see the Zionists are attacking the Palestinians again,” HR said.
“The Jews are exterminating the Palestinian refugees with their American weapons,” Jimmy said, waving his cigarette.
Looking over Jimmy’s shoulder, Tom spotted a guy in a Bills’ cap and plaid shirt look up from his beer and stare at Jimmy with glazed eyes.
“Jimmy’s a real source of the truth about what goes on in the Middle East,” HR said. “He’s a student like us. Came here from North Yemen.” HR signaled the barman for another glass, and Tom poured another beer for Jimmy.
“How’d you get here from North Yemen, Jimmy?” Tom asked, putting the glass before Jimmy.
“Scholarship. We are a new country and will need leaders,” Jimmy answered.
“That’s cool,” Artie added. “They pay the full ride?”
“They must. In America, there is no sharing.”
“Huh,” Artie said, looking down at the floor as the guy in the plaid shirt got off his stool.
“Yer one fuckin’ nasty Arab,” Plaid Shirt said.
Jimmy’s eyes went wide as he turned, stood up and backed off his stool.
“Hey man, take it easy,” Tom said, shaking his head and mouthing “DRUNK” to HR and Artie.
“Yeah, well, fuck you and fuck him,” Plaid Shirt said, swinging a round house right. Tom blocked the looping punch with his left as HR backed away. Jimmy threw himself against the wall and Tom threw a right hand, going straight from his shoulder to Plaid Shirt’s chin. The man staggered back, falling into his stool. The bartender came around the bar and got between them.
“Ok, that’s it,” the barman said, glancing at Plaid Shirt hanging on the bar. He turned to face Tom.
“Fuck him,” Tom said. “He insulted Jimmy and threw the first punch.”
“I don’t give a shit who started it, all you guys need to call it a night,” the bartender said, eye-to-eye with Tom.
HR clapped Tom on the shoulder. “Easy there, young Ali. We’ll just get some more beer someplace else. It’ll all be ok tomorrow.”
Tom picked up his change and headed for the door, HR and Artie following.
“What an asshole,” Artie said.
“Never seen that in Jake before,” HR said.
“Who’s Jake?” Tom asked.
“The guy you hit. He’s a regular there. Just sits there watching TV and drinking Gennys from the time he gets off work on the trash trucks until after the eleven o’clock news comes on, then he goes home. Weird.”
“Hey, where’d Jimmy go?” Artie asked.
“I dunno. Maybe he’ll meet up with us later at Birdie’s. He usually goes there late,” HR said.
“What’s Jimmy’s real name?” Tom asked.
“Gamil,” HR said. “He calls himself Jimmy in case the Zionists on campus attack him.” HR led them up wooden steps into a one-story cottage painted flat black with a sign that read Birdie’s 19th Hole and Hens’ Roost.
“Looks like the place is jumpin’ tonight,” Artie said.
“Yeah,” HR said, clapping Tom on the shoulder. “Let’s do some shots to celebrate the victory of the people’s champion and see what else we can score here.”
15.
Pat kicked the Barca lounge chair’s footrest out and laid back. “Tonight,” the announcer said, “the ABC Movie of the Week features Darren McGavin in ‘Challenge.’” Hmm, he’s usually pretty good, I wonder what this is about, he thought.
“Darren McGavin stars as a veteran soldier sent to a jungle island to fight an enemy commando...” Nope, don’t need to watch any fighting in the jungle... I hope Rory’s sleeping ok... what else is on? Columbo’s on Channel 2. Ahhn, phony cop show. A lieutenant who solves crimes in LA by himself. Hell, a Lieutenant spends all his time trying to get his guys to show up on time and do their job.
Pat jumped up as the phone rang. “I got it,” he said, even though no one else was home. Rita was at a meeting over at St. Joes and Tommy...
“17th Precinct, Lieutenant Bro...”
The laughter that came over the line could only be Marty Meegan’s.
“Take the harness off already, Pat, your first retirement check should be rolling in any day now.”
“Jesus, Meegs, I wonder how long it’s going to be until I break that habit.”
“I give it six months. By that time, the guys at the County will have you broke in with your new title, Mr. Special Investigator. Hey, the reason I’m calling is there’s this guy, a doctor out in Amherst who’s been by the range and is interested in shooting. He belongs to the Northtowns Rod and Gun Club and wants a real combat shooter to help him. I mentioned your name, told him what a dead-eye shot you were, ex-Army, had a couple of shooting incidents on the job, like that. He seems a good guy, young fella, knows a lot about guns.”
“He’s not some kind of cowboy gun nut, is he? Wants to hang out with the police, get into a shootout in a liquor store or something?”
“Nah, he seems all right to me. Just interested in shooting at targets. Who knows, he may pay you for lessons, pal, buy your ammunition for you or something. I’d give him a call at least, see what’s up.”
Pat wondered what kind of doctor he was. Maybe he could help... “Ok, Meegs, gimme his number. I’ll give him a holler and see what he’s about.”
“Yeah, good, Pat. Like I said, he came down to the range a couple of times to watch. I talked to him, he seems ok. Number’s 836-8941. Lives out in Eggertsville.”
Pat wrote the number down. “What’s his name there Meegs? I gotta have that, too.”
“Oh, yeah. His name’s Kraft. Dr. Charles Kraft.”
“Ok, Meegs, I’ll give him a holler. Anything else going on?”
“Well, it looks like Beasom’s going to get the job at the 6th.”
“Beasom! That eejit couldn’t tie his own shoes! How’d he get through the Captain’s test?”
“Weeelll, it seems there was this study group put together that included some of the Commissioner’s softball team...”
“Ahhhgh. Now you’re making me glad I retired.”
“That part’ll never change, partner,” Meegan said, laughing. “Forget all that shit and have some fun teaching the good doctor to shoot, Pat. I’ll talk to you later,” and he hung up, still laughing.
Beasom, he thought. When I was in a car with him, hmm, had to be around 1949, ‘50? He’d disappear ‘to put away some equipment’ and I’d have to write all the reports because they got kicked back when he did them, the dummy. Now he’s going to be a captain in the busiest precinct in the city. Ah, hell, he thought, glancing at a slouching Peter Falk on the TV, let me give this doctor a call, see what he’s like.
Pat dialed the number, and, after one ring, a teenage voice answered, “Kraft residence, Donald speaking.”
“Yes, may I speak to Dr. Kraft please?”
“Yes, I’ll get him. DAD! The phone’s for you...”
“Thanks, Donnie. Hello, Dr. Kraft speaking.”
“Dr. Kraft, this is Lieu...Pat Brogan. Lt. Meegan from the police department asked me to call you, said you were interested in doing some shooting.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Brogan, I’m glad you called. Lt. Meegan said