Chubby's Place

CHUBBY'S PLACE

         A canopy of majestic oak trees enveloped the dirt road that lead to the field, where the lopsided, decaying shack sat.  Stubborn flecks of white paint clung to the graying rain-washed wood; a reminder that the building had once been white all over. The structure sat three feet off the ground on four stumps made of concrete bricks. 

         Today was Thursday and Ms. Maggie was inside wiping down the counters, filling the salt and pepper shakers – the condiment containers, and generally getting ready for the day crowd. Monday through Thursday, till two or three in the afternoon, the door was always swung open wide welcoming folks in  for some palate tickling delight prepared  by Ms. Maggie’s expert hands; a slice of potato pie or a catfish dinner, perhaps.  On Fridays and Saturdays the place only opened at night.  Ms. Maggie swore she couldn't be paid to come anywhere near the place then because she, "ain't about to rub shoulders with no demons."

          Ms. Maggie leaned down to plug in the loud industrial-sized fan to cool the place off, and blow the flies out. As she returned to a standing position, she noticed the disheveled old man who had come in and sat on a barstool at the counter.

         “Peacock! Where you been, Baby?  I ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays!  How’d you get out here?”  Ms. Maggie seemed both, surprised and delighted to see the drunk old man that often frequented the place, and bartered light work for a meal.

         “Ms. Maggie, you ain’t seen me ‘cause sometimes I gets the best of Johnny Walker and sometimes Johnny gets the best of me.  He's been winnin' heah lately”  They both laughed, then Peacock continied.

         “I got here on the back of that 'ole jalopy of Henry's.  I met 'im down at the hard road and caught a ride."

          "How'd he look like he's doin' today?"

          "Well, he didn't have much to say as usual.  I pretty much filled up that whole mile and a half it takes to get from the hard road to here with my jibberin'. He outside now seasoning the meat and cleaning the grill in the smokehouse for t’morrow night.”

         “Well, how ‘bout you grab that push broom out ‘da corner and see what you can do wit’ dis flo’, and then I’ll get Lilah to bring you out a big plate of fried po’k chop wit’ a side of okra; and I'll have 'er to bring you some suga’ wit’ a lil’ iced tea in it like you like it,” she chuckled.

         “Ms. Maggie, you know what I likes.  You know what I likes.”

***

         Maggie Kay had a young child to  raise when her husband, Charles Kay, was killed over thirty years ago.  To make ends meet, she started selling dinners out of her home, and being an exceptional cook, she procured a nice profit.  Once she had enough money saved, she fulfilled her dream of opening a restaurant and called it Chubby’s Place; after the nickname her dead husband had given to their only child, Charles, Jr.

         Peacock and Henry were common staples around Chubby's.  They had been hanging around in one form or fashion since the place opened.  As young men they, and Maggie’s husband, Charles Kay, had been good friends.  So good that the three of them enlisted to fight in the Korean War together.  Maggie’s husband never made it home. Peacock dealt with the after effects of war by drowning his nightmares in liquor. 

         The war had left Henry quiet most of the time, but eager and ready with an itchy trigger finger when the need for such arose. It seems that the killing response he learned at war was always just below the surface of his calm.  Needless to say, he was very effective in his role as peacekeeper around Chubbys, and just as good at making barbecue.  His succulent ribs were legendary in these parts, known for miles around.  Their status as a delicacy was boosted by the fact that they could only be gotten on Friday and Saturday nights. That’s when Chubby’s Place, a restaurant by day – became a juke joint by night.

         Peacock had swept the cement floor so clean that it looked as smooth and flawless as a baby’s skin.  He had returned to his favorite barstool and was running a smutty handkerchief across his sweaty brow, when Lilah appeared.  She backed through the swinging kitchen doors behind the bar with his food in one hand and his iced tea in the other. 

         “Hey, there Peacock.  I was wondering when you would surface agin’.  Whatcha’ been up to?” she asked cheerily as she placed the order before him.

         “Ms. Lilah it ain’t so much what I been up to as it is what I been down wit’.  But, it’s just the same ole’ song on a different day and ain’t no sense in me borin’ yo’ pretty young self wit’ none of it,” he said winking at her.

         “Peacock, you a mess,” Lilah replied.

         After finishing every morsel on his plate, Peacock hung around to talk and joke with the other locals that filed in hungry, expecting to be satiated and satisfied before they left. The monstrous roar of the large fan was buried by the blare of the juke box, and the mixture of laughter and chatter that filled the room.  Once in awhile, the thick rhythm of the music would beckon someone out to the empty space in front of the tables, to swing their hips and pop their fingers to the music. 

