Twenty (The Note)

                                    

                                          
"You be looking a little gloomy today." 
                          
I hear worry breaking into his voice.
                          
"Thanks, Ship. I have a lot tugging at my brain." 
                          
He shoves a plate of steaming hot cakes across the table. "Made-em special for ya. Hope-n to cheer ya up some..."
                          
My eyes catch the tentative smile that's crossing his face. His eyes are a bit glossy. Kind of an unexpected, emotion from a tough sailor man.
                          
A memory flashes, mixed with the first sight of him...All tattooed and cranky. But, Boss Man hired him without much thought. He's been known as Bar Man ever since. Maybe, Boss Man was thinking Ship's tough look would keep the peace when, sometimes, drunks get a little rowdy.
                          
"Give a call if you be need'n any-thin more." 
                          
I watch him slowly turn. Then, throw one more glance in my direction, a forced smile gracing his lips.
                          
Heat, from the cakes, shimmers the quiet air guarding rising emotion. The little pad of yellow butter is melting, forming a welcoming smile. I can't smile back. 
                          
Sam! Where the hell are you? It's been four days and no sight nor sound of you!
                          
My eyes are filling. Tears are welling up from deep, where they've been hiding. 
                          
The butter pad continues its frothy melt into the cakes. Its sharp corners turn up for a moment as if smiling.
                          
Then, they slowly drip downward. Two of the yellow corners slip around the lip of the top cake. A wicked frown yells back at my face.
                          
Fear boils up and explodes like a vomiting volcano. Tears boil out of my eyes and spill over, cascading down my face. My shuddering body melts into gasping sobs, pushing my emotions beyond worry into panic.
                          
Sam...Samm...Sammmmmmmmmmm!
                          
My hand reaches for the resting fork, clutching it. It lays silent in my hand until overpowering emotion takes hold of it.
                          
My hand turns and flies into  a stabbing  motion. 
                          
Down! 
                          
Down! 
                          
The fork is slashing the hot cakes with brutal force. 
                          
Again and again! 
                          
Finally, needing to let go and take a breath, the dish responds to the force of swinging arms. It slides off the table and crashes to the floor. The fork joins the pile of chaos  bouncing on the floor. 
                          
The wooden table top pushes against my arms, now folded over and supporting my gasping, sobbing face. Any sense of time losens its grip on my mind!
                          
Large, warm hands grasp one shoulder.
                          
Then that warm feeling settles on the other.
                          
"Easy....Easy," Boss Man's low, melodic voice rolls like a warm flow of water.
                          
The kneading of strong fingers begins to tease my clenching neck into submission—relaxing.
                          
His hands move away and I hear the shuffling of leather as he moves into the seat across from me.
                          
My eyes refuse to look up.
                          
"Seem's you be like'n this boy." 
                          
"Yeah. My...My job was to trap him. And...instead...I got trapped. I lost control of my heart."
                          
Silence holds us speechless in that moment of reckoning.
                          
Ship is standing at the table. I look up and into firm set eyes. When did he show up? 
                          
He's holding a white envelope.
                          
"For you, Boss." 
                          
Boss Man takes it from Ship's outstretched hand. He turns it over, a question draws his forehead into a new set of wrinkles.
                          
He pulls a folded paper out, while Ship busies himself with a quick job of sweeping up my mess.
                          
Boss Man's eyes go cold and hard. His lips grimace and pull back against his teeth. He drops the paper onto the table and leans back, teeth grinding, eyes fuming! He's looking up as if his eyes are trying to tear a hole in the ceiling.
                          
"He was s'posed to find him...Not get caught!" He growls.
                          
"Who? What?" 
                          
Shaking fingers turn the note around to where my eyes are able to see its message.
                          
I have your boys. Sam and Squito.
                          
We need to talk.
                          
Meet me in front of the Market.
                          
Tomorrow....Noon!
                          
Papa Legba
                          
A flurry of thoughts begin fighting in my head. Tears take up their previous job of streaming down my face, trying to put out the fire of face-reddening emotions.
                          
"What are we going to do?" My throat tightens around the words that are more a cry for help than a question.
                          
Boss Man's hands reach across the table, still warm, folding mine into his brown fingers. His eyes collect my fear, trying to absorb the shock.
                          
"We'll get-em back. You'll see," trying to soften the words.
                          
"What are we going to do?" I ask, pleading for immediate action.
                          
"Me and the boys 'll take care of this situation."
                          
"I'm going with you!" I insist, my eyes pleading for a yes.
                          
"No! It's too dangerous," a squeeze of my hand tries to put extra emphasis on his words.
                          
"What am I suppose to do? I can't just hang out here until...until something's resolved!"
                          
He loosens the grip of his fingers and pulls back. I can see he's thinking of some brilliant reply. "Go over to Grace's Kitchen. Do some volunteer'n. It'll take your mind off a things." 
                          
Tomorrow...At noon. The leather backing on the booth's seat creeks while receiving my lean-back.
                          
Mary. She probably knows about Papa Legba. We'll just make some plans of our own!
                          
Brown fingers push against the dark wood of the well warn table top. He slowly stands. "I be need'n to go and do some plan'n for tomorrow." 
                          
His eyes sweep down and gather in my eyes with a warm embrace.
                          
"Maybe a little talk'n with your friends will help." He abruptly turns and heads toward his office. 
                          
His black cell phone is hugging his ear.
                          
What's he planning? The thought lingers for a brief moment before being joined by another.
                          
I have to convince Mary to help!