~ Moon Over Chicago ~

by

J. D. Webb

The door was out of focus. And it seemed to be lying on its side. My head hurt and I couldn’t figure out why. I frantically tried to remember my name. Someone helped.

“Mr. Moon?” A deep voice with vocal cords encased in gravel asked.

Yes, that’s it. My name is Moon. The rest of my name is the easy part but I was still having trouble.

“Fulton Moon?”

Boy, this guy was good. Fulton Moon. That’s it. I tried to answer but only managed a feeble groan. That door was definitely on its side. A pair of shoes appeared in front of my right eye. They badly needed a shine. My right eye felt as if it already had a shine. Those stars that flooded my vision began to disappear. I was definitely lying on a carpet. My face felt like Marlon Brando used it for the floor and tap-danced all the way through “Madam Butterfly”.

One eye focused on an object between those shoes and my stars. It looked like a tooth. It was. A big tooth. Whoever lost that one would get big money from the Tooth Fairy. Then I noticed a suspicious vacant spot in my mouth and the greatest part of the pain in my head emanated from that cavern. I connected the tooth on the floor to that mouth pain. That was definitely my tooth. What the heck was it doing out there?

“Get up, Mr. Moon.”

Yeah, right. Not all of the parts of my head worked and he wanted me to use my body. I didn’t even know if it was still in one piece.

I eased into a sort of half crouch that left my face flat on the floor and my fanny sticking up over my feet. My arms didn’t want to work at first, but I finally got them to push me to an all-fours position. Looking up, I spied one of the largest individuals I have ever seen. Just a bit smaller than the Statue of Liberty. At least 6 foot 8--and wide. Double wide. Easily pushing 275 to 300 pounds. Not fat. His T-shirt rippled just from breathing. The slogan on the shirt advertised Tony’s restaurant. All the letters were easily seen. The huge hand that made the 357 Magnum almost disappear from view was even more impressive.

“Was there something I can do for you?” I knew what I wanted to say but my words came out slowly. Even I had trouble understanding them.

“As you can tell, Mr. Moon, I don’t like a smart mouth. I will ask once again and I would very much appreciate a straightforward answer. Where is my wife?” The bald head speaking had a smile on its face. Somehow it did not make him look pleasant. I had the distinct impression that if he bent down, his head would fall off. The man missed the line when they were giving out necks.

“Sir, could you please tell me who your wife is?” I decided to be polite. My dentist bill was high enough already.

“Lucy Mathews. She has been to see you twice in the last three weeks.” The head had no eyebrows at all.

“Sir, I know that lady only as a customer. I fixed some of her shoes for her.” I remembered I owned a shoe repair business. “By the way I would be happy to shine your shoes for you. They could use a shine, you know? Are you Mr. Mathews? I would be happy to show you the ticket for the work I did.”

“She was last seen coming into your shop this morning.” The eyes narrowed and those hairless brows were, as they say “knitted”.

“May I get up now?” I still wasn’t sure I could.

“Yes, but do not make any sudden moves.”

Yeah, like I could do that.

I raised myself up with not too much groaning. A little dizzy, but I wobbled to an upright stance. We were in the back room of my shop which I use as storage and a modest office. I leaned on my desk to steady myself and tried to clear the cobwebs. I remembered that the bald man had come in to see me and had already asked where his wife was. I had in very bad taste remarked that I had several men’s wives and could he kindly tell me which one was his. One of those large hams on the end of an arm backhanded me. My tooth and I hit the floor seconds apart.

“Mr. Mathews, I do not know where your wife is at this very minute. She is not here and is not due back to pick up her shoes until Monday. I sincerely regret my sarcasm but if you insist upon removing my teeth I must tell you I will report this to the police.”

Boy, aren’t we being polite here? Me out of fear and him out of brute strength.

“You mean to say that you were not helping her run away from me?”

Now I have a smart mouth and it took real effort to not say something like “now why would your wife want to run away?” or “a hunk like you would never have any problems with a wife wanting to run away.” My better judgment told me restraint was more apt to leave my remaining teeth in place.

“Mr. Mathews, I’m a simple shoe repairman. People bring in their shoes and I make them well again. If there is any way that I can help you, believe me and the remainder of my teeth, I would.”

“Why was your name in her purse and not on a business card?” His words reverberated in my still groggy head.

“I don’t have any. I am small potatoes and can’t afford luxuries such as business cards.”

The area between his eyes which should have been surrounded by eyebrows furrowed. I hoped he had begun to have doubts. The expression on the face changed to less ominous but not less fearsome.

“Mr. Moon, I found your name in my wife’s purse and I thought you were trying to help her get away. I even imagined you might be her lover. I truly am sorry if I got the wrong impression. I get very upset when someone tries to hit on my wife. I love her very much.”

The weapon disappeared inside his jacket and for the life of me I could not see any bulging where there should have been bulging. I could see him eyeing the floor where my wayward tooth had come to rest. “Send me your dentist bill and I will take care of it. Just mail it to the address on my card. Do not let me find out you are lying to me. I am not the one you want as an enemy.”

The card read: J. Arthur Mathews, 160 Harcourt Towers, Suite 104, Chicago, IL. It listed his occupation as Florist. A vision of a bunch of lilies lying on my chest reared its ugly image as he turned and walked out of my office. The word ‘walked’ is a mistake. My business is shoes and I notice how people walk. His gait was at once athletic and heavy. He slammed his feet down heel to toe but it was still a fluid movement. Full of power but exuding the confidence of full control. He had to wear out his heels every other month. He could be a steady customer. As I retrieved my tooth I made a note to see my dentist. Dr. Lipman. No lie, Lipman is his name.

“What was that all about, Fulton? Who was that giant?” Benjie screwed up his lips as he did when he was puzzled, as I entered the front of the shop.

“A florist. He was looking for Mrs. Mathews.” Benjie was Benjamin Franklin Washington the only father I have known since I was seventeen.

His father owned this shop for 50 years before turning it over to Benjie. I was learning the repair business from Benjie, when I decided the big bucks were in big business. My career at Starco, Inc. was ended by a young college kid who had a piece of paper from a college instead of the 15 years experience I had. Ten years ago I bought the shop from Benjie when he had told me he was not able to handle everything any more with his arthritis. He calls it ‘arthuritus’. I forced him to accept my pitiful severance. Benjie became not only my mentor, but my best friend.

“That lady upstairs?” Benjie’s eyes were bulging. “What’s he goin’ ta do when he finds out she’s here?”'

“Well, we won’t let him know now will we?” I know what you are thinking. I lied to Mr. Mathews. Actually I was very specific and accurate when I said to him I didn’t at that minute know where his wife was.