Chapter 7
I unfolded the paper, and it was the straight goods! What kind of gang had I got mixed up with? The list sounded like a cell block reunion. Starkiller, hokeygar, waxwing454, brewsterjuice.....!
“Muggled!”, a voice behind me belted out. I jumped, and as I whirled around my right hand went automatically straight inside my jacket. There was no holster there of course. I had lost my license to carry a firearm after the incident in the South Stand when Tony Gabriel caught the Cup winning TD in '76.
Standing in front of me was an unassuming looking couple of about my vintage.
“Looking for a pen?” the man said, “Got one here, I'll sign us in” and I gave up the paper without a struggle. The woman said, “We're Canabassett, what name should we log?”
Recovering, I said, “DJ will do.”
The man paused and said, “You're not DJ. She's got curves, not chiseled . So, DJ and who.....?
And it just slipped out natural like, “BigM”, I said.
He started to write, “So that will be DJ&BigM then?”, but I raised a hand and said, “Well....., actually.....”
“Oh, I get you”, he caught on, and put pen to paper. “BigM&DJ!”
I replaced eveything as found when they left, and then the phone rang with DJ on the line. “It's done.” I said.
“It's Happy Hour then”, she purred. “I'm on a stool where the bartender, Jon, says he knows you. But he says BigM won't catch on. He says they all know you here as.....”
“Hold it right there!” I interrupted. “Only my friends call me that!”
“Well, Jon is pulling you a tall one right now, and there may be more than one if you hurry”
My well scuffed brogues were already heading in that direction, no map needed, as I replied, “That's me opening the door”!