         By mid-afternoon the place was empty again except for Peacock and a few stragglers.  Peacock helped Lilah with the dishes, then headed for the door with a bottle of Johnny Walker Red peeping from one back pocket, and the grimy handkerchief hanging from the other.

          “I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow night.”

         “You won’t see me here wit’ all that ruckus be goin’ on,” Ms. Maggie shouted back. “You know I turns this place over to Chub on the weekends and let him and his cousin, Lilah, deal wit’ ‘dem hoodlums.  I’m too old to run and too close to heaven to mess that up by havin’ to shoot some fool.”         

         On weekend nights, a steady flow of cars kicked up a cloud of dust as folks beat a trail to get there early and avoid having to stand -- all, that is, except Tonky.  He always showed up fashionably and confidently late, knowing there was a table in the left back corner that was sure to remain vacant until he arrived. 

         The dust from the caravan mingled with the smoke from Henry’s smokehouse creating a nebulous fog that blanketed the road, the surrounding woods, and the place itself. Cars were parked haphazardly on the grass that lay outside the perimeter of dirt immediately surrounding the building.  People leapt from their automobiles in high spirits anticipating a good time, but never sure what else they'd get at Chubby's. 

         The four rickety wooden steps that lead up to the door, bolstered the freight of women that came through wearing tight dresses and stilettos, and men sporting their Sunday-go-to-meeting slacks and shoes.  If it happened to be raining as they herded in, nobody minded that the dirt yard turned to mud that clung to their footwear.  Chubby’s Place was still the place to be.

***

         Peacock had taken his time leaving down the wobbly steps. Holding on to the shaky banister, he paused in between each one to steady himself.  When he reached the ground, he called across the field to the silver-headed man on the riding lawn mower, “Hey, Henry! Sho’ would ‘preciate it if I could get’cha to run me back out to the road, partner!”

         Ms. Maggie and Lilah heard the truck start up as they sat at the bar chatting, waiting for the others to finish up and leave. After awhile there was a lull in their lazy conversation.  Ms. Maggie fanned at a couple of mosquitoes circling her legs, while Lilah floated on a cloud of her own thoughts, staring off into space;  and then her ruminations tumbled out of her head into the air. 

         “Auntie, what do you think about Francis?

         Francis Chandler was the proper name given to Tonky., and Lilah was the only one that insisted on calling him just that.

         “Well, I’ll tell ya, Lilah.  Tonky is what he is.  Women folk to him is just a means to make money.  He’s a charmin’ man, but no good nonetheless. I think you cookin’ up a stew that many women wish they hadda’ left alone.  You thinkin’ you can change Tonky into something other than what he is.  I know you like ‘im, but he’ll never make a husband, and he just might make you into somethin’ you don't wanna be.”

         “I know, Auntie.  I know.” Then Lilah’s eyes turned shiny and glazed and she sighed dreamily, “But he sho’ is fine.”

         Ms. Maggie backed Lilah’s breathy assertion whole-heartedly, exclaiming with comical exaggeration, “Child, tell the truth and shame the devil!” They both guffawed shamelessly.

         Ms. Maggie regained her composure, wiping at a tear that had collected in the corner of her eye, then called out to the remaining dawdlers, “All right y’all.  Chubby’s is closed for the day!”  When nobody so much as stirred, Ms. Maggie went to the door and yelled, “Henry, you back yet! C’mon  let’s shut the place down.”

         A voice floated in from somewhere outside.

          “All right Ms. Maggie! Be right 'dere. 

         Henry came in stumping dirt off his boots and licking barbecue sauce off the fingers of his right hand.  He held a 12-gauge shotgun by the barrel casually in his other hand.  Scanning the room with a wild-eyed look, he said in a calm voice, “I think ya’ll heard Ms. Maggie say it was time to go.”

         Immediately, the sound of the metal folding chairs scraping the cement floor, mingled with the patrons’ disgruntled acclamations .  That ole’ fool ain’t been right since that war he come back from.  He gon’ hurt somebody one day.  Their murmurs grew less audible the further they made their way through and out the door. 

***

         Francis “Tonky” Chandler walked into the steamy joint this Friday night, wearing a calf-length, camel colored cashmere coat and a matching Stetson hat.  Underneath the coat he wore off-white slacks and a white turtle neck.  His shoes were white paten leather with tan tips.  He was flanked by two skimpily dressed, but attractive women; one on each arm. 

         As was customary, all eyes fell on Tonky as he and his “dates” graced the doorway.  His pearly white teeth exposed a menacing smile that competed ferociously with his smooth black satin skin, and both were winners.  He stretched his long arms up and out from his six foot four inches frame and yelled out, “Houseman! Round ‘em up!” 

