I walked into Au Bon Pain with one simple motive: to eat a bagel and read my new book. After checking out at the counter, I grabbed a quaint little table in the corner where I planned to accomplish this task. I cracked open my book, read about two lines, and just as I was taking a bite from my bagel, I hear a voice to my right.
“I couldn’t help but see that you’re reading Dennis Lehane.”
I look up, intrigued, to find a middle aged man wearing plastic glasses and sporting a man satchel. He seems well-intentioned so I decide to reply back.
“Yes I am,” I say, hoping there couldn’t be much more to say after that.
“Yeah, he’s really interesting. So, are you in criminal justice?”
For a moment, I just blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s kidding. I then give him a moment to see that I’m wearing a grey sundress and notice my curly haired bob, or you know, the complete lack of muscles in my arms. But nope, he’s serious.
“Uhhh…no.”
“Oh really. Well I’ve had to deal with the FBI,” he says.
My eyes get wide. Oh dear, I think to myself.
“I actually had a couple of run-ins with Whitey Bulger,” he continues. ” You know, the guy that Jack Nicholson’s character from ‘The Departed’ is based on. And let me tell you, the FBI isn’t doing anything to get this man behind bars.”
He goes on to describe how he ran into Bulger at the Public Library this one time, and that Bulger could very well have had a knife behind his back. So he called the FBI, but they didn’t do anything about it. And THEN he said he saw Bulger running in his neighborhood once, coming to the conclusion that the mobster must be living nearby. So he took it upon himself to spy on Bulger, you know, for the good of America.
His story goes on and on for a good fifteen minutes with the details of his plan to capture Bulger. I reply intermittently with “oh really”s and “yeah”s, as if I’m interested, but the inner monologue is fast at work.
Gahh, what the hell! I just wanted to read my book. Damn you, Dennis Lehane! Ok Loren, there’s got to be a way out of this. Stop with the nodding, he thinks you’re enjoying the story! Damn you, and your listening skills. Ohhh try your phone! You have that application, “Fake a Call.” It’s perfect!
But my heart sinks to my stomach as I realize my purse is in the other chair on the opposite side of the table. Blast!
Meanwhile, his story picks up. He goes into intricate detail about the time he saw Bulger’s girlfriend walking her dogs, carefully noting the heart-shaped sunglasses she was wearing, her paisley jacket, and the odd hat on her head that was out of fashion for women at the time.
“And each time I call the FBI about this, they keep telling my I’m crazy,” he says.
“They call you crazy? Really?” I reply.
What if you just ran? What that be weird. Like, start slowly gathering your things, and then just book it. People might look at you funny, but that wouldn’t be so bad. You never have to see these people again. Ughh, this is all Billy’s fault. He had to introduce me to this book. This story doesn’t really have much to do with criminal justice anyway! I mean, the main guy’s a federal marshall, but he’s investigating a missing person, not the Boston mafia…
“…you hear me?” he asks.
I am jerked back into consciousness. ”Huh?” I reply.
“I said, take this advice from me. If you’re ever in a situation and you get a feeling of danger deep down in your gut, you get out of there.”
LIKE NOW!?
Another fifteen minutes of story goes by. At this point, I’m pleading with God to let it stop.
I’m sorry for everything bad I’ve ever done. EVER. Is this punishment for liking the Departed? I thought it was a good movie!
And then I hear what salvation sounds like. The delightful tune of “Sing, Sing, Sing” fills the air, and I realize my cousin is calling me. With lightening speed, I reach for the phone.
“I’m so sorry, but this is a really important phone call,” I say. ”I have to take this.”
I don’t give him a chance to answer as I go straight into conversation with Joya. He smiles, makes a small wave, and then leaves. I let out the largest sigh of my life and finish my talk with Joya.
And then I go back to my story about a mental institution. Oh, the irony.