Page 112 - Just Deserts

The Sirocco Lites 26K Run for the Money

Ace hunched over the bar. “Tell you what, buddy. If this is as
good as it sounds, I’m in. But Sirocco Lites better be ready to open
the vault—they’re not going to get this marathon for peanuts.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling them.” Boyd Brainard nodded.
“And you know what? They told me I can go first class on this. So
that’s why I came to you first.”
“Smart move,” slurred La Manza. “You won’t regret it.”
“No,” replied the smiling middleman. “I’m sure I won’t.”

* * * * *

Benjamin Holden, chairman of the Isla View city council, had
racked his brains for an appropriate place to meet a man in a
wheelchair. The town accommodated itself to tourists but not to the
disabled; none of his favorite restaurants provided wheelchair access.
He was not personally acquainted with anyone unable to negotiate
even the shortest flight of stairs, so he put the problem in the lap of
his administrative assistant; she instantly suggested an outdoor cafe
with seating on a level continuous with the sidewalk. He thanked her
as graciously as he could and made a reservation for two at one-
thirty, when he figured the place would not be too crowded or noisy.
Arriving ten minutes late, he found his table already half-occupied
by a young man intently studying a menu. Holden, myopic despite
prescription sunglasses, had to look twice to see that his guest was
not sitting in a restaurant chair. He decided to stay away from the
subject of the man’s disability.
“Good afternoon,” he gushed, in the voice reserved for
constituents. “I’m Ben Holden.” He stood expectantly with his hand
extended.
“Kevin Caltrop. Sorry if I don’t get up.”
Holden flushed, then recovered. “Uh, oh, er, sorry. Of course.”
He sat down heavily and clutched at the menu. “See anything you
like?”

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