         A loud murmur went up from the packed house in appreciation of Tonky’s generous offer of drinks for everyone. However, below the surface, a current of whispers slithered through the accolades of gratitude.  The women who had come alone cooed their admiration, He sho’ is lookin’ good, tonight! while the men hissed remarks of jealous indignation like, That nigga’ ain’t shit, and wrapped their arms around their women’s chairs to pull them closer. 

         The music was pulsing through the old shack as strong and as steady as an athlete’s heartbeat.  The bodies on the dance floor were squashed so tightly together hat they appeared to be one big mass of heat and sweat.  Out of the clear blue a shrill war cry rang out, Bitch, that’s my man, and two women locked up in a brawl that would have made the Liston-Ali fight look like child’s play .

         Chubby, rightly earning his nickname, tried to make his way through the hot, sticky bodies in time to grab one of the women who had pulled a straight blade.  Just as she raised her hand overhead, Henry rushed through the door from outside, shoving Tonky and his entourage aside.  He fired a shot through the roof and shouted, to the woman holding the knife, “You next!” Her hand froze in mid-air and Chubby snatched the blade away then started grabbing up the stray shoes, earrings, and pieces of clothing that littered the floor.  Henry threw the scrappers out as Chubby tossed the items he’d gathered out behind them. Within a few moments, the dance floor was filled to capacity again and Chubby's was in full swing as if nothing ever happened.

         As some people started shuffling to their tables or to the bar to get a drink, with a motion of his head, Tonky prompted the ladies with him towards his reserved table.  Then he turned and went in the opposite direction towards the bar. 

         Chubby grinned greedily as he eyeballed Tonkey’s fully-ringed hand peeling away twenty dollar bills from the wad of money he held. 

         “My man, Tonky!” he exclaimed.  “The ladies need anything? Some white girl? Scag?” he asked docilely.

         “Scag?” Tonky scowled. 

         “Naw, man,” he answered, handing Chubby the money.  "You know I don’t ‘low my girls to play rough like ‘dat.  They get on that shit and they ain't no mo' good.  Just get us some blow from that stash I just fronted you.  And have Lilah to bring out three rib plates wit’ slaw and some beers.  Get Henry to handle the package."

         “Kick back and make y’self at home, man.  Be right out.”

         Chubby turned and bustled hurriedly through the swinging doors to the kitchen hollering over his shoulder, “Anything ya’ need, man!” Tonky nodded as Chubby disappeared behind the doors.

         Tonky was turning to walk to his table when the pretty face with the jaw-dropping body he was waiting to see, appeared portrait-like, framed by the small window into the kitchen. Her butternut-hued face sported a deep set dimple at each corner of her red-lipped smile. A stray wisp of shiny black wavy hair clung to her forehead, which was dampened by the heat from the kitchen.

         “Hi, Francis,” she cooed at him like a school girl.  I’ll be out with your ribs in a minute,” she gleamed.

         “I’d like to make you one of my ribs wit’ yo sexy self,” he replied.  "You could be dressed just as fine as those ladies you saw me come in here with, and you’d be makin’ a whole lot more than you getting’ in this hole.

Lilah didn't respond verbally, but her face registered the disappointment she felt before disappearing from the small window. 

         Tonky returned to the table and was removing his coat when Peacock, staggered over and whispered something in his ear. Tonky gave him a message to deliver, then Peacock left. 

         Lilah coming towards his table balancing three plates, one in each hand and one in the crook of an arm, caused Tonky’s face to light up like the Macy’s Christmas Day Parade.  The full-body apron she wore over her curvaceous frame made Tonky’s imagination work just a little harder than usual.  Tonky reflected on the loveliness he saw coming towards him; Hips, breast, beautiful skin and those big translucent brown eyes… Lord have mercy!  What a money maker she could be!

         Lilah was moving her hand away from the last can of Colt 45 she sat down  when Tonky clasped her hand between the both of his, looked her in the eyes and stated, "You’re off tonight at midnight.  I already squared Chubby away and I'll pay you for your time.  Let's talk." 

         “Like I told you before, Francis, you got the wrong one, but I'll see you at twelve if it means I ain't gotta' be on my feet 'til four in the morning. 

***

         Earlier that night Peacock had been making the trek out to Chubby’s by foot when a fine, new-looking, dark blue Mercedes came up behind him, then slowed beside him.  He couldn’t see anything through the dark tinted glass.  Slowly, the window on the side closest to him, the passenger window, came halfway down, and Peacock could see the two men inside.  They wore silk shirts, with thick gold chains and looked Italian to him. The hefty driver kept the car going at a snail’s pace as the smaller one demanded, “Get your ass in, black boy.  We’ll give ya’ a ride. I need you to do something for me anyway.”  Peacock's feet were hurting too bad to be insulted, so he climbed in the back seat.

