She sat at the head of the table. She wasn’t sure why. Some of the ten men were tow truck drivers who had worked with Hooker for years. Ace had taught him how to tow, and Hooker had taught John, the small quiet man, how to tow.
One was a tall young police officer named James Aligo. His pro-football size belied his Filipino heritage. His smile and laughter were infectious more in a steak and eggs sort of way than in a sweets sort of way. His love of life was something you wanted to fill up on—it was good for you.
There were a couple of deputies who had come up through the ranks giving Hooker tows that weren’t really his.
Micha was the first black officer for the highway patrol in the Bay Area. The only other woman at the table was his wife. She too had no idea why she was there. Next to her was her brother, a Marine sergeant named Dan. He was as much of a mystery to the rest of the men as were the women at the table. Even Dolly had never sat with them.
The Marine was crystal-clear about why he was there.
Rounding out the table were two shot-up characters. The older, with the white brush cut, was the Captain on the Highway Patrol. He was the man who had hired Micha with never a single regret.
Candy smiled down the table at the other shot-up man. Squirt was out of the hospital on loan. The IV pole still contained several meds, including painkiller. Her brother smiled up the table at her with a wonky expression. She knew if they had had any serious meat, she would have to go down there and cut it for him. She noticed Dolly had cut up his spaghetti as well as the Sicilian sausage from San Jose’s oldest deli, Chiaramonte’s.
The conversations were subdued. Dolly was her usual self, hovering as her left hand drifted from one shoulder to the next to running her fingers through a head of hair. Her right hand was always full with a pot of coffee. Most of these men would be back at work in a few minutes.
The two hours had flown by.
The end came with Karen calling from the switchboard. “Ace, I’m holding a tow in Willow Glen going to Fremont.”
“John, your back up says he is hungry. He just had a tow, and the member sounded young and sweet.”
“Chet, you have meds to take before your ten o’clock bedtime.”
“James, shots fired at King and Story. Please wear your vest this time.”
“Micha, Good Sam called. They want to know where their patent is. Bring him in here for his hug therapy as you leave.”
“Candy, it was nice to meet you finally. You’re family now, so hugs are mandatory.”
“Ace, I’m starting your call in three minutes. Your peanut butt best be in the truck.”
Candy put her hands around the purring cat on her lap. “Here, Dolly, let me help clear...”
Everyone stopped what they were doing. Dolly froze at the coffee maker. “Micha? Would you please be so kind as to educate Candy?”
The police officer turned to Candy. He eyed the orange cat and smiled. “The rules are: you never offer to help, you never clear your place, you never get your own coffee, and you sit and act like a guest, or you never come back.”
The men, who knew the routine, nodded.
Candy leaned back. “Well, that’s just silly. Times are changing, and I want to help.”
Dolly turned slowly on her heel. Her suddenly fierce countenance pinned Candy into her seat.
Candy’s chin sunk into her chest as she squeaked in a little girl voice, “Or not.”