One Night at the Voodoo Do-Nut Shop
Based on Real Events
THE REPORTER: Please, Dr. Quite. Tell me what you saw last night at the Voodoo Do-Nut Shop.
DR. QUITE: Well, I was sitting at a table eating a pecan cruller and drinking coffee when in came this huge man, grossly huge, I mean to tell you, wearing green tights, a purple gym shirt, and a bomber jacket. He had his long black hair neatly marcelled into curl and wave fantasies you wouldn’t believe, but trust me. Why, even his mustache had an ebon sheen. He wore black patent dancing slippers. Sounds absurd, I know, but no, no, I’m sober, was sober. Anyway, trust me, okay? This is for true, what I’m telling you. Every bit of it, I swear.
THE REPORTER: Fine, fine. I’m counting on that. The record must be accurate, you know. That’s all that counts. The truth.
DR. QUITE: Yes, yes, of course. Anyway, I remember it so clearly cause I says to this guy at the next table, I says, “Looks like some kinda wrestler or something.”
And this guy shrugs and says to me, “You mean IS a wrestler . . . duh?”
He nods at the giant man in green tights. “Hey, man. Don’t tell me you never seen Mario Gallante?”
Before I could reply, this Gallante character starts pounding on the service counter and after a half-dozen whacks, out from the back comes this tiny blondie woman in a black dress like you might see some Parisian model wearing, slinky like that, and Gallante hollers at her saying obscene things about her mother and her personal hygiene, insults Chic Blondie couldn’t reply to cause Gallante wouldn’t quit yelling and went on bawling out this Sheeky little dame who ran the doughnut shop for not having the chocolate munch do-nuts he always gets.
Doo, he pronounced it, rhyming with glue, Nuts,rhyming with nuts, that’s what he kept yelling about. Fekkin Doo-Nuts!
“Wan my fekkin DooNuts,” he fumed and roared.
Sheeky Blondie, now, she was a brave one. Stood her ground, she did, and pointed at a sign on the wall: “No Profanity.”
Well, this only enraged Gallante even more, and the next thing you know, he has grabbed up a chair and is about to toss it through the front window when he sees something outside that grabs his attention. Down he throws the chair with a great WHANG and gets this monster-ish look on his face like he’s seen a ghost coming for him and he ain’t giving no ground.
Then he ups and frowns and, supercharging his courage, grabs up the chair again and heads for the door, his eyes still focused on somebody or something out in the parking lot, a something or someone I could not personally see. Meanwhile, Little Chikky Blondie in the black slinky dress, she’s got her cell phone out and is dialing 911 and talking fast.
THE REPORTER: Wait, wait, Dr. Quite. Now how do you know it was Emergency she called?
DR. QUITE: Heh, well she yelled it out, she did, right as Gallante ripped back the front door and liked to tore it off its hinges, see, and she hollered at that Gallante that the Sheriff was on the way, so he better get his ass out-a there.
THE REPORTER: Well, did he?
DR. QUITE: Did he what?
THE REPORTER: Did Mario Gallante get his ass out-a there?
DR. QUITE: No he didn’t! And that was just it. Gallante had his chance to scram but he didn’t jump at it. He just stood there, gripping that chair like it was his last friend from Gulfport and yelling how he wasn’t afraid of no Deputy Sheriff—nor Top Sheriff, neither to boot.
“Bring it on,” he kept-a yelling. “Bring it on!” Salted of course with a myriad of profanities best not repeated.
THE REPORTER: Oh, go on, repeat. It’s for the record, and we must have the record complete. We’ve come this far, why not?
DR. QUITE: Well, he was saying sorrowful things about Jesus and . . . and, well, sex. Loudly, too. He shouted all this loud enough to be heard over to Biloxi.
THE REPORTER: And how long did this go on, before the Deputy arrived, I mean?
DR. QUITE: Oh, it wasn’t long, cause, as luck would have it, there was an off-duty Deputy Sheriff not a block away and he heard the dispatcher issue the APB, so, what with him being so close to the Voodoo Do-Nut Shop and all, well, this Deputy knew that he had a duty to answer the call, so he just ran right over.
THE REPORTER: You’re saying that the Deputy who showed up wasn’t in uniform?
DR. QUITE: That’s right. The fellow looked like a man on his way to a party. Hawaiian shirt (parrots and hibiscus pattern, reds, greens yellows), shorts, sneakers, red Rebel Gas bubba cap, and—
THE REPORTER: All right, all right! So what happened next?
DR. QUITE: God, it all went so fast! First the Deputy held up his badge and called out that he was a Deputy Sheriff of Chandeleur County and for Gallante to put down the chair and quit yelling profanities and scaring people. But that Gallante, he went on-a bull-bellowing and kept up with all this nonsense he was hollering, eppy-thets and what all! Well, the scene was just madness!
THE REPORTER: Madness perhaps, but we do need it for the record, what Mario Gallante shouted. His exact words.
DR. QUITE: Well, the gist of it was that he was not playing a role like in the wrestling ring over at the old Delchamp’s warehouse on Saturday night, no, he was for real The Avenger and if the so-called Deputy wanted the chair, he’d just have to come rip it out-a his hands—The Avenger’s hands, that is to say.
The Deputy looked pretty scared, like he might turn and run, but instead he reached behind his back like he was going for a gun, which only riled up Gallante even more and he rared back like he was gonna chunk that chair at the Deputy’s head.
“Hold it right there,” yelled the Deputy, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Just set down the chair like a good fella and put these on and we’ll all calm down and have a nice talk about what’s got you so upset.”
From here on, things are pretty much a blur, but the next thing I know, Gallante has thrown down the chair and has the Deputy in a headlock and is swinging the man around like he was just a sack of oysters.
THE REPORTER: And this is when the squad car drove up?
DR. QUITE: That’s right! Lickety-split, two Deputies in uniform burst out of the car and one of em’s a-dragging a big net like they use in the circus to catch animals that go crazy.
THE REPORTER: What? A wild animal net! But why would they just happen to have a net like that in the squad car?
DR. QUITE: Oh, it’s gotten to be standard procedure. I mean, what with all the meth crazies the Deputies have to deal with. Really and truly, it’s about the only way to control a meth overdoser.
THE REPORTER: What about tasers? Easier to use and more effective, my right?
DR. QUITE: I wondered about that myself, so I asked around and found out that Chandeleur County was getting too many lawsuits from tasered perps, so the Sheriff—
THE REPORTER: Okay, okay. Now let’s get back to—
DR. QUITE: —course nowadays, with the oxy and heroin overdoses taking over, the problem is much different. An opioid comatose, being practically dead, is easier for the Deputies to handle and—
THE REPORTER: But wait. What about Mario Gallante? What happened with Gallante?
DR. QUITE: Oh, you mean the part when he took a bite out of the Deputy’s arm?
(TO BE CONTINUED)