         They parked far back behind all the other cars, then the one doing all the talking told Peacock, “Go in there and tell that nigger Tonky, that Big Mike and Paulie are waiting on their money.”  Peacock staggered inside and over to Tonky’s table, getting cursed a few times for bumping into someone.  He whispered in Tonky’s ear exactly what the man had said to him. Tonky responded, with exaggerated pronounciation of each word, “Since they want to be so blatantly disrespectful on my turf, tell them they’ll have to wait until the ladies and I have finished our dinner, then I’ll be right out. 

         Peacock turned to walk away almost colliding with Henry.  Henry spoke in a hushed voice with his mouth close to Peacock's ear.

         “Is that trouble out front?”

         Peacock answered, “I think it might well be.”  Then Peacock kept ambling towards the door as Henry approached Tonky. 

         “Chub said you needed something, Tonky.”

         “Bring me an ounce of powder from the office.  Here, take this and hang it up for me while you’re back there, will ya?”

         Henry readily took the coat Tonky held out to him, then dashed away towards the back of the building to the supply room.  A desk stashed behind boxes and crates gave the room it’s designation as Chubby’s office.  Henry lifted a plank under the desk, reached inside a metal can and brought out a bag of dope, then placed the plank back in place. Instead of going back out to take the package to Tonky, Henry kept on out the “office” back door ,and headed around to the front of the building.  He wanted to check on Peacock and that crew he had seen him ride up with.

         Peacock leaned into the passenger side window of the Mercedes and , delivered the message exactly as Tonky said it.  That’s when the driver, who was so fat his head sat on his chest, errupted like a volcano. 

         “Who does this nigger think he is, Paulie?  We made that son of a bitch, Tonky. Now he says we gotta wait on him and his whores to finish eating before he’ll bring us our money?!?!”

         Henry had tipped every so quietly up to the car and was crouched behind it listening to everything. Even Peacock, standing outside the car hadn’t heard or seen him.

         The Italians sat for a moment fuming and not saying anything.  The fat one, Big Mike, had started to sweat profusely.  The other one, Paulie, gritted his teeth until his temples bulged like they would explode, then he grunted, “Big Mike, we’ve created a monster.  Now we have to destroy him.”

         “Just say the word and I’m there, Paulie”, the fat one coaxed.

         Paulie set his plan in motion with action.  He reached into his waistband and whipped out a 9mm pistol.  “Let’s go, Big Mike,” he said shoving the car door into Peacock as he opened it. 

          The impact of the door spun Peacock around so that he faced the tail end of the car.  That’s when he saw Henry come up from behind the car aiming the pearl-handled 357 Magnum he carried in his boot.  Henry moved smoothly, like he had done this many times before. Just as Paulie placed both feet on the ground preparing to stand up out of the car, Henry jumped around in front of him, crouched and fired one shot between his eyes that knocked him back onto Big Mike.  Big Mike was fumbling frantically under the front seat for his gun when Henry let one go straight into his right temple.

         Peacock stood motionless and erect, and appeared to be as sober, as a deacon on Easter Sunday.  He looked back and forth from Henry to the dead men a few times, then exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s ass!  You finally got to shoot somebody.”

         Henry’s face and voice were both empty, as he gave Peacock an order. 

         Follow me in my truck so we’ll have a ride back.  We gotta dump this garbage.” 

         At midnight, Tonky told the working girls with him to go mingle and make themselves useful.  After he retrieved a thick manilla envelope from under the plank in the office, he went outside to search for the blue mercedes.  When it was nowhere in sight, he shrugged his broad shoulders and muttered, "They ain't the only game in town," then went back inside. 

         Lilah had come out and was seated at his table with her feet propped up on one of the spare chairs. Tonky sat down in one of the empty chairs.  He looked directly into Lilah's eyes as any good con man would do.

         "You think you ready to let me talk some sense into ya."

         “All right, Francis.  Since you payin’ for this I guess I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

         “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to get you to see, Baby Girl.  Makin’ that money can be as easy as that; as easy as that.”

         As Lilah listened to Tonky’s bogus jive-talking on the benefits of her using her "god-given, womanly assets" for profit, she floated away on a cloud of her dreams. 

         On the dirt road, a beat-up truck followed a Mercedes benz with two dead bodies in the trunk. They were headed somewhere far, far away from Chubby’s Place.  A cloud of thick dust trailed behind.