I walked into The Server Room, a combination neighborhood bar and cyber coffeehouse. On one side you can get as loaded as Jimmy Boscarro, the owner will let you. On the other side, coffee, conversation and Cyberspace. Jimmy and I were partners -sort of. The computers belonged to Jimmy, but I took care of the hardware and software. Jimmy doesn't know squat about PCs, but he knows how to attract loyal customers and he knows a good money-maker when he sees it. The Cyber Coffeehouse was definitely a good idea. It paid the rent on the building and the mortgage on Jimmy's house. Me? Money and I just never learned to stick together. The more I made, the more I spent . . .and then some. On the coffeehouse side, we rented PCs for a dollar an hour. For two dollars an hour, you could also connect to the Internet.

     The two businesses were separated by a foot thick brick wall and by at least three levels of social status and formal education. It made for a nice mixed crowd and, mostly, everyone got along. Almost everyone spent time on both sides of the wall, even if was just to pick up a burger from Judy at the kitchen’s server window located in the long hallway that ran between the bar and the cyber cafe.Judy's fries were really salty per Jimmy's orders. So the customers on either side always ordered a soda or a beer. Salt sells beer. Why do you think lots of bars give you free, very salty peanuts? Because peanuts dry your mouth out and make you thirsty . . .duh!

     On the coffeehouse walls, hung paintings by several local artists and posters of past, present and future rock concerts, old and new movies and stage plays. There was also the usual assortment of hand drawn, desktop published and typewritten flyers advertising everything from art shows to zucchini recipes. On the barroom side, the walls were decorated with pictures of young, busty women and beach studs, having fun while drinking beer. Scattered among the posters and over the bottles of booze that filled the three shelves built into the bar’s back wall, were the usual plastic and neon signs advertising brands of local and national beers.

     Both businesses were housed in a 75-year-old warehouse that used to be the main shipping and receiving office building for the old Big Blue Mainframe Factory.

     The sad, broken windows of the old corporate headquarters that stretched between 360 - 370 Mainframe Avenue stared blankly at me from across the street. Back in the day, the huge computer mainframe plant was going twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Now even the rats had abandoned it.

     I used to sell papers outside the plant’s main gate starting when I was a 10 year-old kid — twenty-five years ago. Every morning I’d get up at 5 AM, get my papers from the Newsie’s Box on the corner two blocks from the plant and hump three bundles in my red wagon to the main gate. The old plant’s main gate was the best spot to sell.

     Of course, I had to earn my place there like countless Newsies before and after me. That meant starting out at one of the other gates. I’d started out on the Pier Side gate and worked my way up. That was the way it worked, and countless other newsboys had done the same thing before and after me. There were some slow days working that Pier Side Gate, let me tell you. But I used the time to read, to think, to plan and to hustle for my daily bread. Selling papers was also the first place I learned about people and what made them tick — a better learning place than all the psychology classes on the planet. In the people business, there really is no substitute for experience.

     I remember one Christmas Eve afternoon. It was two days before my 14^th birthday. The plant’s foreman, Big Solly Pajenski came out the gate. "Hey Solly!" I yelled. "I hear you learned to read something besides them punched cards. How about buying a paper or two? I’m trying for a bonus here. Come on. Whadda say? Here's a story written just for you. The egghead’s are saying that someday, we’ll have computers that’ll fit on your desk and that they’ll be more powerful than those big monsters you’re building here at the plant."

     Solly gave me a dirty look, spit a glob of chewing tobacco between my feet and made a rude noise with his mouth.

     "Here kid. Catch that and put it on your desktop!"

     But now the plant was closed, Solly was retired and the personal computer was king. Everybody from grade school children to people way past retirement age was programming and using computers. An old folk song came up from the depths of my consciousness. "And the times, they are a changin".

     The Server Room clock above the door leading to the coffeehouse said it was about 8 o'clock. After taking a quick look around the room, I started toward the bar.

     "Old City just ain’t what she used to be, huh Joey?", said a gruff voice from a dark corner of the bar.

     "You said a mouthful there mister", I said to the voice.

     The voice had a big pair of feet propped up on a round table, covered by a worn red-checkered tablecloth. The feet were wearing white socks and tan workman’s boots. Both the feet and the boots were sticking out the pant legs of a pair or drab green working man’s trousers. The legs’ owner was leaning back on a chair and he was just a shadowy bulk jammed into the corner next to the coat rack. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Too much noise from the guys and gals at the bar and too much bad music coming from the ancient Concerto Jukebox. I headed toward the bar.

