Trouble at Frankie's By Merz A Stone Cold Woman Settles a Dispute Every night after her first visit I'd go to sleep thinking about what would happen the next time, and every morning I'd wake up thinking about it. For days my shoulder and my chest hurt from where her hands had done their work on me. She hurt me right into my bones, pain like I'd never felt. And she'd done it as easy as I'd blow my nose, like it was just as natural as scratching an itch and about as difficult. She thought my name was Frankie because that's the name of my place. Frankie's looked like a real dive, a dirty little place nobody decent would ever have a drink in. And she thought I was Frankie, not just the guy who happened to own it. I started looking for ways to show her Frankie's was better than she thought it was, just like I was better than she thought. She took the refrigerator out of the storeroom so I didn't have anyplace to keep things cold before they went to the kitchen. She said to close the kitchen, and I did because it smelled bad and gave the place even a worse reputation than it already had. Now and then she'd drop a case of chips or some canteen sandwiches at the back door so I had stuff I could sell, if anyone wanted something to chew on while they drank. I figured they came from her, grabbed off other guys like me who got in over their heads with Marlowe and had to pay off with goods instead of cash, or boosted off trucks Marlowe wanted to see have trouble. She works for Marlowe. I guess shaking me down to pay what I owe is just one of the chores she does for him. Any time I spotted her there I'd pick a fight and she'd do some new trick to make me about pass out from the pain, find some new spot to squeeze or poke or twist. Each time I'd try to land one good punch, but never made a dent in her. I wondered if she'd slip up and kill me or really cripple me sometime. But she never came close to losing control like that. Most times she didn't even bother to take off the jacket so I could see those arms again. Each time she hurt me worse and made it hurt longer, but I kept on trying. I was really working to run my business better, putting in more and more hours cleaning the place, working behind the bar, hustling up customers. I'd talked some of my old regulars into coming by after work again, and I had friends spread the word that the place wasn't as bad as they'd heard. I was doing it all partly so I could get the money together before she came collecting again, but mostly to show that my bar and me were better than she thought from just that first time. No way I could squeeze a couple hundred out of the place in the time I had even if I kept stiffing the help, but I was going to give it all I had, go down swinging when the time came. About a week after my introduction to Marlowe's muscle bitch a guy came into the bar with a pretty swell looking blonde. I saw right off she's a hooker and I thought my work must be paying off. Before, no whore would want to be seen in a dump like mine, because it didn't figure that any guy with two nickels would be caught dead there. And if he knew what was good for him a guy would be careful about even touching a woman who drank in my place. Yeah, I thought, the place is getting some class. The two of them were all kissy-face over their drinks and I expected they'd be gone after this round. His place, her place, the car, the alley out back - it didn't matter to me. But she might come back again after getting lucky with him. Maybe she'd start cutting me in for a little if I could steer some business her way. Then there she was. I didn't spot her at first because she was dressed different this time. No training jacket and she was hiding the Mohawk hairdo. I looked up and saw a medium-tall woman in a long raincoat and a beret and thought it was another sign my clientele was improving. Then I saw the whore turning red in the face and having some serious words with the newcomer so I drifted over. It was her, in disguise sort of, I guess. The hat hid her hair and the raincoat hid everything else. When I got to that end of the bar the guy was starting to get up and put a hand on his girlfriend of the evening, acting like he was going to defend her virtue or whatever. The bitch spotted me just as I recognized her. "Frankie, we need to talk in your back room. I don't want to make trouble out front here." She put a hand on the hooker's shoulder and started easing her up off the stool. I've felt what her hands can do to a person's shoulder, but it looked like she was lifting the poor broad up with fear instead of pain for now. Sir Galahad stepped in between them and said something like nobody's going anywhere, and she had him in a wrist lock so fast I hardly saw her move. "C'mon," she snapped to the whore and propelled the poor dope around the bar and practically threw him through the door into my back room. The hooker tagged along like she'd been told. I followed them because it was my place, after all, and I didn't want any trouble there, and I don't like people acting like they own my joint, and because I hoped I'd get a chance to talk with her when she wasn't busting my chops about Marlowe's lousy money. "Glenda," she asked with her voice cracking like a whip after she slammed the door behind me, "did you tell this sucker why you're on