at the server working the counter. “Why ain’t y’all got the paper yet this morning?”
“They haven’t delivered it.”
“Well, you just wait until you see it,” Aaron said. Then he looked over and noticed Ben. “I’ll be, there he is right there.”
Ben looked forward and did not even glance at Aaron. He was not eager to engage in conversation.
“He who?” one of them next to Johnny asked.
“Ben Bailey,” Aaron said as he pointed at Ben. “Do y’all know this man?”
Ben hung his head down, trying to remain calm. He knew Aaron was up to no good.
“I’m afraid I do not,” Johnny said.
“’Fraid not,” one said.
“Looks familiar,” the other said.
“Oh yeah?” Aaron paused, and started walking toward Ben. “Looks familiar, you say?”
Ben now stared directly ahead at the mirror across from the counter. He saw Aaron walking toward him.
“He does look a bit familiar,” Johnny said.
“Oh I’m sure you’ve seen him in here,” Aaron continued. “But when that paper gets here, you’ll recognize him there, too. He’s on the front page of it today.” Aaron was about six feet away, continuing to walk slowly toward Ben. “This man is the Ben Bailey in today’s headline, you see.” He finally arrived and stood right next to Ben. Ben continued to look forward. “He’s Dwight Kerry’s attorney.”
“The queer we were just talking about?”
Aaron leaned over and whispered in Ben’s ear. “You’re fucking done here.”
Then he backed away from Ben – slowly.
“This boy right here is defending that faggot?” one asked.
“Oh yes,” Aaron replied, “and he’s from here, too!”
“Momma didn’t raise you real well did she?” Johnny said.
“It’s amazing what money will get people to do,” the other said. “Damn shame.”
“Money has nothing to do with it, and you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben finally spoke.
“If you can sleep at night knowing you’re defending that murderer – fine!” Johnny said. “But you’ll have to answer to the good Lord for this.”
“Hey, Bob, this man over here is that Dwight Kerry’s attorney,” one of them said as he pointed to Ben.
Bob was the owner of 3rd Street Café, and he usually only showed up for breakfast and was gone by ten a.m. each day. Since Ben rarely graced 3rd Street Café with his presence on weekday mornings, Bob did not know how much of a lunch regular he was. It likely would not have mattered in this moment, though, as an angry Bob got up from the table he was sitting at with friends and walked over to the counter.
“Are you kidding me?” Bob asked as he made his way over. Capturing the attention of all restaurant guests, he yelled, “Dale’s a friend of mine!”
The restaurant suddenly grew quiet as Bob, an overweight and irritable staple of Freeden, towered over a seated Ben at the lunch counter.
“Dale’s a good guy, and I know this is a terrible situation,” Ben said.
“Terrible situation?” he yelled. “His boy is dead!”
“I am aware of that, and–”
“If you’re defending that fag, you’re not welcomed here.”
“Bob, please… with all due respect I’m a regular and I live here and–”
“I don’t care who you are and where you live,” he said. “You’re not welcomed at my restaurant.”
Ben sighed, staring into Bob’s eyes. “What happened to Dale’s boy is awful, I understand and sympathize with that–”
“I don’t think you understand a damn thing!” Bob yelled. “Get out of my restaurant!”
Ben recognized that the situation was not going to improve and wanted to be sensitive to emotions, but still felt incredibly wronged by this. He looked around the restaurant, and everyone was looking at him. Some of them may not have even known what was going on, but it was obvious he was being kicked out of the place. He looked over at Aaron, who had retreated to a corner booth and was shamelessly grinning. As Ben saw it, Aaron stirred the pot, and knew how to do it well. No wonder that wife fucker fits in so well here.
Ben nodded to affirm that he was leaving. The place was silent. He walked over to the cashier at the far end of the counter.
“I need to pay,” he said to the cashier.
“We don’t need that blood money,” Bob yelled. “I’m not taking money from someone who profits from defending murderers and rapists!”
Ben turned his head in astonishment. This kept getting worse. People were starting to chatter.
“What’s going on?” one woman asked her husband.
“Is that Ben Bailey? The man who is defending Dwight?” another woman asked.
“You should have heard what he did to Dr. Henson’s daughter,” another woman said to her husband. “He’s a bastard of a man.”
“I heard Dwight killed a kid,” another man said at a table of men.
The place was full of chatter and gossip, even before Ben had the chance to get out the door. Ben knew gossip was embedded in the heart of this town, and the majority of those sitting in 3rd Street Café relished in the opportunity to indulge themselves.
Ben walked away from the counter, and as he walked toward the door, the place grew silent once more.
Ben was nearly at the door when Bob said, “And don’t come back ever again.”
Ben kept walking.
“Keep eating folks, all is good here,” Bob shouted as the door closed behind Ben.
Ben left the building and started walking to his office. His heart was racing at what had just happened, only two miles from his old home-place. This was his hometown, and he had just been kicked out of the most famous place to eat in the tri-county area.
Word had gotten out that he was defending Dwight, and his suspicions about how the town would react were already coming true. The most worrisome thing was that, as a whole, the majority of the town likely still didn’t know he was going to defend Dwight. And the response so far was already ugly.
He reminded himself as he walked away from the restaurant that he committed the previous night to doing the right thing for Dwight no matter what, and