     "Hey Joey! Glad you’re here. Listen can you show me how to work this thing", asked Jimmy Boscarro, the bar’s owner while pointing to his new PC with an oversized pencil?

     "Sure Jimmy", I said. "It’s called a pen-cil", I said emphasizing each syllable and saying pencil very slowly. "You write with the sharp end and you erase your mistakes with the rubber end." The guys at the bar chuckled.

     Jimmy gave me one of his dour, "you’re a moron" looks. "Ha! Ha! Ha!", he said sarcastically. "I already figured that one out. In fact, I’m using my new ‘pen-cil’ to add up your b-a-r-t-a-b, even as we speak, funny man."

     "Oh, you mean your new computer? Hey! Anybody can make an honest mistake," I said.

     "Yeah right. I ain’t buyin that stale salami! Seriously Joey, I know you’re busy being a high-class gumshoe and now with your PC business, and you already take care of the cyber cafe, but I could really use a hand. I’ll make it worth your while," Jimmy said.

     Taxi Bob, another Server Room regular yelled out his approval. "Yeah Joey! Whadda say? Maybe you could teach a class or something. I'd like to learn some stuff about these computer things too. I mean they're all over the place. You can't go nowheres without seein a PC. I even saw my priest take his laptop into the confessional last Saturday. That one scared me . . . let me tell ya.

     I still went to confession, but I disguised my voice so he wouldn't know who I was. Anyway, I need to learn this stuff. I figure hacking a cab is only good for another five, maybe ten years. I got this little notebook. Not the computer kind, You know. The kind that you can add pages to . . . what ya call your 'loose leafs'." ,Bob said.

     "Taxi I says. Your leaves have been loose for a long time." Taxi Bob responded with the "Maloich", the old first and little finger Old Country Italian evil sign.

     "Anywise . . . as was sayin", Taxi Bob continued. "I write down stuff about my fares. You know . . . what they say . . . what they look like, how my day goes, the morons this city lets drive, and like that. I figure someday I’ll put it all into a Guide for New Cabbies or something like that."

     A couple of the other guys and gals added their two cents worth. "Hey Joey! I'd like to learn some too. But I never was any good at sittin in a classroom listening to some teacher with an ugly tie, no personality and a boring voice. My Old Lady would probably come too. My kids know all this stuff. I'd like to know what they're up to. I mean we've had a PC for 'bout four years now. I can turn it on and play games an' stuff. But I don't have the foggiest what's really going on . . .. ya know . . . inside the thing. "

     That latest admittance of an insatiable thirst for computer knowledge from Trucker Dan. The Trucker used to do long hauls cross country until he came home one Saturday afternoon two days earlier than he’d planned. He found the wife in the back bedroom, engaged in strenuous exercise with his best friend. Two days later he was rid of the wife, the friend and his long haul job. Now he owns his own short haul trucking company and goes home to his new wife and the old kids, every night.

     "OK. OK!" I said. "Guess I've been drafted. Jimmy! I'll start tomorrow night. Pass the word to the regulars. Maybe put up a sign. We'll try it for a couple of weeks and see how she goes. If this catches on, maybe we can stick up a couple of flyers next door and see what develops."

     Anyway, that’s how the whole shebang got started. My ongoing computer gig. I must admit I was more than a little skeptical . . . At first. But, as it turned out, this was one, really terrific idea. The first night, we started with six people. By the fourth week, I was teaching two classes a week . . . and . . . to people from both sides of the brick wall. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

     "OK, you guys. My day started at four this morning with a dead NT Server and it’s been downhill ever since. One quick beer and I’m going to call it a night.

     Harry The Plunger chimed in. Harry was the best plumber in all of Old City. "What’s an NT Server Joey? Some kind of waiter in one of them uptown restaurants or another bar like this one? Don't tell me you had to go check out a stiff at four this morning?"

     "No Harry" I said. NT is a Network Operating System. An Operating System, usually call an OS is the boss program that makes a computer something besides a heavy doorstop. A Network Operating System is a special kind of boss program that makes a special kind of computer called a ‘Server’ work. A Server is a computer that can talk to a bunch of other computers called Clients. They’re all hooked together in what’s called a network. The Client-Server thing and networks were originally set up to share resources that were too expensive for everyone to buy, like when laser printers first came out. They cost a lot of money. Now you can buy a laser printer or a good inkjet for a song. So people mostly use networks and servers to store and share information. That can be all the books at the library or your Aunt Jill's spaghetti sauce recipe."

