Men Without Hats

The two men arrived sometime past eight. They pushed open the diner doors and paused. Dressed in dark brown suits and Trilby hats. Their faces stone-like, their hands gnarled by years of toil. They’d worked machinery. Greased and oil-stained, they had swung sledgehammers, lifted heavy steel pipes. Their fists had busted jaws and broken things.

They observed the room and stuck their fists into their pockets.

It was supper time and only late-night guests remained. Men with their girlfriends. One or two ladies that didn’t mind dining alone and a couple of out-of-towners. The men stood wallpapered to the entrance. There was nowhere else they needed to be. Outside the rain drummed against the windows. One of the men brushed droplets from his sleeve and took his hat off. The second man stood alongside him and did the same.

They hung their hats on wooden pegs on a wall. Pulled at their shirt sleeves and moved with ease among the tables and chairs. Shiny brown leather shoes click-clacked on the tiled floor. The first man looked at each banquet seat by the windows, gave a momentary glance at a woman bringing a cup of tea to her lips. The shorter man walked just behind, eyed the patrons at the tables by the bar, held the gaze of a man looking up from his ribeye and fries. They took the two bar stools at the end of the bar.

The taller man undid a button on his jacket, rested an elbow on the edge of the bar. The other sat rigid and stiff, clenched his hands in front, and looked ahead. They watched the movements in the mirrored wall behind the bar until the barman approached.

‘What will you have?’ Said the barman.

‘Gin.’ Said the tall man. ‘Two.’

The barman moved to the rear, pulled a bottle from a shelf and prepared two highball glasses.

Ice cubes clinked. The barman poured. Stirred. Slid the glasses in front of the men.

Neither man looked at their drinks. Instead, both had their eyes toward the door. One of them drummed his fingers on the counter. The other adjusted his jacket as if the shoulders didn't quite fit. He pulled a few notes from his pocket and dropped them on the counter. The barman swept them up with his hand.

At a table by the window, an old man with glasses and white hair took a sip of his drink while reading a paper on his table. A couple who had sat at the far end of the tables left through the side door and the waitress picked up their plates.

The shorter of the two men brought his glass to his lips, his eyes moved from person to person in the bar. They sat on the stools without speaking. The barman busied himself from end to end. Occasionally the sound of glasses clinked and orders were shouted to the kitchen. The murmur of conversation continued and the taller man tugged at a sleeve again and took sips from his drink.

Outside a car horn echoed in the street. The men looked at each other. Put their glasses down.

The rain was coming down heavier now, rivulets of water ran down the glass of the double doors. When the doors swung open, a man in a navy blue suit entered, shaking water from an umbrella. He didn’t take his hat off. Instead, he walked to a free booth seat, carried a leather satchel in one hand. As he sat down, he slid the satchel to the window side, asked for black coffee with one sugar from the nearby waitress. The two men watched. Waited for the waitress to leave, then approached the navy blue-suited man. They sat opposite him.

They nodded and said nothing.

‘Gentlemen.’ The navy blue suit said, ‘I knew you boys would be here already.’ Attempted a smile.

The men didn’t move and the navy blue suit man knew there was no going back.

After a moment the tall man said. ‘Hand it over.’ resting his fists on the laminated table.

The navy blue suit brought the satchel upright. Was about to slide it beneath the table but stopped halfway.

‘How do I know you’ll keep your end of the deal.’

‘You’ll know.’

The navy blue suit man handed over the satchel. The tall man positioned it between them. The coffee arrived and they got up. The taller man carried the satchel while the shorter man followed.

The navy blue suit man watched their reflection in the window, sipped his coffee, and waited. The men took their hats from the rack and walked out. The single street light illuminated cars in the parking lot but he didn’t see them get into a car. He never saw them again.

Twenty-four hours later in the inner part of the city, the two men entered a narrow passageway between two grey apartment buildings. Their steps echoed on the cobblestones. Timing their entrance just right they saw a slender man walk out a side door. He was in his twenties, had slick dark hair, and a bomber jacket with worn elbows. He lit a cigarette as he ambled toward a blue Ford sedan. The men removed their hats, placed them on a window ledge nearby. Picked up speed.

By the time the young man heard footsteps and turned to look, they were on top of him. He pulled at the car door, but it was too late. Two pairs of hands yanked him away from the car. Swivelled him around, his hair flying to one side and the first of the punches landed. Hard-worn fists connected in a flurry. The man’s body jerked with each blow. His arms closed in around his head, so he could only see two pairs of shiny brown shoes moving back and forth. There was ringing in his left ear, the taste of blood in his mouth. The two mens’ bodies were so close that could smell their tobacco and cheap cologne.

The man caught his breath despite the pain in his left eye and ribs. Spurted blood as he uttered, ‘Wait!’ And again as he contorted to avoid another blow. ‘Wait! Godammit!’

The two men paused, shoved him against the car, their breathing was heavy.

‘What do you want?’ The young man asked, his hands still held close to his face. Bracing.

The shorter of the men took a folded paper from this breast pocket and tossed it at his feet. ‘Consider that your invoice. Pay your debt…or’

The silence hung in the air until the taller man finished the sentence, ‘…or else we won’t be as gentle next time.’

The young man looked up at the two men, their faces remained unchanged. They watched him sitting with his back against the ford. The tall man lit a cigarette, threw the match to the gutter. They walked back up the alley. Grabbed their hats on the way and walked out onto the main street.

In a cafe the next morning, the navy blue suit man was reading the paper. A story caught his attention. Man brutally bashed, it said.

There was a single witness, an old woman. She couldn’t identify the faces, but she saw two men attack the victim in an alley and noticed the men weren’t wearing hats.