January 21 2008

Back when I still worked for Scotiabank, we had a fellow named Larry who was leaving our department to take a job with another financial institution.  We wanted to have a going away lunch for him and I was delegated to find a restaurant.  There weren't many nice restaurants in the neighborhood, but I'd noticed a new eatery that had just opened down the street.  It was named Godfather's. I didn't know anything about the place, but I decided to take a chance, so I called to book a reservation.

I guess that my first hint that something was wrong came when our party arrived at Godfather's on the day of the lunch and each of us was frisked at the door by someone who resembled a mountain gorilla wearing a double breasted suit.

After we were seated at our table, a guy with a pug nose and a scar on his face came over.

"Welcome," he said.  "I am Tommy 'The Torpedo' Falcone and I'll be your waiter today.  Whether you like it or not."

"Well, Tommy," I said, "you certainly have done a great job creating a mobster ambience here."

Tommy stared at me blankly.

"A mobster what?"

"For example, all those pictures on the wall of Al Capone, Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Siegel."

"Oh," Tommy said.  "You mean our founders."

When the food arrived, it was surprisingly good, except that one woman in our group complained to Tommy that her French fries were cold.

"Excuse me," Tommy said.  "I will discuss this with the chef."

A minute later, I heard screams coming from the kitchen, then Tommy came back to our table with a fresh order of fries.

"Everything has been taken care of," he said.  "The chef has been instructed about hot oil."

"Will he be all right?" I asked.

"Of course. These days, plastic surgery can do miracles."

After we all got back to the office, I noticed that Larry wasn't with us.  Worried, I called Godfather's and Tommy answered.

"Is Larry Winslow there?" I asked.

"Don't worry," Tommy said.  "I took care of it."

"Took care of what?" I asked.

"This mook Larry.  Didn't you say it was his going away party?"

"Yes.  That just meant he's changing jobs."

"Oh.  Sorry.  I misunderstood."

I've never been back to Godfather's and I've never seen Larry again either.  There's a new restaurant down the street now called Madame De Sade's.  Photos outside show a beautiful Scandinavian blond holding a whip.  I feel that the least I can do is to try the place, as research for any future parties.

George

P.S. For free short fiction, try my website at www.checkmatefiction.com