To keep the fiction-writing muscles in shape, I'm occasionally writing little stories from my fictional town, Thomasville. Each story, hopefully, stands on its own but gives a little picture of what's happening in the town.

Mike looked across the pressed tablecloth, full wine glasses, and shiny silverware, realizing this restaurant might be above his pay grade, and said to his date, “Karen, what’s something weird about you?”

Four hours earlier Mike met with his friend, Kenny, going over his plans. Kenny asked, “What are you going to wear?”

Mike said, “I’ve got a black sport coat, dark jeans, maybe a lighter shirt, nice shoes.”

Kenny replied, “Ok, I think that’ll work. It’s nice but not too dressy. What are you going to do with her?”

“I thought we’d do dinner at Matteo’s. Then we’d go out for karaoke afterwards.”

“Ok, Matteo’s is good, very classy. Make sure to get a reservation, though. The karaoke, though, I’m not sure about that.”

“I thought it might loosen things up, show her my funny side.”

“Well, she’s going to see your goofy side regardless. I don’t know if your rendition of the Ghostbuster’s Theme is going to win her heart.”

“It’s my Hail Mary; either it wins big or it flops, but I figure it could be fun. What should I talk about when I’m with her?”

“Ask about her,” Kenny said. “People usually like to talk about themselves if they get the opportunity. Ask her what’s unique, what’s different about her.”

Four hours later as Mike sat with Karen at Matteo’s he asked, “Karen, what’s something weird about you?” Karen was sipping her wine as he asked, and she held the wine in her mouth for a moment before she swallowed and spoke. “Ummm . . . well . . . I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “That came out all wrong. Kenny said I should ask about what’s unique about you. It’s just been awhile for something like this for me. I guess I was asking what’s something different that makes you who you are.”

“It’s ok, Mike. I’m a little nervous, too. Everything seems so weighted. I second guessed everything I put on wondering if it was the wrong thing.”

“You look great, Karen. Beautiful as always.”

“Thank you, Mike. To answer your question, is it weird that I still eat Fruity Pebbles for breakfast?”

“Not at all. Although I was always more of a Lucky Charms guy, but I usually didn’t want it once I fished all the marshmallows out of it.”

“My sister used to sit in front of the tv with the Lucky Charms box pulling the marshmallows out. I’d pour it in the bowl in the morning and it was only the cereal, no marshmallows.”

“That’s not cool. “

“Not cool at all. Well, what about you, Mike, what’s something weird about you?”

“Most would say many things are weird about me.” He took a drink from his wine glass and thought. “At night, when I’m going to sleep, I imagine my bed is in a spaceship, that I’m really falling asleep in my spaceship. I think about the spaceship on autopilot, orbiting a planet or on its way to another solar system. I used to do that as a kid when I had trouble falling asleep. I still do it now, thinking of myself on a space journey.”

“Well, that is weird, but kind of sweet, too. At night, if I’m having a hard time sleeping, I imagine being at a mountain or beach resort, but I guess a spaceship works, too.”

Two hours later they’d finished their meals and were feeling close enough to share a cheesecake with playful little sword fights over the cheesecake with their forks. Mike looked across the restaurant. “Oh, great. Look over at the bar. It’s Chip Perry.”

“You don’t like him?” Karen asked.

“He makes Kenny’s life miserable, so I’m not super-crazy about him. Do you know the guy he’s with?”

“I see him get coffee with Skip sometimes.”

“Yeah, he was there a couple weeks ago when we saw him. They’re probably drinking their 90 year old Scotch without a thought about us little people.”

A third man joined them. “Well,” Karen said, “the plot thickens. I don’t know this guy.”

“Me, either,” Mike said, “But do you notice what they all have in common?”

“They’re all rich older white guys?”

“Yes, that. They all have the same ring, though, too. See the big rings. It looks like they’re all members of the Laird Lodge.”

“The guys with funny hats at the parade?”

“They do have curious ceremonial dress. Their lodge is on the other end of downtown from your shop.”

“The place with the gargoyles and all that?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ve never been in there. It’s all hush-hush. Secret rituals and all that.”

“So you think something isn’t on the up and up?”

“Well, I don’t know. No one outside of there knows. The old rumors were nothing happened in town without the Lairds’ approval. I don’t know if that was just jealousy over their riches or if there was something to it.”

“They’re pulling the strings behind the scenes in town, making sure everything is to their liking?”

“That’s the old rumor. I don’t know. I don’t think they have many young guys now. Kenny was asked to join but he went to the meet-and-greet and felt like a really young man. Everyone was at least 25 years older than him. It’s probably one reason why Skip doesn’t like him now; Kenny didn’t want to join his old boys’ club. Still, if you meet an older guy in town with power or money he’ll probably be wearing a Laird ring.”

“I’ll make sure to keep on their good side then.” Karen looked at their empty cheesecake plate and said, “Mike this has been really nice.”

“I’ve enjoyed it, too, Karen. Would you be interested in something more tonight? Thomasville Tap has karaoke tonight.”

“I don’t know if you’d want a second date after hearing me sing.”

“Trust me, Karen. You can take the second date to the bank, assuming you’re interested.”

“Yes and yes, to the date and karaoke.” After Mike insisted on paying for the check and they were pushing their chairs back to the table, Karen said, “It looks like the Lairds gang left.”

“I saw the third guy pull out some cigars. I guess they went outside to smoke them.” They walked out the door, and turned left to go to Thomasville Tap. As they walked down the sidewalk Mike worked up the nerve and took Karen’s hand in his. She smiled at him and gave his hand a subtle squeeze and then held on. When they were close to the street corner they could smell cigar smoke. Then they heard voices. Mike pulled Karen in toward a closed shop entrance, just around the corner from the voices and cigar smoke. He looked at Karen and raised his index finger to his lips to ask for silence.

They heard one voice, “So the police chief, he’ll play ball?”

“He will if he wants the campaign donations. He knows where his bread is buttered.”

“Ok, good. What about the pastors?”

“I think they’re done digging for awhile. Still, they make me nervous. It would be better if they found another town to do their detective work.”

A third voice, Skip Perry’s, spoke, “Rev. Long will be gone in half a year, count on it. Can we do something about Mike Norris, too?”

“Leave me to it. Well have him quietly on his way soon.”

Skip Perry spoke again, “That’s why we pay you. Keep us posted, and thanks for the cigar, Paul. I guess one good thing can come out of Castro’s Cuba.”

“No problem. Happy to share. See you at the Lodge.”

The footstep slowly faded away, and Mike whispered to Karen, whose face was only a couple inches from his, “I knew something was fishy about those guys.”