     That's a fact, Harry. Now, like I said the hardware part, including almost all computers and printers and even video cameras are cheap and getting cheaper every day. You’ve heard of the Internet for instance. The Internet’s a worldwide network of big and little computers hooked together so people can find and share information, games, stories, pictures, videos and like that. When you go somewhere on the Internet, your computer is the client and the computer that shows you stuff on your screen is a special kind of computer and software combo, called a 'Web Server'."

     Harry looked puzzled for a moment and then suddenly the light went on. "You mean it's like a bunch of toilets, sinks and sewers Joey? They all dump into the pipe coming from all the kitchens and bathrooms and into the big sewer out in the street. And . . . the water coming in from the Main is like this Server thing on a network, only it's using water instead of pictures, words and stuff like that, huh Joey?"

     "Yeah, sort of Harry. It's a little more complicated than that, but you got the basic idea.", I said. I downed my beer in one gulf. It was a "short one", a mixed drink glass, filled with draught beer." I got up and started for the bar's back door. "I’ll see you all tomorrow night about seven o'clock," I said.

"Jimmy. Here's that new bar accounting program I told you about.", I said reaching into my left pocket and pulling out a floppy disk. "Put into the floppy drive and it'll load onto your PC all by itself. The program comes with a built in tutorial and a searchable Help Menu. That should get ya all set up and answer any questions you have, Jimmy. I'll stop by tomorrow night and see how you're doing before I start this new class. If you get a second, pass around a pad and get the names of the people who's plannin on comin to the first class. I'm beat. I'm going home and going to bed."

"OK Joey. Thanks.", Jimmy said. He reached for the disk and put it into the middle pocket of his apron.

     I turned around, started for the door and yelled at Jimmy who was now stuffing down a huge "Jimmy Burger". That's a half-pound of ninety percent lean, ground beef with lettuce, tomato, pepper bacon and, I swear, about a quarter pound of cheese. All for a dollar. Best deal since we stole Manhattan from the Indians.

     "Jimmy you still got that old blackboard in the back room? I can use it for my class until I see if this thing is gonna fly. If we do it up regular, I'll set up one of those video monitor things."

     "Yeth thure, Doey.", Jimmy said with a mouthful. Then after swallowing, he continued. "It’s back there in the storeroom, somewhere. You know me. I never throw away anything. We’ll get the place all set up for ya. I’ll even throw in some free pretzels. You need anything else, you give me a yell,"

     "OK, Jimmy. Thanks. I don't care what your ex-wives say, I think you're an OK dude." Goodnight Jimmy. Goodnight everybody. See you all tomorrow night. About 7," I yelled.

     As I walked out the back door of The Server Room, I said to myself. "Joey, you’ve really done it this time!" Then I fell flat on my face. No . . . it wasn't the booze. I’d tripped over something and ended up on the ground on my knees, with my bare hands on the cold, wet brick pavement. I fished my flashlight out of my trench coat pocket and shined it around the alley. I’d tripped over the same pair of legs that I’d seen earlier sticking out from behind the coat rack. My eyes followed the beam of light up to a face. It was Tommy Zarchov, my old school buddy. I felt his jugular for a pulse and as I tried to help him up, I heard a faint groan.

     "Tommy! It’s me Joey. What happened?" After helping him to his feet, I reached down and picked up a baseball cap laying beside him.

     "Hey Joey!’ Don’t know. Think I slipped on some garbage or these bricks. This alley gets pretty slick when it rains. Legs went right out from under me. Hit my head on the Dumpster. How long I been out?"

     "Don’t know Tommy. Not long. I only had one drink. Here, let me get you back inside. I’ll get Jimmy to call an ambulance."

     "Nah, I don't need no ambulance. Besides, I don't have any insurance and I don't have the money to pay the greedy hospital and ambulance company."

     "Tommy, there's blood all over the right side of your face. Looks like you got a pretty deep cut over your right eye. At least let me take you over to Doc Cabarone's and get ya patched up."

     "OK Joey, if you say so. I’m a little woozy, but I’ll be fine. Could use a drink though."

