The real estate agents shook hands. One of ‘em looked younger than Dillard’s youngest granddaughter.
The new owners of Dill’s hugged.
Katie Szala flipped her husband’s long black hair and said “If you’re gonna be in that hot kitchen all day long, might be time for a haircut.”
“Sure Kayz, Brendan Szala said, “a crew cut, coming right up.”
He was smiling but being distinctly sarcastic.
Dillard jammed his left thumbnail between the gap in his top front teeth and blurted “Christ on a cookie sheet, I forgot.”
Heads spun. One of the real estate guys popped a cufflink and it bounced on the burgundy carpet.
The closing papers were all signed.
Katie Szala reached for Dillard’s shoulder.
“What is it, Mr. Dillard, maybe we can-”
“I don’t know,” the Title guy said, “once the-”
Dillard shook him off, rather angrily for the issue being his own mistake.
“I have a regular…had, I guess. Lives in the little townhouses just past the south alley. Balthazar…they call him Ballzy. He’s a special person to me.”
Dillard looked at the young couple who bought his diner and knew they were oblivious to what the neighborhood had been twenty years prior. He wanted to tell them how Ballzy had stopped a robbery attempt. But he couldn’t begin. The realization that he no longer owned the restaurant had picked the lock inside him and was about to run off with the last of his stoicism.
“He’s a vet-veteran and, and… a good man and…”
Katie squeezed Dillard’s shoulder.
“Big guy, crew cut, has a cane with a handle that looks like a mallard duck?”
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