Work Text:
The Night That Dan Was Shot
I remember too well the night that Dan died, fighting with a guy in a bar;
When the dark ice shining as the white snow fell made it crazy to drive far;
And when the smoke cleared, and it was what we feared, and what's to be done no one knew;
And everything you're about to hear's what I said to the men in blue.
The Old Haunt was the place to be on a night when the temperature drops,
Her doors were open to all who paid; worn poets, young lovers, old cops.
Big Rick at the counter dropped water in whisky till it shone like a misty moon,
While his redheaded child from the ivory mantle coaxed an old swing-time tune.
In the corner of wood that remained from the roarings, the fidgety fools would stop
For a round or three at the cards or see where the Japanese marble'd drop.
Twiddling the flippers on "Biker's Code" was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his fate was his steady date, the girl that was known as Sue.
Sue's raven hair and virginal eyes would surely entice any man,
But should a fool glance they'd learn the hard way why he was called Dangerous Dan,
At his arm she languished, safe with the terror of every college football field,
For when Danny-boy's eyes were locked and set, even Jesus and Allah would yield.
Then out of the cold, and I do mean cold, and into the light of the bar,
There staggered a stranger wrapped in fur who limped like he's hiding a scar.
He threw back his hood to ask Rick what was good and something struck us as weird,
For our eyes didn't stray from the brass cylinders plaited within his big beard.
As the evening wore on, still hours from dawn, the music began to subside,
Then in through the door a slick-haired gent in a black leather suit did stride;
Though the wind was wild and the snow was thick and the blackness was leached from the night,
Not one spot on his calfskin coat showed even a flicker of white.
The boys at the bar cheered Rick's little girl as she played her last song for the day,
And the bearded man turned to Rick and told him, "That girl of yours sure can play,
But she's young and weary and your patrons I see would rather the night not end,
So-" he thumbed to the man in the calfskin coat - "if you might allow my friend..."
"Well, stranger," said Rick as he refilled a glass, "it's not the night for open mikes,
But I'd rather she's early to bed and to rise, so your friend can do as he likes,"
And with that the man in the calfskin coat strode calmly up to the bench,
Sat his cowhide slacks on the velvet cushion and his fingers began to clench,
And as they tickled the ivory teeth, a sound rang out anew,
To even drown out the pinball machine that was besting Danny McGrew.
We let ourselves go to take in the tune, when Sue said to Dan, "It's our song,"
And the corner of my eye caught the moment where I think the rest of the night went wrong,
For sitting in the back, with the gait of a drug king, lay a ghetto youth going by Raheem,
His name spelt in gold set onto his fingers and capped teeth shined to a gleam.
Though shutter shades hid his prying eyes, the lusty grin on his face
And the contour beneath his waistband that quivered to mean the great fear of his race
That gripped most men who wonder about the secret dreams of their wives,
Cashed in on by those who tape young'un's unclothed to milk the mistakes of their lives,
Was enough to embolden the smallest man to fight or flee or bow,
But "legal politeness" inhibits all from "corrective action" now.
The piano tune began to moon, s'if nobody wanted to play,
And Danny's game suddenly became an obstacle in the way
Of the dark-skinned cad in the warm-up fad that defined his community,
And he slinked from his seat in sneakered feet that from outer space you could see,
But as his steps got closer to Dan, each echoed a jarring thump -
And the next thing we knew, at point-blank range, he squeezed Sue right on the rump.
Sue tensed herself to let out a scream but couldn't reach for her voice,
And Raheem lifted his shades as he slid between Dan and said, "Shorty, I givin' yo' choice;
You can stick with this foo' dat don' know to treat you like da suckaz who courtin' you should,
O' drop his white ass like he drops a fake pass and get wid dis bro from da hood,
'Coz I'm king of da streetz an' a god in da sheetz an' you az my queen you should be -"
When a hand chopped straight into his neck and a voice barked "Get lost, thug! This lady's with me."
"I don't know who you are," said Dan up by the bar, "but there's something that I have to say -
This girl's been with me after 2003 when we met on a hot summer day,
For ten years and more, in the depth of my core, she's the one who's been keeping me whole -
And I love her more than my life's worth a damn, for this woman is half of my soul."
But the Compton boy blew off the heartfelt tirade with a "Back the step off, honky bitch",
Driving Dan's eyes and fingers into the familiar old signs of the Queensbury itch
That in bars round the world is an itch not unheard of, the only change being degree:
For in pubs it's a factor of everyday living - in Manhattan this itch you don't see.
The piano flared as Dan's eyes glared and the Harlem kid turned his back
To doff his blinds at the pasta straps, the better to ogle Sue's rack,
And as his pierced tongue slithered out, Dan's fist began to fly,
To mock a speedgun as it connected with the plastic slats over his eye.
Then the lights went out, and a woman screamed, and gunfire rang out in the dark,
And when Rick swapped the fuse so we could see again, there spread a sauce-like mark
From the counter foot and around the stools and almost all the way to the loo,
In the threshold of which the fresh prince lay 'pon the body of Dan McGrew.
There was shock and panic as we screamed for our lives with no one stopping to wait,
And Rick ran for the doors with his iPhone drawn and the speed-dial ringing for Kate,
But between the screams and the howling to come, there was only one sound that was new;
The tears and cries that fell from the eyes of the girl that was known as Sue.
I was sitting by the door, but my legs would move no more, and the voice was gone from my head,
And you didn't need to be of Hopkins' breed to tell they were way too dead
For the bandage jockeys in the meat cart's back door to even do any good,
And the memory of this horrible night would be stained forever in the wood.
As the panic slowly began to cool, the back of my head took notes
That there was no sign of the two strange men in the animal-hide-and-hair coats
Since the lights went down and up again - 'fact, not since the shots were heard,
And I figured when Kate's boys taped the place off, it'd be prudent I have a word.