THE DEADLINE CAFÉ EPISODE #19

Hank and the Rolex guy, Steve, emerged from the courtroom. Steve was smiling, Hank looked as numb as he felt.

“Vitamin C,“ Steve said, patting Hank on the back. “Always helps.”

Hank quizzed him with a look.

“As in ‘Connections.’  Ahhh, you think I mean political? The machine?” Steve laughed, “Hank, relax.  The judge and I go back a long way. He and I really like what you’re doing for Evanston. Like that deal you made with the cops for free coffee and donuts…brilliant, Hank. And that ‘Overnighter’ you called it? Like I said in court—you kept those out of town folks safe and off the road. Could’ve been a disaster with them out on the highways. You saw the letters they wrote in the Evanston Roundtable, right, calling you a hero? Besides, downtown Evanston can use a little more zip. And you and that wife of yours have got all the other cafés stirred up. That’s what I hear. Especially that Yada Yada Java guy from Seattle.”

“Wife?”  Hank repeated.  He shook his head at Steve, his face and mind a total blank. Being in court, answering yes, sir, and no, sir and nodding more than he was used to had him totally befuddled.

 “Lissa?”  said Steve, checking his watch.  “Not your wife?”

 Hank allowed himself his first half smile of the day.

 “Just my friend.”

 “Never say just when it comes to friendship, Hank.  There are times I think capital F Friends are almost as important as capital C Connections!” 

And with a pat on the shoulder, and a glance at his iPhone, Steve was hoofing it off to another case, another call, and, probably, Hank figured, another capital C case that he’d win with a capital C connection.

As Hank rode the escalator down to the ground floor, he sensed feeling coming back into his limbs and cohesive thoughts returning to his head.  The court date hanging over his head had made him feel like a wanted man and now it was over and Steve had made him sound like a hero.  Capital H for Hero, thought capital H for Hank.

 Once more back on the ground, Hank turned right and left, trying to get his bearings for the best route to the parking garage, when he saw Jimmy D come around the corner with Leila May.

 “Well, well, just the man I was looking for. Hank—“ Jimmy put his hand on the slumped shoulder of a kid standing between him and Leila. “Meet Bobby, the kid who borrowed your tip jar. You remember? Well, we wanted to talk with you about some community service.”

 By the time Hank got into his car for the ride back to Evanston, he had an after school busboy. As he explained to Lissa on his cell phone, parked in front of Mustard’s Last Stand, between bites of his Chicago-style hot dog, “Maybe he can clean up Sherm’s cat litter box, too.”

 “Fries, please.”

 “Huh?” said Hank, trying not to crunch the pickle so loudly that he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“You’re eating a hot dog at Mustards, right?  That’s how you usually celebrate in the spring.  So bring me some fries.”

Hank tightened the wool scarf around his neck, the preppie striped one he would have never picked out for himself, but Lissa had told him it was the best one in the Lost and Found box.

“Is it spring?  Doesn’t feel like it to me,” said Hank.

“We get an hour more of daylight this weekend, so I say spring.  Besides, it’s only three weeks, Hank, just three weeks until...”

“Oh no, Lis, not another note, not today, not on a day when I feel like a capital H hero.”

 “Three weeks until opening day, hero,” said Lissa, wondering if Hank had started drinking in the middle of the day.  “And, this year, I intend for us to be there!”