Clever Cookies

He was gruff enough. I'd seen him at The 'Goose. That tiny shit-hole-in-the-wall of a bar in the industrial park. Pretty much blue collar only. No tourists ever find it. That's why it's the 'Sly' Mongoose. I'd noticed him around town.

We were up and carrying heavy things around. We were cutting pallets apart with Skillsaws. That's what you do at Danny's house. My friend Danny. Best man at my wedding. Friends for going on thirty years. Travel partner in the old days. Bonded for life.

So we lugged plastic garbage cans full of two by fours cut into six inch studs. We were dragging the giant antique daybed that Christine bought in Bali through the half remodeled red-tagged house. It was an especially manly morning there on Front Street. The sun was just starting to do its morning lighting up Lanai like a halo thing. All was quiet . . . except at Danny's.

I was already sweating the way only a Hawaii morning can make you sweat when suddenly there he was again. He was walking right at us. His scarred lips told of busted teeth beyond. The mandatory tattoos did their old fading ripple across the muscles jig. He had the compact robust body of a guy that lifts a lot and has lifted more than you ever will. Maybe youth on a farm throwing bales and calves around. He walked straight up to me. We happily set the daybed down.

Speaking of lifting. Danny says that everything Christine bought in Bali is made out of 'Lead'wood. Not Deadwood, Redwood Lakewood or Headword as spell check suggested. After carrying the six Coconut tree posts out to the Point I would have to agree. All the limestone statuary and birdbaths weren't exactly light either. Of course, we had to put the daybed on the Point. We wrestled the Leadwood Coconut posts to another locale.

So, even in the stupid poop brown shorts and matching short sleeve collared button-down shirt, he still looked like trouble. He said in a loud and mildly sniggering voice, "Clever Cookies. We got Clever Cookies here for, Steve Williams?"

I had no idea. Thought it was another sympathy present for cutting my hand the other day. The day after that manly bleeding at ConstructionLand incident, a kid that looked like a local that would just as soon kick my Haole ass, showed up at the house with three . . . get well balloons! I was afriad he was going to break out in a sing-o-gram. Luckily Bridget hadn't thought of that too. I was already embarrassed enough for me and him.

Something about a honky-tonk lookin' probably bowling alley frequenting, tattooed tough guy in shorts saying Clever Cookies, is, in a word, disconcerting.

He left to lift all day. We went back to our daybed lifting. I'm sure to see him again at the 'Goose one of these nights.