"Honest John Keeps a Date"
by Michael Menser Dell

It was a drowsy afternoon at The Workman's Pub. All the tables were empty; only one regular, the affable Slim McGee, dotted a solitary stool along the bar. The sun spilling through the venerable establishment's stained-glass window created a colorful kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, and greens across the drinking surface, stealing Slim's attentions from the neglected drink in his rheumatoid-riddled hand. He had seen many a dull day in his elongated existence, and this was definitely one of them. Experience had taught him to cherish such moments. There was no telling when life would rise up and spoil a blissful boredom. Slim sighed deeply and sipped his whiskey.

Archibald Loomis, the widowed proprietor, was making preparations for the evening rush, washing glasses, wiping tables, and fulfilling all the thankless duties of a proud pub owner. Mary Haught was a reluctant ally, going through the motions of a weary waitress, distractedly sweeping the floor while pondering the many wasted possibilities of such a beautiful Spring day. Her frustration found release in noisily swatting her broom into the dusty corners of vacant booths. The fact a slumbering soul occupied the back booth did little to stifle her fervor.

"Shhh, let him sleep," requested Archie. "He had a rough night of it."

"What happened? Couldn't he get the cork out of the bottle?"

"Ya know, Mary, you should be more respectful of Johnny. He's a great man. Sometimes I think you forget just what kind a man he is."

"How could I forget? I'm reminded each time I walk down the street and see a horse's a..."

"See, right there!" interrupted Archie with a condemning point of his finger. "That's precisely what I'm talking about!"

"He's the best detective in the world," chimed Slim, deciding to waken from his doldrums.

"There ya go," beamed a grateful Archie.

"Yes, sir, he can find anything... so long as it's at the bottom of a bottle."

Despite Archie's angry protests, Mary and Slim shared a hearty laugh at the expense of the snoring Churchfield. "Aw, c'mon, Arch, you know we love Johnny, but you gotta admit he ain't exactly, oh, what's the word I'm lookin' for?"

Mary was quick to offer suggestions. "Ambitious? Motivated? Pleasant to be around?"

"You should both be ashamed of yourselves!" scolded the patriarchal proprietor. "You're not giving Johnny enough credit. He's a man of tremendous depth."

"Yeah, right."

"You'd be surprised."

"There's nothing that Johnny could do to surprise me."

As if on cue, the dozing detective stirred violently, snapping his head to attention; his alcohol- weary eyes, obscured behind a ragged curtain of unkempt hair, frantically searched the walls of the deserted den. After a frantic consultation of the wall clock, Churchfield bolted from his booth and barreled his way out of the pub, nearly tearing the front door from its hinges as he went. The sudden eruption of activity left all who witnessed it somewhat unnerved.

"What was that about?" asked Slim of no one in particular.

"Yeah," joined Mary, "usually Johnny is running into pubs, not out of 'em." She made a quick survey of the surroundings. "And I didn't see any husbands coming home."

"Go ahead, laugh it up, laugh it up," condemned Archie. "If you only knew the truth, you'd think twice before making fun of good ol' Honest John."

"Then why don't you enlighten us, Archie, and show us the error of our ways?"

Archie's ears perked up. "Maybe I will! Maybe I'll do just that! Not that I think the likes of you two deserve an explanation."

Mary sarcastically clapped her hands and claimed the stool next to Slim. "I so love a good story."

"Keep in mind," began Archie, hurriedly trying to finish cleaning the last of the glasses, "no one else knows about this but me. So you have to swear not to breath a word of it to another living soul, especially Johnny. He'd never forgive me."

"Cross my heart," promised Mary.

"Yeah, Arch," confirmed Slim. "We promise. Get to it already."

"Just so you know how serious this is." Archie, work completed, slung his bar rag into its usual position on his left shoulder and leaned forward, finding a comfortable yet intimate position from which to tell his tale. "It all started a few months back. It was right about the time Johnny went to that fancy book reading and solved the murder of that poor writer chap.

"Well, one afternoon he was out for a stroll, just wanting to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. . ."

"In other words," interjected Mary, "he was trying to sober up."

Archie ignored the comment and continued. ". . .when he spotted a beautiful girl across the street. She was a vision! An innocent young angel, with long flowing auburn curls and big doe eyes. She was enough to warm the coldest heart. The kind of lass who would make you right proud to be her father."

"And I'm sure Johnny looked at her with paternal pride," grinned Slim.

"Of course he did! Johnny's a gentleman first and foremost." Mary's eyes nearly rolled out of her head. Archie didn't notice the ocular protest, and he plodded forth with his tale. "Even though he only saw her for a second, Johnny couldn't take his mind off the girl. He was so smitten he went back to the same street at the same time the next day. And wouldn't you know it, he saw her again! But you know Johnny, he's kind of shy, so he couldn't bring himself to say anything to her." Mary's jaw dropped in disbelief. Archie closed it for her. "That's a good way to catch flies. Where was I? So Johnny came back a third day, and he saw her for a third time. She was as lovely as ever. Only this time, he nodded and smiled at her. He still couldn't bring himself to talk, the poor lad. But what do you suppose she did?"

"Run away, if she was smart," shot Mary.

"Why, she smiled back!"

"Who wouldn't?" cracked Slim.

"Church came back the next day determined to talk to her. And sure enough, he saw her coming down the street at the usual time. But as he was getting ready, making sure his hair was real nice and his coat was straight, a mean looking bloke with a high forehead and thin mustache grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her into a waiting carriage."

"She was kidnapped?" asked Slim.

