The Twelfth Street Diner wasn’t on Twelfth Street and had never been on Twelfth Street. The original owner, Benny Angelo, had moved to Minnesota from Brooklyn with his wife, five kids, and a handful of Mama Rose’s recipes. He claimed it was to give his family a better quality of life and named the place in honor of his old neighborhood so he’d never forget where he came from.
Whenever my dad had a craving for Benny’s three-bean chili, which always seemed to come in the middle of the night, he’d get us out of bed and we’d drive out to the diner. I can’t remember how many times I sent poor Sully out there for a meatloaf sandwich when I was pregnant. It was the scene of Lizzie’s first date. Over the years, going to the Twelfth became a tradition in our family. But I hadn’t been there since a Yuppie couple from Connecticut bought it and Benny moved to Florida. It was nice they kept the name.
It still smelled the same: greasy burgers and coffee. As I walked across the worn, wooden floor, it creaked and I was happy to see nothing had changed. The old jukebox flashed in the corner, red vinyl still covered stools at the counter, but the ancient cash register had been replaced with a computer station. I guess you can’t hold back progress completely. A tall man with an apron wrapped around his waist handed me a menu and asked if I preferred a table or a booth.
“I’m meeting someone,” I told him as I surveyed the room.
“Hey, Kathy.” Nathan waved to get my attention. He’s the only person who ever called me Kathy . . . and I liked it.
“There he is,” I told the host.
Nathan stood up. “Squeeze in and I’ll make the intros.”
The booth was extra long and I slid across the red vinyl toward a tough-looking middle-aged woman. Nathan slid in next to me.
“That heathen over there,” he pointed to a muscular man, hunkered over what looked to be a triple-decker burger surrounded by a mountain of fries, “is Brock. The first time I ran into this monster, he was hauling some guy twice his size out of a club. As far as I can tell, he’s a cross between a rock and a brick.”
Brock grabbed a napkin and wiped his right hand clean then extended it across the table toward me. “So now, I’m Brock. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan. Didn’t mean to start without you but I ain’t eaten in a few hours.” I couldn’t tell if he was smiling at me, his beard was so thick, matching all the hair on his head. He looked like a bear.
I expected a painful grip, but Brock shook my hand gently. “Nice to meet you. And please,” I looked around the table, “all of you, call me Katherine.”
Nathan continued. “You may have guessed, Brock’s our muscle. Don’t let the big guy scare you; he’s a real pussycat.”
Everyone at the table laughed—except Brock, who scowled and continued eating.
“I’m E.T.,” the man across from me said. Around thirty years old, he was almost Brock’s opposite: thin, focused, and very serious. Wispy light brown hair hung to his shoulders. He seemed uncomfortable and just nodded a hello. A bottle of mineral water sat in front of him, obviously bought elsewhere. His shoulders were narrow, and under his camouflage jacket, he wore a Green Peace T-shirt.
“Did Nathan give you that name?” I asked.
“Yeah, he caught me once—okay twice—eating some of the candy he keeps on his desk.”
Everyone at the table groaned.
“Get real,” Nathan said. “You’re the reason I had to start hiding the stuff.”
“You shouldn’t even be eating sweets at your age,” E.T. told Nathan.
Nathan ignored E.T.’s comment. “This guy’s our expert in nonlethal weaponry and martial arts. He installs alarms in private homes. He’s the best. In and out, without a trace.”
“I’m impressed,” I said.
The young woman next to E.T. spoke up. “Hi, I’m Polly. That’s not my real name, of course. I made this polygraph machine and brought it in to my interview with Nathan—”
“—and blew me away,” Nathan said. “Never saw anything like it.”
She shrugged. Polly was the youngest in the group, twenty-something and cute. Through the long straight bangs that covered her forehead, I could see an eyebrow had been pierced. Dozens of thin bracelets were stacked along her arms and on each thumb she wore a silver ring.
“Polly’s our electronics, computer, and surveillance expert. Her videos have gone viral; she’s exposed animal abuse carried on by some of the major food and cosmetics corporations in the country.”
“Give me an animal or computer anytime,” she said. “People suck, ya know what I mean?”
“I’m sorry to say I do.”
“And last but not least is Rosie,” Nathan said and nodded to the woman sitting next to me.
I turned to get a good look at her. “Hi.”
“A pleasure.” She gave me a quick smile.
Rosie looked just like the woman in the World War Two poster: Rosie the Riveter. This time I could see why Nathan had chosen her name. She gave off an aura of competence and strength. Fifty-something, she sported a short haircut. She’d rolled the sleeves of her plaid shirt up exposing tattoos on each arm. With no jewelry, no piercings, Rosie was obviously the no-nonsense type.
“Rosie had to leave Chicago in a hurry and was looking for work,” Nathan said.
“Got mixed up with some wise guys, my ex included.” She ran her large hands through the sides of her pompadour. “He was connected—know what I mean? On our honeymoon, get this, he takes me out on my first job. Breaking into some McMansion on Lake Shore Drive. What an idiot.” She nudged me and laughed. “Him an’ his buddies didn’t know what the hell they was doin’. We got away with one thousand lousy bucks, split four ways. Can you believe it?”
“Rosie’s a master locksmith and B and E expert,” Nathan said.
“Almost makes me sound respectable, don’t he?” she asked and nudged me again.
“He does have a way with words,” I told her.
While a waitress took our order, I looked around the table. What a bunch, I thought, realizing I liked every one of them.
Nathan continued when we alone again. “Before we go any further, I want to say something about Katherine . . . and her husband, Sully,” he told the group. I couldn’t imagine what was coming next. “No one was used to seeing a black face on the force, back in the day. You young folks can’t even imagine the racial slurs, the tension. More than once, I wanted to give up. But then Sully insisted we be partners and things started to change for me. I became more accepted on the job, and Kathy, Sully, my wife and I, we all became like family. They both always had my back. We started going to each other’s homes for dinner. Our kids played together . . .”
“Come on, Nathan, you and Terry were always there for us, too. You make Sully and me sound like saints.”
“No, Kathy, you guys went way beyond the definition of friends. And I’ll never forget your kindness . . . never.”
I was overwhelmed; all I could do was pat his hand.
After a short moment of uncomfortable silence, Brock spoke up. “If the boss says you’re okay, that’s good enough for us.”
“Yeah, he laid everything out before you got here,” Rosie added. “We got you covered. Not to worry.”
“Even though their system is ancient out there at the manse, I’m sure I can come up with something,” Polly said. “Nothing’s ever lost; it just bounces around out in the ozone until someone finds it.”
“You’re all so . . . remarkable,” I stammered. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“No, we’re the ones who should be thankin’ you,” Rosie said. “Solvin’ a murder! This is gonna be great!”