starting to wear off. He held out his hand and said, “I owe you one.”
“I’ll keep an eye on your car.” Frank watched him head up the driveway, then navigated his way back to the street. Frankford Avenue’s traffic lights shimmered in the thick, turning the billowing haze shades of brilliant emerald and menacing red.
At the intersection, a bright light.
It swung back and forth a few feet above the street. Frank drove closer and saw it was a lantern, carried by a man in a dark, heavy trench coat. The man was twirling what looked like an umbrella, holding it by the wrist strap and flicking it back and forth so that it spun and danced in his hand. Frank’s headlights caught the man and he realized it was no umbrella. The man was carrying a long wooden nightstick.
The frontispiece of the man’s hat and the dull metal shield on his left breast were the same. Frank had seen them before in old photographs of city policemen back in the Prohibition era. Frank slammed on the brakes, but the man was already past his car, moving deeper into the fog and vanishing.
***
“Dad, I’m telling you, it was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. This guy looked like he stepped right out of the nineteenth century.”
Frank Sr. nodded as he squirted a pile of ketchup onto his hash browns. One of the waitresses looked up at the gastric noises coming from the ketchup bottle as he squeezed. “Uh huh. Sounds like it.”
“That’s enough ketchup! Do you know how much sugar that is?”
“What sugar? It’s healthy. It’s made outta tomatoes.”
“No. It’s made out of tomato paste and sugar.”
Frank Sr. reached for the salt and started shaking it over his food. “There, now it’s balanced out so it won’t be so sweet. You happy?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Look, you eat what’s on your plate and I’ll do the same. Do I pick on you for making the poor waitress go find you skim milk? No, I don’t. Even if I am embarrassed by it.”
“Anyway, this guy had to be coming from a costume party or something.”
“Or you imagined it.”
“I didn’t imagine it.”
Frank Sr. stabbed his hash browns with his fork and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “Maybe you saw the Night Watchman.”
“Who?”
“The Night Watchman. Old Philly cop got kilt back in the twenties walking a foot beat. Supposedly he’s still out there walking around, trying to get back to his old station house.”
Frank looked at his father in disbelief, then smiled abruptly and said, “Get the fuck out of here.”
Frank Sr. instantly reached across the table and smacked his son on the cheek. He picked his fork back up and started to eat again. “You’re in public.”
Frank looked around at the empty tables. “There’s nobody here, Pop.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry, okay? But this guy, he had to be pulling a prank or something. You think Philly guys dress up like that every once in a while to scare rookies? Maybe they saw my police car and figured I was one of them.”
“Maybe,” Sr. said. “I can’t see anybody putting on a costume like that, though.”
“This from the guy who spent half his career dressed up like a homicidal bunny rabbit?”
Frank Sr. picked up his coffee cup and sipped from it. “When you say it like that, it makes it sound like it was something weird.”
8. Iolaus pulled into the Chief’s driveway and put the SUV in park. The driveway was empty, but the front door was open. He put on his hat and slid out of the driver’s side seat to go knock.
A plump, pleasant looking woman answered the door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Erinnyes. How are you?”
“ Chief?” she called up the stairs.
A voice boomed in reply, “Who is it?”
The stairs creaked as Erinnyes made his way down them,
“I’ll keep an eye on your car.” Frank watched him head up the driveway, then navigated his way back to the street. Frankford Avenue’s traffic lights shimmered in the thick, turning the billowing haze shades of brilliant emerald and menacing red.
At the intersection, a bright light.
It swung back and forth a few feet above the street. Frank drove closer and saw it was a lantern, carried by a man in a dark, heavy trench coat. The man was twirling what looked like an umbrella, holding it by the wrist strap and flicking it back and forth so that it spun and danced in his hand. Frank’s headlights caught the man and he realized it was no umbrella. The man was carrying a long wooden nightstick.
The frontispiece of the man’s hat and the dull metal shield on his left breast were the same. Frank had seen them before in old photographs of city policemen back in the Prohibition era. Frank slammed on the brakes, but the man was already past his car, moving deeper into the fog and vanishing.
***
“Dad, I’m telling you, it was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. This guy looked like he stepped right out of the nineteenth century.”
Frank Sr. nodded as he squirted a pile of ketchup onto his hash browns. One of the waitresses looked up at the gastric noises coming from the ketchup bottle as he squeezed. “Uh huh. Sounds like it.”
“That’s enough ketchup! Do you know how much sugar that is?”
“What sugar? It’s healthy. It’s made outta tomatoes.”
“No. It’s made out of tomato paste and sugar.”
Frank Sr. reached for the salt and started shaking it over his food. “There, now it’s balanced out so it won’t be so sweet. You happy?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Look, you eat what’s on your plate and I’ll do the same. Do I pick on you for making the poor waitress go find you skim milk? No, I don’t. Even if I am embarrassed by it.”
“Anyway, this guy had to be coming from a costume party or something.”
“Or you imagined it.”
“I didn’t imagine it.”
Frank Sr. stabbed his hash browns with his fork and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “Maybe you saw the Night Watchman.”
“Who?”
“The Night Watchman. Old Philly cop got kilt back in the twenties walking a foot beat. Supposedly he’s still out there walking around, trying to get back to his old station house.”
Frank looked at his father in disbelief, then smiled abruptly and said, “Get the fuck out of here.”
Frank Sr. instantly reached across the table and smacked his son on the cheek. He picked his fork back up and started to eat again. “You’re in public.”
Frank looked around at the empty tables. “There’s nobody here, Pop.”
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
“All right, all right. I’m sorry, okay? But this guy, he had to be pulling a prank or something. You think Philly guys dress up like that every once in a while to scare rookies? Maybe they saw my police car and figured I was one of them.”
“Maybe,” Sr. said. “I can’t see anybody putting on a costume like that, though.”
“This from the guy who spent half his career dressed up like a homicidal bunny rabbit?”
Frank Sr. picked up his coffee cup and sipped from it. “When you say it like that, it makes it sound like it was something weird.”
8. Iolaus pulled into the Chief’s driveway and put the SUV in park. The driveway was empty, but the front door was open. He put on his hat and slid out of the driver’s side seat to go knock.
A plump, pleasant looking woman answered the door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Erinnyes. How are you?”
“ Chief?” she called up the stairs.
A voice boomed in reply, “Who is it?”
The stairs creaked as Erinnyes made his way down them,
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