"It sure looked that way. Johnny sprinted after the carriage. A normal man wouldn't have been able to keep up, but they couldn't shake Johnny. No, sir! He chased them all over town on foot, following them like a bloodhound."

"I always said he was a dog," agreed Mary.

"They eventually pulled up in front of a boarding house on Clopper. The same man, the one with the mustache, dragged the girl from the carriage. It was clear she didn't want to go with him. But they weren't alone. Two of the ugliest curs you ever saw piled out of the carriage behind them. They were a couple of monsters, muscles heaped on muscles. But do you think that stopped Johnny? He marched right up to them and asked the girl if she needed help. Before she could answer, the first man yanked her up the stairs to the front door and told his friends to get rid of the nuisance. Being two against one, and considering the enormous size advantage they had, the two thugs thought Johnny would be easy pickings. But they didn't know they were up against Honest John Churchfield.

"When the first ape put his paw on Johnny's shoulder, he ate a right cross. The second one rushed in and got a left hook for his troubles." Archie mimicked the action, his belly jiggling with each pantomimed punch. "Another overhand right squared accounts. You don't get up from one of Johnny's right hands."

"That's true!" confirmed Slim, hopelessly caught up in the excitement. "He could stop a bull."

"He left them both bloodied in the street and rushed after the girl. The front door wasn't even locked. The guy must have been pretty confident in his goons. Johnny was barely inside when he heard a scream from upstairs. He was there in an instant. The girl was on her knees crying next to a young man strapped to a chair. He was a frail, sickly lad. His face was bruised, and he looked in bad shape. The man with the mustache stood over them sneering. Johnny didn't wait for an invitation. The villain was reaching for a pistol in his waistband, but Johnny tackled him before he could ever brandish it. Johnny gave him a severe beating, he did. Right, left, right, left!"

Slim whistled. "I'd hate to be that fellow."

"It turns out the girl was the daughter of a wealthy French banker. Her name was Cherie. Her father was in town on business. She used to walk every day from the hotel to have lunch with him, and that's when Johnny used to see her."

"So who was the man with the mustache?" asked Mary.

"His name was Mierlot. He was a former business partner of her father's. The two had a falling out, and Mierlot lost his fortune on some bad investments. He blamed Cherie's father. His idea for revenge was to marry the girl, joining the very family he so despised and claiming their fortune for his own. Naturally, Cherie would never agree to be his wife, so he had to kidnap her true love, the unlucky lad in the chair, threatening to kill the boy unless she consented to marriage."

"Aw, the rascal," growled Slim, pounding his fist on the bar.

"And he may have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for Johnny! The girl's father was so thankful, he offered Johnny to name his reward. He could have had a couple hundred pounds easy. But good ol' Church politely declined."

"If he did, it was the first time Johnny ever did anything politely in his life," sniped Mary.

"When he rescued her, the girl gave him a kiss on the cheek. That was reward enough."

"What happened to the girl?"

"She went back to France with her father, and a few days later she married that skinny little boy who was tied up in the chair. They're supposed to be real happy together."

"That's a nice story, Arch," said Mary, "but it still doesn't explain why Johnny ran out of here earlier."

"Why, he's looking for the girl."

"But she's married back in France," reminded Slim.

"I know that. And Johnny knows that. But he still can't forget her. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Each day he goes back to the very spot he first saw her, at the exact same time, hoping to see her again. And each day he leaves with his heart broken. But there's always hope. There's always hope."

The words were barely out of Archie's mouth when the front door opened and Churchfield returned, a disappointed look on his face and a paper sack in his left hand. Slim downed the rest of his whiskey and stood up to greet him.

"Tough break, Church," consoled the old man, seizing the detective's free hand. "Keep your head up. I'll see you later, Arch."

Slim slipped distractedly from the pub. Churchfield watched in silence, struggling to make sense of the cryptic words of encouragement. His confusion only mounted when Mary planted a surprising kiss on his unshaven cheek. She could be seen wiping a tear from her eye.

"I'll be in the back if you need me, Archie." She left without saying another word.

Churchfield took a seat and dropped the bag he was carrying on the bar. "What got into them?"

"Oh, nothing," assured Archie. "Did you get 'em?"

"You know it," smiled Churchfield. He emptied the parcel of its contents, pouring out a half dozen large dinner rolls, each one making a dull thud as it fell. "I was almost late. I got there just as they were throwing them out. A second later, and the dogs would have beaten me to 'em." Churchfield chomped into one, his teeth gnashing and gnawing before a piece finally gave way, his head recoiling backwards with the successful bite. His face lit up. "It's a good batch!"

Archie took off his apron. "I'll join you in a minute, Johnny, but I think I need to get some air."

"You all right, Arch?"

"Sure, sure, it's just a little stuffy in here, that's all. Tell Mary where I went."

"I'll watch the bar for ya," volunteered Churchfield. "But don't take too long or there may not be any rolls left."

"Save me a good one," called Archie on his way out the door.

The streets were brimming with Londoners going about their busy day, rushing from one appointment to the next, procuring groceries for dinner, completing business, visiting friends. Archie pleasantly strolled the mass of bustling bodies, soaking up every last drop of the summery Spring day.

His excursion ended a few blocks from the pub, stopping on a street corner opposite the florist shop. Archie could remember when it used to be a candy store. He was on the same corner nearly 40 years earlier, on a similar sunny afternoon, about the same time of year, when he saw the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. The memory sent his left thumb to his wedding band. She was so beautiful. He searched the crowd, half expecting her familiar face to emerge from the passing strangers. He knew it wouldn't. But there was always hope.