Short Story: The Tale of the Man-Eater

by O'Keefe

The infamous mob boss Jerry Macaroni had sent one of his associates, whose name we only know as Slick, to canoodle the mayor into letting the boss’ second hand, Jimmy Glutenfry, walk out of the city slammer. The Times criticized Jimmy, pal of the boss, rather heavily, going so far as to call him a ‘man-eater’; a colloquial term used on the street for Macaroni’s mobsters, due to their rather violent attitude. “Leave it to the press to slangify English,” Jerry Macaroni conveyed to his left foot man Slick, who dutifully went about his business.
It started out as a rather cordial event. The mayor was reading the Times while going to the bathroom in a public setting when he heard from the other stall, “Hey, mayor. That you?”
The mayor, thinking he was talking to some other mayor, at first ignored him. But he asked again.
“Hey, you with the light-up sneakers!” And an ominous foot came out from under the neighboring stall and hit the mayor’s shoes, causing them to flash red, as if they were warning the mayor.
“Are you talking to me?” asked the mayor, raising his newspaper closer to his face, as to hide his identity.
“Yeah, buster! Who you think I’m talking to? My imaginary friend?”
“Ah – no. Why are you talking to me?”
“The name’s Slick,” said the man, shoving his hand under the stalls to show the mayor a business card. It read:

        “Slick’s your name?” asked the mayor.
“Indeed,” Slick replied. “At least, it’s my business name. Just like your name isn’t really mayor.”
“I never said that was my name,” said the mayor.
“Then what is your name?”
“Mayer.”
“I thought you said your name wasn’t mayor.”
“No, I said it wasn’t may-OR. It’s May-ER. Also, my name has a capital M.”
“Well, I’m sorry that I didn’t pronounce the capital M. Anyway, Mr. Mayor – or Mayer – I approached you in this fine latrine to introduce to you a proposal.”
“A proposal, huh? Didn’t think you’d be that interested in me.”
“No, stupid! I wanna break – er, make a deal with you.”
“About what?”
“Ya know Jimmy Glutenfry?”
“Not personally, but I know what he looks like. In fact, I was just reading about him in the Times.”
“Lemme see.” And the mayor passed the newspaper under the stall to the man known as Slick. He emitted a sound that was either a thoughtful grunt or a burp, then threw the newspaper back over the stalls.
“And you believe all that honey baloney?” he asked.
“Well of courselydeed,” replied the mayor known as Mayer. “Why wouldn’t I? The man’s a cruel gangster who deserves to be sentenced to an eternity in prison.’
“But why?”
“As I said –”
“I know what you said. I’m asking what exactly has he done that is illegal?”
“I – I haven’t exactly gotten that far into the article.”
“Well, I can tell ya first hand he’s innocent. In fact, I’m his lawyer, if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. I know what a lawyer is. But why are you meeting me like this? I have to admit; your approach isn’t the best. It’s a little less friendly than it ought to be.”
“Well, I’m more of his dedicated associate, if you catch my drift.”
“I do, but I still have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I’m more like his… uhhh… agent; his business partner, if you take my subtle hint.”
“So, you’re his financial planner?”
“I’m more of his people’s planner. You know, his publicity agent. The guy who makes sure the people don’t move the lips, you hear me?”
“I hear you, but –.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! I’m a mobster!”
“Oh.”
“Look, Charlie –.”
“I’m actually –.”
“Shut up, kid. You’re the mayor, Mayer, and I know you know what the accusation is accusing, and I think we can agree it’s a new degree of tomfoolery. Jimmy’s as innocent as an obese baby with diabetes eating candy.’
“Well, now; doesn’t it depend on how that baby got the candy?”
“Stop poking holes in my narrative. Anyways, I just want to let you know, Jerry’s expecting Jimmy to be let go.”
“Who’s Jerry?”
“Jerry Macaroni, stupid! Why are you even mayor?!”
“It’s because of my winning charisma.”
“Don’t try to remind me of your winning charisma while you’re sitting on a toilet. And no, Mr. Mayer, you aren’t charismatic. You’re as charming as a clown at a funeral. No, my friend; the boss did a favor for you. Ya know your rival, Mr. Sister?”
“I think so. Wasn’t he the one who was running against me?”
“Yes, mayor. Yes, he was. Anyway, you remember his infamous tumble?”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. He fell off a cliff. But what’s that got to do with me?”
“You don’t really believe he was training to be a pearl diver, do you?”
“I – why? What was he doing then?”
“One of our boys pushed him off. And because of that, we one the election. We were trying to mislead the press into thinking you whacked him, but they didn’t take the hint, and so you won. But still, we helped you win, so you owe us a favor, I think.”
“And what favor would that be, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Hand me a roll of toilet paper and I’ll tell you everything there is to know.”
The mayor rolled a roll under the stall, and after a moment, the mobster began his proposition.
“You will release Jimmy Glutenfry – you with me? – and you will do it right now, via your cell phone. Kapeesh?”
“That’s the story? I expected it to be longer.”
“Well it’s not. Now, call the Times and let them know you disapprove of this trial, and that you believe Jimmy’s innocent. OK?”
“What would that do? They don’t get to decide whether or not he’s let go.”
“How the hell did you ever get to be mayor? Look, they influence public opinion. With me so far? Now, I know the jury isn’t supposed to be influenced in any way, but they are anyway. I’d appreciate it.”
“So, you want me to use my influential power to persuade the people into believing Jimmy Glutenfry to be not guity?”
“Indeediously.”
The good mayor paused and pondered, then replied, “I’m not feeling it. I’m the mayor. I don’t think I should be trying to clear a mobster’s name just because he pushed my opponent off a cliff.”
The mayor heard the toilet seat behind the stall slam, and a great deal of shuffling behind the flimsy plastic wall. Slick was coming for him.
And he didn’t even flush the toilet.
The Mayer quickly pulled up his pants and bolted from his stall, but Slick was already upon him. He shoved him to the ground, then drew a small pistol, equipped with a silencer, and aimed it at the mayor. The mayor rolled out of the way as the gun fired, sounding like a hammer hitting the wall, and a bullet, barely missing Mayer, striking the sink’s pipe. Water erupted from the pipe, and blasted the gangster in the face. Startled, he reeled backwards, the inky gun clattering to the floor. Mr. Mayor got up to his feet, and rushed for the door. Slick tried to grab the gun, but, the ground being slick from whatever sewage they kept in the taps, he slipped, and fell to the tiled floor, like a dead mouse on a piece of graphing paper.
The mayor exited the facilities quickly, and, spotting a man in uniform, said to him, gesturing wildly, “Come, quick! In there’s a man-eater!”
The cop screamed, then grabbed a payphone and called the police. The mayor, meanwhile, rushed down the crowded halls, shouting, “There’s a man with a gun! There’s a man with a gun!”
He burst into the meeting room of City Hall frantically, to be met by a large gathering of politicians and secretaries, all sitting around the table, having smokes, staring at Mayor Mayer.
“Well,” said Bruno, “Took you long enough. Now XYZ, and let’s get started on funding those sidewalks, shall we?”

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