“I’m a bright shiny object kind of guy. You see, I think there are two types of people in this world: those with total and absolute focus, and those stopped and distracted by bright shiny objects. I’m the second one. Hey, I admit it. It’s not like you can’t tell. I mean, you see me comin’ up the street, brown bomber jacket, tan corduroys, slicked back hair? You know, Prince Charming I’m not.

“But hey, that’s who I am. Not like I can really change much, right? That itself is too much work anyways. Too complicated. Why complicate things? Life’s too much trouble to deal with as it is, but then we have to get bogged down in details on top of details on top of details? Forget it. No thank you. I like things simple and I try to keep it that way. Give me jeans over slacks, Bud over peppermint Schnapps and diner fries over nouvelle cuisine any day.

“Yeah, diner fries. The best. Hey, here’s a secret. If you want to tell the good diners from the dives, order the fries. The best ones know how to make ‘em right. You want a cut that’s not fast food thin or steak fries thick, deep fried all the way through to a crisp gold color and almost a hint of potato taste, but not too much though. It’s that crunch that makes them what they are. Kinda greasy, but not an oily mess. You want to be able to lick your fingers and still taste the fry, you know what I mean? If you don’t need to drown ‘em in ketchup, that’s a good set of fries. Those are the kinds of things I live for.

“You know, any time I go to a diner, I have to order the fries. It’s a thing for me. This way I know which ones I can come back to next time. I like to go to this one over on Ninth near 20th Street. Good place, good fries. Kinda dark, a little narrow, like a rail car diner in a building setting. But, I don’t know, it has a comfortable feel to me. It fits me right. The manager treats me pretty good. He’s a nice guy. Polish, but I don’t, you know, hold that against him. He’s cool for a Pole. Actually, between you and me, the place is kinda bummy. It’s like right in the heart of the industrial section. All the construction and dock workers in the area go there, so it tends to smell like sweat and sea water. Especially around lunch time. I only go there to see Betty. You know. The waitress.

“Nice girl. Not the boss’s daughter, thank God. Italian, I think. Working her way through school, something about fashion and a six-year plan. Cute. Nice legs, too. Very strong thighs, which I guess is a benefit of the job, you know. And she’s a brunette. I’ve got a thing for brunettes. You’d figure I’d go for the blondes, but I don’t know. Something about the dark haired girls that tug at the crotch. And she does that to me. But truthfully, she doesn’t belong in a place like that. She deserves to be working in a company office somewhere, answering phones and getting coffee for the boss. Something really high class. Anyone can sling hash and joe for those dirty grunts. They’re always giving her the eye and clawing at her and she has to hold them off. She doesn’t need that. But she liked working in a restaurant, so what could you do. Still, she was too good for them. She really was

“I talked to Betty all the time. You know, ‘Hi. How are you?’ Stuff like that. But lately there’s been a change. We’ve been getting kinda close. She’s been quicker serving me coffee and fries. She’d tell me how her feet was hurting and that she thinks the evening line cook is a real prick. Then she’d smile at me. A big bright smile right at me. And it’s been happening a lot. Pretty slowly but it’s definitely there and I notice it. Not like it’s a coincidence or anything, but if it happens enough, it’s a signal. An obvious signal. And you never ignore it when signals are being sent. That’s just, you know, rude.

“So that was the deal. I knew what was going on and she did too. The opportunity to ask her out was there and staring me in the face. And, yeah, I thought it would be a good thing for her. I should try to show her a good time. Maybe a movie on eighth and then a better class of diner in midtown. So right before her shift ended, I stopped and I asked her. And she says no. She says she wasn’t interested in me like that. Just like that, you know. Not interested like that. But, seriously, you can’t give out signals like that and then say no. That’s foul. It’s wrong and I’ll even go so far to say that it’s simply unacceptable.”

“Is that when you attacked her and threw her down?” asks the surly detective.

Lowering his gaze, he catches a black speck on his cuff and brushes it off. “I don’t really recall it happening like that.”