The Bad News About Butch

Sensing danger is a survival skill. If you have it, you may live long. If not, well… I guess you aren’t reading this.

Years ago before we were married, Carrie and I went to a party. Actually an employee appreciation party. I was working two jobs and going to college fulltime so, a busy life for me in my twenties. Carrie was working in Chicago, managing a department for Carson, Pirie & Scott.

Every year the employees of the Vinny’s Italian steak ristorante were treated to a evening at the owner’s home. The restaurant was in Lansing, Illinois and their home was nestled in an upper-class subdivision somewhere in Munster, Indiana. You will remember me talking about Munster in the story, “Highschool Rivalries at the Cub’s Game” The restaurant employed roughly 25 staff members consisting of chefs, cooks, prep workers, waitresses, busboys and a couple of dishwashers. I was the weekend dishwasher.

Their home in Munster was stunning. Decorated over the top in gaudy Italian flare, they boasted their wealth. A large pool was centered in the backyard with a diving board and gardens beyond belief. Vinny and his wife knew how to live and how to throw a party.

If I can indulge you for a moment let me tell you a fun fact about Vinny’s wife, Beatrice, She was frugal (cheap). She would retrieve returned bread, butter, crackers and dips as the busboys came back to my work station. So the crackers and bread on your table may have made it out of the kitchen three or four times that day. Pretty disgusting, huh?

Back to the employee party. I wasn’t keen on socializing with everyone at the party and had hope to convince my girlfriend to leave as early as possible. Don’t get me wrong, some of the guys in the kitchen and waitresses were very nice people. But there were a lot of jobs to fill and a certain segment of the staff were filled with sleazy, transients that came and went all the time.

Butch was one such individual. He claimed he was a chef, but he wasn’t that good. He was always hatching plots to get rich quick, but none of them ever worked. I suspected he was involved with the mob too. I could never prove it, wouldn’t want to. But my gut told me to be very careful around him, and I did.

Back at the party, everyone was there. Our group gathered and chatted around the pool in the backyard. There was good party music playing. Beatrice had hired some outside waiters to keep the food coming out. For Carrie and I in our early twenties, this was quite the fancy soirée. And right smack in the middle of everything was Butch. He was standing on the diving board with no shirt on a large belly (difficult to see) and some real skimpy swim trunks. One bounce, two bounces and on the third he lifted high into the air and coming down into the pool landing (you guessed it) a massive cannonball and carrying water all the way around. The screams and complaints were wasted on him. He was underwater.

When he surfaced at the other end of the pool, he climbed the steps out of the pool and grabbed a folded towel waiting there for him. He sported a fantastically satisfying grin. He dried off and was gone for ten minutes only to return in his street clothes again. Time for him to find a beer.

Butch was the only entry into the pool that evening. The food was fulfilling, the drinks were amply poured. The noise from the stereo and the staff rose louder and louder as the sun set. I was looking at my watch and my girlfriend. I had had enough. Getting Carrie to leave a party is another matter all together. By ten o’clock I got my wish. We thanked the host and hostess and said goodbye to the other guests as we turned towards the gate at the side of the yard. Then I saw something that caught my attention and raised my radar.

Butch took a hurried swig out of his beer and put it down. He ended his conversation with one of the pretty waitresses. He grabbed his sports coat, threw it over his shoulder and gave a few quick goodbyes before doing the same with Vinny & Beatrice. Now just behind and moving in our direction he gained a bit on us. I squeezed Carrie’s hand and whispered to her that we might want to pick up the pace. She is quick to listen to my gut and save her questions for later. Pulling seatbelts and locking doors, I said “I have a funny feeling about that Butch character”. “Oh, that knucklehead that splashed us all from the pool?” She asked. “Yeah, that’s the guy. He checked out of the party the same time we did” I started the engine and slipped into gear. It was quite dark, so the headlights came on next.