the street now instead of in the house?" The poor kid hung her head. Now I could see she couldn't have been much above twenty, which sometimes is old for a hooker, but she didn't look like she was in such bad shape. "I got the plague," I barely heard her say. Now the John turned bright red and spun toward his "date". "And you were going to give it to me? I'll teach you what happens to bitches like you who try that bullshit." The guy might have thought he was going to give her a working over in my storeroom. He might have thought this was his little drama and the rest of us were just spectators. I knew who was running the show, or I would have spoke up to let him know Frankie's is my dump and I don't let other folks get rough in it. But with her there I knew I wasn't running anything either. She had unbuttoned the raincoat but didn't pull it off like I had hoped. Instead she walked up to the John before he got a chance to say or do anything more. "Did you offer her money? How much? Count this as your lucky day, that you paid what you promised but you didn't bring home any surprises. Pay the woman and get out. If you insist, she can give you a blow job and that won't be too risky, but you're keeping your end of the bargain no matter what and she's off limits from now on." When she worked me over to get Marlowe's money there wasn't a hint of emotion about her at all. I was just a little business transaction and mopping my own floor with me worked her up as much as erasing an entry in her account book. This time it seemed personal. This time she had her head and heart in the game, not just the beef. I wondered if she'd already picked out a tombstone for this John. "So that's it. The old badger game. Sorry, I'm not playing. Get out of my way." He tried shoving on past but it was like trying to push a tree trunk out of his way. First he gave her a shove with his shoulder and got nowhere, then he put a hand on her arm and one on her chest and really heaved. That way I guess he got a hint of what was under the clothes and he got a shocked look. I'll give him one thing, he had guts. He figured the score right away, that he'd have to fight his way out if he wanted to leave without paying the whore. He figured wrong if he thought he had a prayer. He threw a punch at her head that she ducked, and then tried working her gut. She let a couple land, then caught his wrist and started to crush it. I've felt what her hands can do and it isn't pretty. The guy went from surprise to real pain in an instant, quitting his slugging and instead concentrating on prying her fingers open before she broke something. Then he put a hand on her chest and tried pushing her away. Seeing that, him with a hand on her tit when I hadn't ever got close to doing that, snapped me out of a trance. I jumped in and grabbed her arm with one hand, marveling at how hard and how it bulged under the coat, and joined the John in feeling over her chest with the other. More muscles, just piles of them stacked up like a stone fence out in the country. God, I couldn't believe what I was feeling. She back handed the guy and let him drop to the floor and turned on me. No big punch, no breaking me in half over her knee, nothing really dramatic. She just grabbed me at the bottom of my rib cage and dug her fingers underneath into my liver and clamped her thumb over the bottom rib as she started lifting my weight. Nothing dramatic, just the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. The only thing that came close was how bad she had made me hurt the last time she touched me, but that wasn't really close. She was digging in under my rib cage with the fingers of one hand, and I couldn't help screaming like a girl it hurt so much. "Frankie, you gotta start working with me instead of against me here. You gotta start using your head or we're never going to solve your money problem," she told me as she held me eye to eye. I'm no genius and I was starting to think I was about the dumbest guy alive. But the John suddenly decided he deserved that title, so he made a rush at her from the side. Maybe he thought hurting me so much I was about to wet myself was absorbing her attention or was somehow taking some effort for her. I could have told him it was nothing, that she could grind me down to dust without a thought or breaking a sweat. The John needed proof, though, and he got it. He came at her low and fast, like he was tackling the quarterback in high school football. Without easing up on me in the least she flashed out her other fist and caught the dumb bastard square in the face. At least half the power of the punch came from him charging full speed into it, and her arm didn't recoil from the impact one bit. The blow stopped him in his tracks but his feet kept going another step or two, right out from under him so he sat down hard on the floor. He sat there wondering what had just happened to him for a moment or two. And for just that moment she looked at her knuckles like she actually felt something when she connected, as if a hammer would be bothered from driving in a nail. Then the guy's forehead down to the bridge of his nose opened and a sheet of blood poured down his face as he toppled backward, out cold. "Glenda," she said to the whore without letting me loose or looking around, "Roo-anne told you