Eddie had always been a nervous guy. But in the decade he'd been shining my shoes, I'd never seen him look so squirrelly.
As I mounted the less-battered of his twin vinyl-upholstered thrones, he scanned the lobby beyond his alcove for signs of trouble.
"You clean, man?" he asked in a low voice.
"Huh?" I replied. "What do you mean?"
Eddie rolled his eyes impatiently. "I mean," he whispered, "did anyone follow you here?"
"Follow me? Why would anyone be following me?"
Eddie shrugged, considering my question.
"Lord knows you ain't no player," he conceded, frowning at my scuffed penny loafers. "But you must talk to a lot of players, and maybe some you didn't even know was players. All I'm saying is, the feds might be interested in the company you keep."
"The feds?" I asked. "Eddie, what are you talking about?"
"Shhhhhh!" he hissed. "And I'd prefer you didn't use my real name, if that's all right with you."
Vultures everywhere
It was about then, as Eddie smeared polish across my shoe tops with his bare thumb, that I noticed the microphone protruding from his revolving shoelace display.
"Are you taping this shoe shine?" I asked.
"Man, I'm just testing out my equipment," Eddie answered crossly. "I'm expecting some customers from the city-county building any time now, and I want to be ready."
"Ready for what?" I laughed. "C'mon, Eddie. Don't tell me the feds have wired you."
"Not yet," he admitted. "But I'm hoping they'll get interested when they hear my audition tapes."
"Really?" I asked, no longer laughing. I knew Eddie's clientele included more than a few movers and shakers. "Whatcha got so far?"
"Mostly a lot of trash talk about Monica Conyers," he answered, shaking his head sadly. "That's one pissed-off congressman, I can tell you."
"Well, you might want to brush up on your tradecraft," I said, gently yanking on the cord that dangled from his left ear. "Nobody's going to talk to you if they think you're wired.
"Shows what you know," Eddie huffed. "You ain't nobody in this town if you ain't wearin' a wire."
Strange fruit
An ad in the magazine I'd been flipping through reminded me of something.
"Hey, Eddie," I said, "did I by any chance leave a quart of strawberries behind last time I was here?"
"Strawberries like the dead stripper?" he asked, eyeing me warily.
"No, strawberries like the shortcake," I said, pointing to the magazine ad. "I picked some up at Eastern Market on my lunch hour last Tuesday, and when I got home that night they were missing."
"Might be the ones I gave to the FBI," Eddie said.
"The FBI?"
"I thought somebody left 'em as a warning. You know, one of them coded messages, like a dead fish wrapped in newspaper."
"Eddie," I said, "I think you've been watching too much television."
"And I think," he retorted, "you ain't been watching enough."
Contact BRIAN DICKERSON at 248-351-3697 or bdickerson@freepress.com.
Seems I have had my fill of reading today but this one is pretty good. Although Goodman's letter to granholm was also good for a laugh, can't wait to hear McFail's reaction.
I think someone said last week things had been slow regarding the scandal. Well since that time things have been quite busy. And while alot has been going on, not all has been related to the KK scandal, perhaps in part to direct attention away from him and his crimes. Oh man I hope someone is keeping an eye on him. Isn't he supposed to be going to Fla sometime soon?????