The Thief in Booth Five

A chance lunch with an oddly polite body thief.

    Bette’s feet hurt already. They throbbed as her corns rubbed the inside of her cheap canvas shoe. She grabbed the pot of coffee and made her way around the small diner, noticing mostly familiar faces. After eighteen years she knew this meant mediocre tips at best. Nobody leaves a large tip for a waitress they see almost everyday. So Bette put on a wider smile and a cheerier tone in her voice as she refilled the coffee for the two strangers in Booth Five. The man in the brown suit acknowledged her with a polite smile and asked for the check.

    He waited until the waitress was a few booths away before he continued.

“Don't you see, Larry? It’s what I’ve been saying all along. It’s easier to be a nobody than it is a somebody. Now don’t get me wrong, kid.” the man laughed softly. “Sometimes it’s fun to step into the finer shoes. Especially if you’re into the ladies, if you know what I mean.” the man said with a greasy grin.

Larry sat there with a pleasant look on his face. A non committal look.

“But for the most part,” the man continued “it’s much easier if you don’t stand out in a crowd.”

    Bette scanned the diner with a pro’s eye for refills or problems. Her eyes kept landing on the man in the brown suit. She had his check ready but she was reluctant to take it to him. The man and his friend were an odd pair at best. The man in the brown suit wasn’t a dapper type but he was soft spoken and polite. His friend looked like a local farmer in his faded blue bib-alls and ball cap. They both looked to be in their thirties but from two different worlds. The farmer never spoke.

“Order up!”

‘Good.’ she thought ‘My two wrecked eggs on a shingle with mystery meat in the alley for Booth Two.’ and she was off.

“Oh, I’ve been all over the world and I’ve been nobodies and somebodies. I’ve lived in barns and slept in castles. I’ve flipped burgers and I’ve washed down froie gra with Chateau Lafite Rothschild. I’ve been an Eskimo whaler and I’ve owned a fleet of slave ships. I’ve mucked out privies in the four points and raced sailboats in the Red Sea. In all my time I’ve always found it easier to be a nobody. Nobodies are hard to track. They’re almost invisible. Where is that check?” the man in the brown suit said.

    Bette knew there was no more stalling. She made her way over to Booth Five and laid the check down. She asked, automatically, if there was anything else. “Pie or more coffee?”

“Bette,” he said in a jovial voice “I think I’ll have just one more cup but my friend is done, I think.”

Bette poured his coffee without even thinking but she felt a sick feeling as she walked away.

“There now, as I was explaining, there is something special in being a nobody, Larry. I guess what I’m trying to say is You’re Special. So how does that grab you, Larry?" the man laughed softly again.

“Well, it’s time to go, my friend. Thanks for everything. Did you leave the keys in the truck? No matter. I might keep the Caddy anyway.”

The man in the brown suit reached across the Formica table and laid his right hand gently on top of the farmer's. Larry jerked backward.

The dead man in the brown suit sat there with a pleasant smile and a fresh cup of coffee.

The farmer placed his hands on the back of his neck and stretched his new body, looked around the diner and smiled to himself. He liked this one.

"So long, Bob." the farmer whispered to the dead man.

    Bette looked up and watched the farmer exit the booth and head for the door.

“Thanks, Bette." he said in a jovial voice “The coffee was superb.”

She nodded awkwardly as he left the diner. He walked past the picture window and crossed the street. The old waitress was surprised to see the farmer get into a late model convertible Cadillac and speed off.