“Why do you want Paisley, Bob?”
“My friend Richard recommended that I take her out, you know, on a date.”
“Richard, huh? Tall black dude with this bald spot?”
Wayne was shaking a finger, and mouthed, Short... white...
Virgil said, “Well, uh, this guy was a sort of short white guy. I met him down at the Territorial.”
After a moment of silence, the man said, “Wait one. Paisley walked in.”
A woman came on a minute later, and asked, “What’d Richard say about me?”
“He said to ask what facilities you offer.”
“Well, Bob, what exactly do you need?”
“He said some people call you Paisley Tied. And, you know...”
“Are you here in town, Bob?”
“I’m from Mankato. I’m staying at the Graduate tonight.”
“Huh. Nice place. Okay, it’s a date. I’ll meet you at the Applebee’s. How will I recognize you?”
“I’m wearing an old Led Zeppelin T-shirt that just says ‘Zep’ and a sport coat, and I have blond hair down over my ears.”
“Ooo, sounds handsome. Half hour from now?”
“See you then,” Virgil said.
—
Virgil and Capslock said good-bye to Wayne as they all walked out to the street, and just before they parted, Wayne said, “Del, for extra credit...”
“Like what?”
“If you could put me down for like a hundred hours picking up trash on St. Dennis Road?”
“That’s a lot of trash,” Capslock said. “What do you have?”
“A warning?”
“Let’s hear it.”
Wayne said to Virgil, “That guy you talked to? That’s Paisley’s brother. The word is, he flunked out of the Vikings offensive line for being too mean. I swear to God, the guy could pull the arms off a gorilla.”
Virgil went with that. “Okay.”
Wayne turned to Capslock and lifted his eyebrows.
“I’ll think about it,” Capslock said.
—
A half hour later, Virgil was in a booth at the Applebee’s, looking at a cheeseburger and a Diet Coke, and Capslock was across the room, talking to a waitress about her impending motherhood. Paisley walked in, but nobody turned to look. She was a nondescript, slender, dark-haired woman with a soft face, a mole under one eye, and dark eyebrows that nearly met in the middle. She was carrying an oversized leather purse. She was alone.
She spotted Virgil, took in the Zep T-shirt, and slid into the booth across from him. She said, “Give me your hand, Bob,” and Virgil put his hand on the table. She gripped it, and said, “I can do about anything you want, but I don’t allow myself to get hurt. When we go outside, you’ll see my assistant. He’s the guy who looks like an old telephone booth. And, I promise you, he could yank off your head and shove it up your ass. That’s not a threat. I’m saying he’s my protection. Do you understand?”
