My Stalker: Part 13: Today's Lunch

It was a total act of serendipity that the two guys with whom I go out to lunch (1-2x a month) called me up to invite me out for lunch today. How coincidental, given a few short hours before, the Stalker called me on my desk phone etc (see previous update).

These two guys are investigators and were asking all kinds of questions about the stalker. Age, where he lived, name, etc etc. And they set about doing the same process of profiling him as I did.  I joked (but hoped they'd take me up on it) about the idea of running a File 15 on him, and we joked about the possibility of a sneak and peak, in which case I quipped, "Make sure you check the freezer." And one of the guys parried back with, "Yeah, and your container (which he is so hot to return to me) will be in there with a body part in it!" And I replied, "Yeah, a vagina!" And one of the guys replied, "Nah, perhaps a nipple!" Sick fucks we are, that's for sure. 

I illustrated the full life span of the friendship with Sal: "He went from enjoying my FOOD to becoming Fredo (from Godfather, in particular, Godfather II)."  My friends knew instinctively what it means to get my food. That it is a sign that you're on the inside of the circle of trust. And Fredo? Godfather II Fredo? "You're dead to me."

But the two sweetest things were said by the older of the two friends.  In reply to my question, "Hey, if I said you hurt my feelings, what would you say?" And without batting an eye, he said, "I'd say I'm sorry, of course!" And I replied back, "Yes! Because you have awareness, and you value me and our friendship... and you're not a sociopath!"

And the second sweetest thing he said was, "Yanno, I'll go mano a mano with him if you want. I'll tell him to leave you alone."  I might just take him up on this offer as he casts an intimidating figure.

So we're wrapping up things at the restaurant, and about to settle up our tab, and our tradition is all of us take turns reading aloud our fortunes from our cookies. And this one was mine:

Oh how we laughed HARD at this one!

PS: An accord has been struck! My friend D., will be the "token testosterone" who will tell Sal to leave me the fuck alone. Obviously there's some sort of short-circuiting going on here, whether it's just outright obtuseness, age, or perhaps a machismo thing preventing Sal from processing the fact I want to be left alone. And perhaps having a man step in to tell him to back off might be the ticket. It also helps my cause that my friend in question looks "old timey, pinky ring type thug, slicked back hair, leather bomber jacket, and just an overall intimidating countenance. Plus? Friend in question is a cop.