Free Bo's Café by John Lynch, Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol Page A

doing the
     ‘bumping into furniture’ speech.” He clears his throat. “ ‘It’s like you’re stumbling around in a dark room, bumping into
     furniture.’ ” Carlos leans over to me. “Then he’ll wait a few seconds, just to add drama, before he asks you—”
    Carlos and Hank say in unison, “So how am I doing?”
    With that, Carlos and Hank start slapping each other’s hands, laughing and wheezing. Several people on the deck seem to be
     enjoying the bit as well.
    He
was
just guessing that night,
I think, unsure whether it makes me feel better or worse.
    Almost involuntarily, I ask, “Has he ever used the ‘pound of coffee’ thing on any of you?”
    Carlos moans. “No way, man! You’re kidding me, right? He’s used that on you? Andy, I’m hurt, dude! I thought that was only
     for me. What, man? You stealing this stuff off the Internet?”
    “I
told
you I was,” Andy protests.
    More laughter rises from the deck.
    The next several minutes are all aimed at Andy’s expense. He doesn’t even try to stop the barrage, laughing along at the ribbing.
     The waiters and busboys are joining in too. The deck is definitely out of control.
    Sitting here amid the laughter, I realize I’m watching something pretty uncommon. It’s obvious that everyone on this deck
     deeply respects Andy. Their humor seems more of a way of honoring him. It’s very different from the kind of mocking humor
     at work. There’s no hard, cynical edge. Nothing competitive. They aren’t really ridiculing him at all. Quite the opposite,
     actually.
    Not long after I down the last bites of a truly great shrimp cocktail, Andy, Cynthia, and Hank excuse themselves, promising
     to be back in a few minutes. I am left at the table with Carlos. He appears in no hurry to go anywhere.
    “So, where do you think they’ve gone off to?” I ask.
    “Hank, he sells drugs and munitions out of the back of his car,” Carlos says, not looking up from his food. “I’ve tried to
     steer Andy right, but he can’t resist. It’s a deadly combination, man.”
    I laugh by myself. “So, Carlos, how long have you known Andy?”
    “A few years now. Maybe five. We met down at the marina. I was checking out a place to keep this little boat I have. The place
     was way too expensive for this Mexican.”
    “He owns a boat?”
    “No. He works there.”
    “Andy works at a dock?”
    “Yeah. Just down the street, on Tahiti Way. Why?”
    “Nothing, really. I guess I just thought that, well…”
    He leans back. “That my man would have a more impressive career?”
    “Well, yeah, maybe.”
    “Well, suit, you’ve stumbled into a long story. You in a hurry?”
    “I was about a half hour ago,” I say. “It’s starting to look like today’s going to be a wash at work. And Andy’s driving,
     so until he gets back… you think you could stop calling me ‘suit’?”
    He chuckles. “I don’t think so, but I’ll try.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “You see the people around this deck?” he asks, leaning back in his chair to point at various people. “Most of them know each
     other. You got your doctors and lawyers. There’s a sheet metal guy, a city council member, a couple of plumbers. Tech nerds
     chillin’ with hospital workers. Shop owners, students from Loyola. See the woman in the purple top? She was on the Olympic
     volleyball team at Seoul. Now she runs a physical training center in Newport Beach.” He turns back to the table. “See that?
     We’ve got, like, celebrities here, man. And then there’s Hank. You wouldn’t know it, but he’s an environmental detective for
     the state attorney general.” He laughs hard. “That single fact alone should keep you up at night.”
    “I think it will from now on,” I say.
    “So most of us have, like, at least a couple things in common: One, we can’t live without Bo’s cooking. Two, most of us believe
     in God, or at least aren’t hating that the others do. It’s all word of mouth. And your new