On December 31, 2010 night we were closing the diamond exchange and one of the security guards asked of my New Year’s plans. Big Dave’s an ex-cop from Brooklyn. My neck of the city. Light black and the 300-pounder knows my hang-out, even though his favorite watering hole is Junior’s on Flatbush.
“I’m going to Frank’s Lounge, because I don’t want to be with any whiteys. They are only trouble on New Year’s Eve.” Every time I go into a white bar someone starts saying something stupid. If I was deaf, I could ignore these slurs against race, religion, and women. Problem is that I’m only near-sighted.
A trio of white ex-cops were waiting for last-minute pick-ups in the exchange. They worked as couriers for the diamond Jews. Most of these couriers were Italian from Bensonhurst or Howard Beach. The three of them stared at me as if I were a race traitor.
“Only brothers at Frank’s and the most beautiful Chinese bartender in the world. Damn, am I in love with that woman.” Rosa Lee was a wetback from Mexico. The twenty-three year-old beauty had a good heart. Her boyfriends were losers. She deserved better and I would have been the best, if I were 30 years younger.
The Chinese ain’t much higher of the race scale for these guidos. My son and daughter are mixed. Half-Thai/ Half-Farang. Ha-sip ha-sip.
“Ain’t no way a white man can get in trouble at a black bar.” I never have fought with a black. Not of the basketball courts, streets, or bars. “My Uncle Jack warned me once, fight any white guy you want, but never a black man. He’ll come back and stab you to death.”
Big Dave said nothing. He was black and easily read the hatred in his fellow officers’ eyes. I couldn’t have given a shit what they thought. None of them go to Frank’s and wherever they’re going I’m avoiding and going to be seen avoiding on New Year’s Eve or any other night of the year. Race traitors know their place and mine will be Frank’s Lounge with Homer, Andy, Tyrone, Roe, Charlee, Harriet, Claudia, Larry LA and the big man himself, Frank. It’s my home away from home.
I’ll be easy to find too, since I’ll be the only man in his 50s wearing a tuxedo.