     "I think you’ve had enough for one night. Let me drive you home. After, Doc patches ya up, we’ll stop at the old hangout, get a cup of Java and catch up on each other’s lives. Haven’t seen you for … what… must be at least three years. Man, it was liked you dropped off the face of the Earth. I looked all over for you for months. You been abducted by aliens . . .. or something really serious? Where you been hiding?"

     I took my blue railroad bandana off my neck and started wiping the blood off Tommy's face. I told him to hold it over the cut, so the pressure would stop the trickle of blood.

     "Thanks, Joey. Abducted by Aliens? Always with the jokes. I really need a friend right now. I’m in deep dodo here buddy. Can I flop at your place. Just got into town. I’m really low on bucks and there is a lot to catch up on. I’m also going to need your services …as a computer geek… and . . . as a PI. I know you mostly do computer stuff for the big corporate 'suits', but . . . you know . . . for old time sakes, huh buddy?

     Got myself involved in something really strange. Thought I’d make a killing and retire to that island you and I always talked about when we were just a couple of young kids. Turned out, I got myself involved with some really crooked dudes working scams on an international level."

     I put my arm around Tommy and let him lean of me while we walked across the rain soaked street.

     "You can tell me all about it after we get you off this cold pavement and into a warm car."

     We headed out into the alley and around back where I always parked my twenty-seven year old Mercedes. Neither of us said much. I helped Tommy into the passenger seat and walked around to the driver's side. Tommy put his seat back and closed his eyes, still holding my bandana against his wound. I decided to skip the busy Interstate. I was in no mood for construction or heavy traffic. I glanced at my watch. It was just past 8:15 PM so the baseball game traffic was probably already pouring out of the stadium and onto the West Valley Road. Besides, I'd been awake now for almost twenty hours and was too tired to drive that fast.

     Doc Carabone's was on the "old way" home, and the distance in miles as they say, six of one and half-dozen of another". After Doc C took a look at Tommy, it was only two more blocks north on Plum Street and we'd be at The Empty Cup Café, a neighborhood hangout, just across the street from the 14^th Precinct where I used to work as a cop. I still missed walking a beat in "Little Moscow", the old neighborhood where Tommy and I grew up. Hard to believe that I'd been off the Force for over ten years now.

      "Hey Joey. How's things been with you and Stella? Sorry, I forgot to ask. You two still a number or what?", said Jimmy just as I pulled out onto the road and headed for Doc's.

     "No we're not Tommy. She gave up on me about the same time you disappeared, and last I heard, she'd hooked up with Johnny Dombrowski. He's a Desk Sergeant now up at the 11th Precinct. Word on the Street is they're going to tie the knot pretty soon."

     " Sorry Joey. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories. I just figured you and her were joined at the hip for good. I mean you started seeing her way back in Tenth Grade. Everybody always figured you two would get hitched and have a dozen rug rats. Sure have been lots of changes since I left. I guess it's true what they say about never being able to go home again."

     I didn't answer. I didn't want to get into a conversation about Stella just that minute. Traffic was light and it only took me seven minutes to drive to the Doc’s. I could see Doc C through the old style lace curtains that had probably been there since he'd hung out his Shingle back in the early Sixties, maybe before that. Young Doc C had taken over when his dad, Old Doc C had a stroke two days before Young Doc C had finished his Internship at St. Helen's. But the old man had fully recovered and went right back at his Practice. Two weeks later, Young Doc C had found him slumped over a microscope. He'd gone peacefully, doing what he loved and that's about all you can ask for.

     Old Doc Carabone had probably treated most folks in Old City at one time or another. I liked him, even when I was a kid. He was the only doctor that I wasn't afraid to go see. He was a gentle soul who charged what you could afford and still made up his own prescriptions in his back room for anybody who didn't have insurance. And, if you couldn't get around or didn't have a ride, he'd even come to your house.

     "They don't make em like the ole Doc C no more, huh Joey?"

      "No they sure don't Tommy. He's one in a trillion, Doc is. How'd you know what I was thinkin? How do you do that?"

      "Don't know Joey. I can't do it with most other people. Only you mostly. I guess it's because you and I been buddies all our lives. We were always together and always getting into trouble."

      "Yeah Tommy.", I said. "You and me. We go way back. But we never did anything really serious, just kid stuff. Nothing like what these kids today are into. That's for sure!"