about safety with your blood now, and how you have to be careful whenever you get a cut or anything. We don't know what he's carrying so it works the same way with this bum, too. You and Frankie need to clean that up, and use the bleach like Roo-anne showed you to get any germs. You were a pro, so you know how it ought to be done, and you're going to do it right. Tie that bar towel around his head so the bleeding will stop and I'll drop him by a hospital for stitches." While Glenda tied a dirty towel around the guy's head, she let go where her fingers were burrowing into my liver and I just collapsed. "Where's your buckets and some bleach to disinfect this place, Frankie?" Finally she pulled off the raincoat so I got a good long look at her in a tank top while she started to work. She grabbed the John by the shoulders of his jacket and dragged him over by the door to the alley, being careful not to get any blood on herself or to let more get onto the floor. With her arms bent, pulling him along, the muscles stood up like huge round pearls, laced with thick veins and starting to glow a warm pink. Dumb John didn't even twitch, but at least he was breathing. Me, I couldn't stop trembling looking at her arms and shoulders, and I couldn't catch my breath. She opened the door to the alley and scooped him up into her arms, carrying him away like a sleeping baby. The hooker and I looked at each other for a second, then I got up and showed her where the mop and bucket were stored, and the bottle of bleach. She diluted it with water and started mopping the area where her boyfriend had hit the deck, being sure she got anything he might have spilled. By the time she finished, the alley door opened again and we were back facing the monster. Her arms looked even bigger than before from hefting the guy however far she carried him, but she wasn't breathing hard. She looked about as tired as a granite boulder would ever look as she gave Glenda's cleaning job a quick check and nodded her approval. "Come here, kid. You did a good job, but we need to talk." She held out her arms and the kid, Glenda, went over to her and they embraced. They were about the same height, but Glenda looked like a twig as those arms and shoulders enclosed her. Glenda was feeling over the shoulders, down onto the back and looked amazed by it all. I felt my face flushing watching them. "Roo-anne gave you severance money, to get you started up off the bottom. We're not going to let you spread your sickness. Glenda, you knew the rules that were supposed to keep you safe, but you didn't follow them. That finishes you with the life, and I'll make sure of it. This is the only warning you get. Next time anyone catches you hooking you won't be found again. I'd hate to do it, kid, but I got responsibilities. I made sure the clients followed the rules and I have to make sure you girls do, too." The kid listened to her telling this in a low, motherly voice and her eyes started tearing up. "I understand. I know what you'd have to do and I promise I won't try it again." "You got a little stash to get you moved, and the kitchen in this place is going to reopen next week. You're a pretty good cook and you've learned some bookkeeping. Frankie gets his refrigerator back tomorrow and you're going to stock it from your ex-boyfriend's money, like a kitchen should be. Here's his wallet. Take out what he promised, more or less, and I'll put the rest back when I drop him. So you'll start here tomorrow as the new cook. Isn't that right, Frankie?" She let Glenda go and turned to face me, one pink, powerful arm still around the kid's waist. I looked from one of them to the other, then I lost it. I grabbed for her throat and swung my fist into her gut. I wrapped my arm around hers, just to feel it again, now that it was bare and warm instead of being hidden under that raincoat. I threw my full weight against her body to force her down on the floor, as if I had a chance of doing that. One fist traveled about four inches to slam my stomach, lifting me off the ground and knocking all the breath out of me. The other fist traveled about the same distance to my jaw and dropped me flat on my back. "Jesus, Frankie, get a grip. We can't keep doing this. I told you, we're partners now getting you out from under Marlowe. I think I better start collecting weekly so I can keep a better eye on you. Have fifty bucks ready in two days and none of this bullshit. Now tell Glenda she's hired, then get back to work." She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at where I'd had my hand on her big, hard bicep, and she ran her own hand over the spot like stroking a polished rock. "Tell her," and she finally looked down at me. "What? Right. I guess. I mean, sure, you got the job." What job? It's my place, but now I get orders I'm hiring a cook? "My name isn't Frankie. It's Greg. Frankie owned the place before I bought it." From the floor I gasped it out at last. I even managed to look up at her, past the arms and right in her eye as she stood there giving me orders in my place. At least I had made her take me seriously, made her really smack me instead of just showing how easily she could destroy me with one hand or even one finger. At least I had done that. "Whatever." And she picked up her raincoat and headed back out to the alley.