Robert Pike - The Gremlin’s Grampa

Wednesday 8:30 p.m.

Mr. Sessue Noguchi, owner and manager of the Little Tokyo restaurant, was disturbed by the unaccountable silence that had fallen over the corner table; it was occupied by his old friends and longtime customers Lieutenant Reardon of the San Francisco police, his lovely lady, Miss Jan Something-or-other, and their guest Sergeant Something-Dondero. From the vantage point the proprietor maintained next to the cash register presided over by his eldest daughter Mr. Noguchi wondered what difference of opinion made all three of his old friends refuse to even face one another, seemingly preferring to stare through the window at the fog curling eerily up from the bay to swirl about the bobbing lights on the crosstrees of boats swaying at cable length from Fishermans Wharf. It couldnt be the food; Mr. Noguchi was certain of that. The tempura and the specialty of the house Noguchiyaki had been personally inspected by he, himself, before being permitted to be taken to the table by the waitress his wifes sisters middle daughter and besides, it had been thoroughly consumed. Quite obviously some disagreement over something undoubtedly minor...

A raised finger from the lieutenant brought Mr. Noguchi from his reverie; he was at the table almost instantly, his stack of billboard-sized menus clasped to his thin chest as if for protection, his thoughts well masked from the trio.

Lieutenant?

Another martini, please, Mr. Noguchi.

Of course, Lieutenant. There was a brief pause. Miss Jan?

If the manager and owner of the Little Tokyo was surprised at this quite unusual after-dinner drink on the lieutenants part, he showed no sign of it, but waited politely for the girls answer. Jan merely shook her head, continuing to stare from the window. Mr. Noguchi moved on to the third party.

Sergeant?

I pass.

Mr. Noguchi backed away with the hint of a bow, returned to the cash register and passed the order on to one of the bar waitresses his oldest sons wifes cousin. At the table Jan took a deep breath and turned from the misty view beyond the window, looking at Reardon.

Jim...

Yes? Reardon was a stocky man in his middle thirties. His features were fine, sensitive; his hair was a shock of rust, a bit longer than normal for police lieutenants and looking at the moment as if it could stand combing. His eyes were wide spread, gray in color; his hands, lying calmly on the table, were large for his height, strong and veined. His voice was coldly polite.

Sergeant Dondero cleared his throat pointedly.

You folks will have to pardon me. Ill go to a movie, or get lost or something. Family quarrels are not my idea of fun. Im the peace-loving type its the reason Im still a bachelor.

You stay right there, Jan said. This isnt a quarrel and its not going to be. She smiled faintly, more a glint in her lovely eyes than anything else. Besides, if you leave, Jim will probably lean over the table and belt me one.

Reardon merely grunted, not at all amused. Jan turned back to him, completely serious once again, dropping her voice.

Jim, if youre angry with me and I honestly can see no real reason why you should be I can see even less reason why you should take it out on yourself.

Take it out on myself?

Yes. A martini after dinner? And thats your third.

It is, indeed. Reardon nodded solemnly, as if complimenting Jan on her arithmetic. His gray eyes fought to remain cool and impersonal, his hands continued to lay quiescent. And Ill be greatly surprised if its my last one.

Oh?

Yes.

Dondero looked up at the ceiling; it offered little in the way of escape. He stared about at the other tables, instead. Conversations there seemed to be more animated and less embittered. Tonight I should have had a cold sandwich at home, he thought, alone and then smiled inwardly. No, anything was better than that prospect! He reached for a glass of water a bit obviously; Reardon paid him no attention, looking at Jan with a faintly sardonic lift of his eyebrows.

Dont tell me you refuse to marry me because I drink too much, because if you do, were just going around in circles. The reason I drink as much as I do and I refuse to concede that its too much is precisely because you wont marry me, my pet. So who gets off the merry-go-round first? No pun intended.

In the first place, Jan said quietly, refusing to face him, staring at her entwined fingers on the table instead, the reason I wont marry you has nothing to do with your drinking at all, and you know it. Or you should know it. I just dont plan on spending my life waiting for the phone to ring to be told my husband the policeman has just been shot, or stabbed, or beaten to death...

Dondero was forced to concede it wasnt a bad argument, although he had never considered it in depth. He waited for Reardons answer with the interest of a spectator at a tennis match waiting for a particularly good serve to be returned.

Reardon was watching Jan with no expression on his face, wondering what there was about her small trim figure, her pert features, her intelligence, her soft brown eyes, her cropped hair, or her small strong hands with their square, clean nails, that made her the most important girl in the world for him. Still, how on earth could he be anything but a policeman? It was impossible.

And if they call up and dont say its your husband, but instead merely say its your boyfriend who has just been shot, or stabbed, or run over by a five-year-olds tricycle, that would be perfectly all right?

You neednt be sarcastic, Jan said sharply, looking up. Theres a difference and you know it.

Reardon dropped the matter for the moment as being counterproductive, reverting instead to her first statement.

When you say in the first place, he said quietly, watching her, it usually presupposes there is a second place. And probably a third and a fourth place.

And in the second place, if you insist on having any more places, Jan said evenly, I seriously doubt that marrying me would stop you from drinking. I happen to know

She broke off abruptly, suddenly smiling so cordially that for a moment Reardon wondered if she realized at last how wrong her attitude had been and was in the process of apologizing; Dondero more alert, merely being an onlooker saw that Jans attention was directed over their shoulders. Together with Reardon he turned in time to see a slight, pretty dark-haired girl approaching with a husky uniformed man at her side. Wings decorated his blue jacket. The girl was smiling pleasantly in return; she made no attempt to interrupt their progress but merely waved and moved toward the steps of the restaurant while her companion paused at the cash register to pay their bill. Dondero saw a perfect opportunity to change the subject.

Hey, hey! he said. Whos the babe with the fly-boy?

Shes a girl from our office named Gabriella, and thats her brother. Jan refused to be sidetracked, and in fact her eyes seemed to glisten with the light of battle, as if all the proof in the world had suddenly been furnished for her argument. She has another brother on dope and weve discussed it, and I tell you I honestly dont know which is worse, drugs or drink

Reardon shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. Maybe I didnt hear right. Now Im an alcoholic? Or a drug fiend? Which is it?

I didnt say that

Jan paused to allow the petite waitress to carefully place the chilled clear martini before Reardon. He nodded his thanks, started to sip his drink, looking at Jans face over the rim; whatever he saw there made him suddenly upend his glass, taking the potent drink in one gulp. At the cash register Mr. Noguchi shuddered; even his uncles nephew by marriage, a noted lush, treated martinis with more respect. Jan forced her face to be expressionless, paying no attention to Reardons action.