“Oh you pottymouth!” Jim sighed. “I see you you didn’t come for the food!”
Frank let him in and placed his hand on the back of Jim’s neck, steering him through the door. Jim felt like a child in trouble, with his balding principal delivering him to detention—in this case, to help empty the bar.
During drinks, Jim turned to Frank, “There’s been a problem with one of your boys.”
Frank sobered up and scrutinized Jim’s face, “How bad is it?”
“One of your guys put one of ours in the hospital and he’s a real featherweight. He’s messed up-- and was even fed broken glass from a beer bottle.”
Frank retrieved his hat from his beltline. “Come back with me. I’ve got a feeling I know who’s responsible.”
As they walked out towards Frank’s car, he continued, “One of my newer guys has been trying to prove his mettle with the team and has been trying to pick fights with anyone he can. All he does is brag about his victims and from what I’ve been hearing, he’s one cruel bastard.”
When they arrived at the SEAL administrative building, they walked down the hallway to the main office. In the center, there were two desks stuck together. An older lady in civilian clothes typed away on a rust colored IBM Selectric-II typewriter. Sitting across from her was a sailor in dungarees, reading an electronics magazine.
The secretary was slim with short white hair and wearing turqoise marijuana earrings. She looked up, grasped the lit cigarette out of her mouth and parked it onto a nearby ashtray. “Hell. You’re back early.”
“Jim, Ruth. Ruth, this is Jim. Ruth? Jim works for the DEA and will probably bust your ass for wearing drug paraphernalia.”
“We’ve met, Frank.” She noticed that Jim was looking at her earrings. “My grandson picked them out for me when he was four—thought they were pretty. I shall forever wear them with pride. Got any kids yourself Jim?”
Jim smiled. “Yes. A girl. She’s six months old now.”
Ruth nodded. “Children are the innocent lambs of the human race. Just don’t name any of them Francis—like that prick.”
Frank took that queue to head to his office. “Oh Ruth? Any calls?”
Ruth took the cigarette out of the ashtray, pulled her lungs full of nicotine and looked at him, exhaling with contempt. “Jesus. Who would intentionally call you?”
“Cute.” Frank invited Jim through the double swinging doors that entered into the office. The louvered doors looked like they came from a saloon from the old west. Jim really liked Frank’s office because it was filled with uncommon things such as ancient maps, Soviet relics and bizarre items that could only be seen in a sideshow.
Frank’s wall had two human scalps that came from an old museum that went out of business, as well as a jar stuffed with a two-headed cat basking in formaldehyde.