“Where is he at now?” She seemed more concerned by the moment. “He’s got this lime-green Camaro, it’s a real hotrod. And there he is now” I said peering into my rearview mirror. I eased off the brake pedal and entered the suburban street lined with well lit beautiful homes on both sides. I kept one eye on the road and one on the rearview mirror. He was keeping safe distance. “Maybe we should go faster and get out of here” Carrie urged. “Not just yet. Let me make a couple useless turns just to make sure I’m not being overly paranoid.” So I did.

I turned left up at the end of the block when I should have went right. Remember we are in a subdivision with winding roads. I lost his headlights for a brief moment, but there they were still behind us. I turned left again at the end of the next block.

“Damnit!” I declared with a tremble in my voice.

“He’s following us! I know it”

“I’m scared” Carrie uttered, no longer hiding her fear.

“Wait I got an idea” I could see ahead that there was another natural turn in the road just ahead. I approached it at normal speed. Once I lost his car lights, I punched the gas pedal. My hopes were that there might be another turn coming up soon and I was not denied. There was. I floored it around the second turn without his headlights reaching us. I took this street fast too. Halfway down the street I spotted an empty driveway and went for it.

I threw the car into park in the driveway and turned everything off. “Get down” I said to Carrie. I lowered my body into my seat and raised just one eye above my head rest. Nothing yet. “This can’t be happening” Carrie whispered as if in a prayer. Then the lights turned the corner and looked like Camaro headlights to me. The car was moving no faster then five miles an hour. “Now stay still. He’s almost here” I whispered with my one exposed eye focusing on our predator. Just as he reached us, he stopped his car. I could see the bright green paint job even on this dark night. I could see a red circle glow of a lit cigarette being drawn in and exhaled out of his open driver-side window.

I couldn’t say if our cover was blown or if he was just pausing to think of what to do next. He sat there for a whole two minutes and when his cigarette was done, he threw it out onto the street and pulled away, slowly. I hadn’t taken a breath in over a minute and let a long slow exhale and refilled my lungs. “He’s leaving” I said to Carrie with growing confidence and calmness. We decided to wait a few more minutes. We had outsmarted him. It would be quite stupid to fall into another trap. A full ten minutes later, I started up the car and backed out into the street. I finished that block with my lights off. No one was about. I turned on the headlights and pointed the car for home.

The next day was a work day for me. Carrie thought I ought to call in sick, but I decided against it and showed up on time. Butch didn’t come into work until noon, but I still kept looking over my shoulder all morning. I had actually gotten distracted with dishwashing at a quarter to twelve when I heard his loud boisterous voice in the back room where the time clock was. He was punching in a little early today. That was rare.

My heart raced as I kept my back to the kitchen, minding my dish work at hand. He passed by me without a single comment, busy to get to the kitchen and start chopping steaks with his favorite cleaver.

It was five o’clock and the dinner crowd would be arriving soon. The kitchen usually took this brief respite to grab a soda, cigarette and chair. The calm before the storm as they would often say. I found a chair where the waitresses usually gathered and lit up a cigarette. When I turned to use the ashtray, I found Butch sitting next to me. He leaned in and said, “Hey Mikey! How’d you like that party last night?” His expelled cigarette smoke wafted around my head. “We had a nice time. It was a real nice party. Sorry we could not have stayed longer” I said calmly. “Yeah, I stayed late, practically closed the place”

L-I-A-R!! The word bounced around inside my head. I know his car. I know that was him. And now he’s lying about it.

I never felt so threatened in my whole life. My active imagination spent the next couple weeks wondering about all the different ways the evening could have ended.

Butch left the restaurant a month later, just moving on down the road. I never saw him again.

---

To get email notifications when I publish new stories, just enter your email address below, click “Subscribe” and follow the instructions. Then Click Here to make sure you have completed the process.

#hemphillsongcom

#michaelhemphillstories

#michaelhemphillsongs

#songwritersofinstagram

#songwritersoffacebook

#findmeonspotify

#carchase