The Barber's Chair

     “Good morning, Charlie,” the tall stranger said. He hung his baseball cap on the rack by the door as he strode into the tiny one chair barber shop. Two of the three customer seats, along the front window were filled. He took the empty seat. He smiled and nodded toward the barber, who was sweeping up hair clippings around the barber chair. “How's your wild love life coming along?” he asked.

     The barber bent an eye on the newcomer. His name was Pete, and he wondered why the stranger called him Charlie. “What was that, bud?” Pete asked. “Haven't seen you in here before, have we?”

     “Funny, Charlie,” the new arrival laughed. “I was just wondering if everything is good with you and that little blonde you were with last Saturday night? I believe you two were about to head for the nearest 'no-tell'.”

     “Whaaa...what?” Pete the barber sputtered. “Look, pal. My name is Pete. I'm not Charlie, and I don't believe we've ever met. You've mistaken me for somebody else.”

     “Maybe,” The stranger smiled. “But how else would you know my name is Bud?”

     “I call everyone bud if I don't know their name.” Pete said. “You're confusing me.”

     “You didn't seem confused about who you were and what you wanted, Saturday night at Ollie's Oyster Bar & Grill. You seemed pretty focused on the blonde with her hand in your pants,” the grinning stranger said. “Hey, today is Saturday. You guys all going out again tonight?”

     “Knock off the bullshit or I'm gonna throw your ass out of here!” Pete warned. 

      Just then, the stranger's eye caught a flash of red hair. For a brief moment, a pretty face poked out of the door marked OFFICE.  Noticing his wife peeking from the office door, Pete renewed his threat to toss the tall man out.

     “Just knock off the shit, buddy! Bob and Roy here will back me up. They were with me all last Saturday night.”

     The two men waiting for haircuts stared at the stranger with wide eyes and open mouths.

     “Ain't that right, fellas?” Pete pleaded. “Tell 'em, Roy. Tell 'em Bobby.”

     The customer sitting in the chair by the door, said, “What the hell you talkin' about? Pete's name sure as hell ain't Charlie. It's Pete, and he was with me and Bob, like always.”

     “That's right,” the other man chimed in. “Texas Hold-em at my place, every Saturday night. Five years straight.”

     “Sorry, boys,” the stranger said, looking at the man closest to the door. “Roy, isn't it? How about that handsome young guy you were schmoozing up at the Oyster Bar?” The tall man casually scratched his chin and continued. “When you left together, weren't you were slipping out to hook up in the parking lot? Guess that's none of my business. Nothing's wrong with that.”

     “You son of a bitch!” Roy screamed, jumping to his feet. “You calling me queer?” 

     The other customer made a grab for him. Bob snagged Roy by the belt and hauled him back to his chair.

     “Settle down, Roy, this guy's just having a little fun,” Bob said calmly. “We know he's full of shit. No need to go all crazy.”

     The loud exchange among the barber and his patrons, brought the tall red-head out of the office. She stood in front of the three men, hands on her hips, green eyes flashing. Slowly, she turned to the stranger.

     “I don't know who you are, but what you're saying makes a lot of sense,” she said. “So, Pete calls himself Charlie when he goes out with these guys, huh? Every Saturday night he says he's going to Bob's to play poker. If I call his cell, it goes straight to message. When I call Roy's cell, there's never an answer. Same for Bob's. I can never get a hold of Pete 'til he crawls in, half drunk, about sun-up.”

     “Callie, honey,” the barber stammered. “You don't believe this guy, do you? Every Saturday night, the three of us do play poker at Bob's.” Tell her boys.

     “He's tellin' you the truth.” Bob offered. “We shut off the phones, so our boys' night don't get interrupted.”

     “Hey, I'm sorry fellas,” the stranger said. “I didn't mean to make any trouble for you guys. I didn't know it was so secret.” He shook his head slowly. “I only met you guys that one time.”

     The newcomer looked down at the barber shop floor. He seemed deep in thought.

     “Just one question, Bobby,” he continued. “Is that zaftig little brunette you were with your wife, or is she a secret too?” The stranger winked. “I noticed you had your hand on her ass all night.”

     Now, it was Bob who sprang from his chair. His face was livid, his mouth twisted in an angry snarl. “You son of a bitch! My wife was home Saturday night. And, you got a hell of a nerve calling her fat!” Bob's hot temper flared and he lost it. He lunged toward the stranger, flailing with both fists, hitting only air.

     Callie Postall stepped between Bob and the talkative stranger. She was the tallest, fittest, and strongest person in the shop. When the puny Bob moved to clobber the stranger, Callie stopped him in mid lunge. She flung him backwards, his feet off the floor.

     Bob landed like a rag doll, back in his seat. The old chair splintered on impact. Bob kept falling until he was on his back on the floor. He quickly scrambled to his feet. Suddenly he was a White Knight. A man bent on defending his beloved wife's honor. However, he was slightly dizzy, and lost his balance. He crashed once again landing in the pile of splinters that had recently been a chair.

     The chair was kindling, but one broken leg was sticking straight up in the air. Unluckily for Bob, his butt landed dead center on that leg. He shrieked with pain, and struggled to his feet. In a frenzy and still screaming, he ran to the door at full speed. He reached for the knob. He missed it. The door didn't open. He couldn't stop. Bob crashed through the door's plate glass window and landed face first in the shards of broken glass on the sidewalk.

     In pain and disoriented, Bob regained his feet. He was bleeding from his hands, face, and ass. That's when the instinctive “fight or flight response” took over. Bob chose flight. With the chair leg sticking through the hole it had made in his shorts wagging like a dog's tail, Bob sped down the street wailing at the top of his lungs.

     He flew past an old wino sitting at the bus stop. As Bob passed, the derelict saluted with his brown bag. “Mornin' Bobby,” he mumbled. “What's your hurry?”

     Back at the barber shop, Callie was glaring at her husband and his friend. “Don't worry,” she snapped. “ Bob will be fine.  That's what he gets for being part of your lying, cheating scheme.”

     Roy and Pete were speechless. Their faces were blank. They looked past Callie, at the stranger standing behind her. They saw the crooked grin on his face.

     “Wipe those stupid looks off your faces!” Callie shrieked. “I'm going to divorce you, Peter Postall! As for you Roy, before I call my lawyer, I'm calling your wife. Regina has been looking for an excuse to kick your ass out, for years. I'm sure you and your 'boy toy' will be very happy. Looks like you and Pete both screwed.”

     “But Callie,” Roy whined. “I love Regina more than life itself! Please don't tell her these lies. I work twelve hours a day, six days a week, just to give her everything she wants.”

     “Don't make me laugh, Roy. All Regina ever wanted was your attention, but all you do is work. Your gardener, who by the way is screwing you, is screwing her too.”

     “It looks like trying to cheat the IRS just bit you on the ass, Peter. Signing everything over to me, wasn't such a great idea after all, was it?” Callie became calm. She turned on her heel and headed for the office. “All of you get the hell out of my barbershop!”

     A deathly silence settled over the little shop. There was nothing left to say.

     The tall stranger slowly ambled to the rack and retrieved his cap. He turned and smiled at Pete the barber. “Well,” he said. “I guess I won't be getting a haircut today.”

     The stranger walked out through the shattered door, onto the street. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a cell phone and hit speed dial number one. The call was answered almost immediately.

     “Mr. Serling, you were right,” he grinned. “It went just like you said it would.”

                                                T H E   E N D

Author's note: All characters and events portrayed, are fictional.  This story is the product of the twisted mind of Don Winfield. If you like this story, please tell your friends to subscribe to this blog. Thank you.