy from Winnetka and his wife. Some townies made their way over from the keg, and for the final set a whole herd of engineering students with Oakey’s friend in the lead crowded into the back.
Sherman even made it on stage. Scared the hell out of the base player. “Sherman’s revenge for the cat gut strings,” Hank shouted into Lissa’s ear as they danced, country-style to the house-rockin’ don’t come a knockin’ music.
By night’s end, what had seemed like a disaster proved to be a blessing in disguise. And, the guy with the Rolex, who turned out to be a big-time Loop lawyer offered to help Hank with his legal matters, pro bono.
The only downer was the little note that Oakey found attached to Sherman’s collar at night’s end: “42 DAYS LEFT. MEOW.”