      "You're right about that Joey. My sister's kids are into drugs and I don't mean just using them either. I told my sister. I says, " Dianne. Get ready for a big fall, cause Little Jimmy's going to either get killed or sent to prison for a long time." Now she won't talk to me. Go figure. It ain't my fault the kid's a Dealer. It's her worthless second husband's. But you can't tell nobody nothin these days, especially family."

      I parked the car and went around to the passenger side to help Tommy get out. He looked kind of pasty and I didn't want him to fall down again. I had a hunch there was more to this falling down than Tommy knew or was admitting.

     "Speaking of family and trouble. You started telling me about something back in the alley. What's eatin you up, Tommy? Even if you hadn't said nothin, I'd figured somethin was up. This is the first time you and me ain't been hangin out together since we were six .I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You sound really tired and scared.

     I noticed you kept looking back and checkin the side-view mirror on our way over here, like you were expecting some Bad Company. And I ain't talkin about the rock band."

     Tommy looked down at his shoes. He always did that when somebody called him on something he was ashamed of or when he got caught doing something not quite Kosher. " I'll tell you all about it Joey . . . after we go see the Doc and stop for some coffee. They still have those Polish Hot Dogs? I've been hungry for one of Stella's Dogs for 'bout two years."

     "Yeah Tommy. Stella still serves the best Dogs I ever ate anywhere. Tell ya what buddy. I'll even buy. I didn't want to say nothing to Jimmy cause my bar tab's about the size of the National Debt, but I actually got paid by one of my big corporate clients today. Took almost three months, but they finally came through with the loot. And just in time. I was so broke there for the past two months, I couldn't pay attention. I was borrowin money from everyone, dodging the landlady and buyin my groceries up at Ted's "on the book". I'd have starved if it wasn't for Ted and his wife."

     We started across the street, waited for the cross-town bus to drive by us. It repaid us by belching a dark cloud of diesel exhaust our way. Of course, the wind was blowing in our direction. Tommy sneezed — one of those big ones that only guy's seem to do.

     "Jeez Louise! My allergies been actin up, ever since I got back into Old City two days ago.", he said.

     The violent and sudden head movement had started the cut above Tommy's eye bleeding again.

     " Come on Tommy! Before you bleed to death on me," I said, as I hustled him across the street, up the four-stair stoop and into Doc C's building.

     The waiting room was locked since it was after hours. I knocked on the door and yelled.

     "Hey Doc C! Joey Dobresnek here. I got Tommy Zarchov with me. He's been hurt."

     I heard footsteps and the squeaky floorboard that had plagued Doc C ever since he'd moved into this office back in '67. I heard the sound of a deadbolt lock slamming home to the open position. Then another and then a third lock — the old style one that anybody could open with a Skeleton Key. Doc C opened the door a crack and peered out.

     "Hey Joey! Haven't seen you for what . . . two days. What you got broken, cut or bruised today?" Doc C said, in what he calls his "Northern Italy" accent. It was a fake and his way of saying welcome. "Who's that no good bum with you? Looks like a guy I used to know from somewhere."

     Just then a volley of automatic weapons gunfire walked up the stairs, across the floor and down the hall, missing my left shoe by about two inches. Tommy and Doc both dived into the Doc's Waiting Room. I could hear the screech of rubber on road and the sound of a big engine accelerating. I ran out the door and down the concrete stairs, pulling my nickel-plated .45 caliber handgun out as I went. All I could see was the dull glow of tail lights retreating into the fog that had started rolling in about forty-five minutes ago. I holstered my weapon and walked back inside.

     Doc C was getting to his feet as I closed and locked the front door. "You OK Doc?" I asked. "Yeah I'm fine. How about you two? Either of you two bums hit?" Tommy and I both answered no.

     "I should have hired those twenty dollar an hour "hit guys" that left me their business card last week. But my Ex-wife and her ugly sister told me they could do it for a Ten Spot. Should 'ave figured they'd botch it up." Quipped Doc C.

     We all busted up laughing. It broke the tension. Doc C had a way with making things look not so bad and he was great with people.

     "Yo Doc. About the wise cracks . . . I wouldn't be quitting my Day Job just yet if I was you." Tommy said.

     I looked down at Tommy who was sitting on the floor with his head on his knees. He looked really scared and slightly green. But, at least he still had a sense of humor.      

To be continued . . .