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Unlike the normal customer of the everyday joe at this hour, this one wore all black. But that wasn’t the odd detail. What made him stand out was the leather coat in the ninety-degree summer weather. But hey, each whack job to their own. Right? I am only here to serve coffee. Judging others seems a little on the hypocritical side, and I don’t need any more bad juju coming my way.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry Got it. Um…house special: coffee and apple pie. Will that be all?” I try not to sound rushed but the crank of his scarred eyebrow screams I need more practice at the whole not giving a shit act I am trying to pull off.
He gives me the once over, stopping a little too long on my cleavage before giving me a gruff grunt of approval.
Freak.
Rain begins to pelt the windows and I take the small little interruption as my cue to step away as I scribbled the order and turn toward the back, but I only make it a couple of steps when the words finally break through the fog of too many hours on my feet.
My father is dead.
Out of a million things I should do right now I stand there like a corpse, unmoving, the signals between my brain and legs severed along the way somewhere. I don’t know how long I stand there trying to breathe and not pass out.
“Sweetie, you okay?”
Sally comes out of the back room, wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in for a tight hug. I block out the laughter from the teens in the back and a pair of newcomers wanting their menus. Someone else can take care of them for a change.
“C’mon, sweetie, talk to me.” Sally shakes my shoulders a little, jarring me back to reality.
“Uh, yeah, I think so. I mean the man might as well be a stranger to me.” But deep inside in a part that I shut off for the most part, stings with a pang of regret that churns my stomach. “I thought if I could make something of myself he would want me.” I lift a shoulder in a defeated shrug. “But now I’ll never get that chance. I’ll never know.” It takes all the effort I have left in me not to break down in the middle of Sally’s diner.
The one friend I have in this world pulls me over to the side and away from prying eyes. “Stop that. You don’t need a man like him in your life. Now take a deep breath and steel those nerves, baby girl.”
“You’re right. I know. Fairy-tales are made for books. Got it.” I wipe at the few tears that escape and take comfort in my friend’s nearness. A kind smile pulls at the lips of the much older woman, and all the weathered lines she tries to hide behind mounds of makeup crinkle. That small token of kindness helps me fight my way out of the cobwebs of pain.
Her warm gaze holds mine. “A father is a father, Kat. Bastard or not. This news can’t be easy, I know. I’m not trying to be a hardass. But I don’t think the man deserves a second thought. But you’re young and a lot more soft-hearted than I am. Tell ya what. Why don’t you go on home and take off tomorrow to regroup, huh? How does that sound? I’ll call in a couple of girls to help out until you can come back.”
Her idea sounds like the million-dollar jackpot, but just like winning the lottery sounds too good, so does Sally’s idea. “I can’t afford the time off, but thank you. After I finish my shifts I’ll have enough time between then and tomorrow’s shifts to pull myself together. You’re right. He doesn’t deserve my grief.” Naturally, I work a small smile on my face for Sally’s benefit to show I believe my own words.
Sally is the only one who knows my true identity and who my father is. Or at least did. Now the whole damn city knows I’m the unwanted bastard child of the shitty judge not man enough to own up to the daughter he fathered.
I shove aside the unwanted nostalgia for what could have been in some fairy-tale version of my life and finish out my shifts a full hour after official closing time. Fridays are normally the busiest and tonight didn’t disappoint. I pull out my phone and send a quick text to my landlord letting him know I have rent and a bonus for the wait. Hopefully, that will keep my stuff on the inside of the apartment instead of stacked up on the outside for anyone to rummage through.
I stumble out of the diner into the cold, drizzling rain and the pitch-black of the wee hour welcomes me as soon as I step out of range from the diner’s lights. If my feet were aching at the beginning of my double shift, that pain doesn’t compare to the swollen throbbing ache I’m feeling now. I am sorely tempted to hail a cab to drive me the ten blocks to my apartment, but I need every cent of the tidy sum I earned tonight.
I am so dead on my feet that I don’t see the black silhouette of a man appear beside me until he’s in my face. A scream sticks in my throat and adrenaline shoots through my veins until my heart is nearly pounding outside of my chest.
“The boss wants to see you.” He grunts in that same sandpaper, gravelly voice.
Oh fuck.
I squint into the darkness and catch a hint of his expression which sits between a mix of deadpanned and grim, then again with that puckered, jagged scar running through his brow the look might be more of a permanent situation than any kind of emotion. Too bad for me I didn’t recognize the voice or the scar before a set of beefy hands clamp down on my arms. A black SUV with blacker windows rolls up beside us, and I’m shoved into the back before I can fight or reach for the can of unused pepper spray tucked away in the pocket of my uniform.
Panic kicks in as the thug slides in beside me and I’m about to land my foot in his jaw when I catch a warning in his eye that has me freezing. The hand on his gun does a pretty good job of that too.
I’m not stupid nor do I have a death wish. In hindsight, maybe that cab ride home would have been the smarter option after all.
I try my best not to show how freaked out and scared I feel nor be paralyzed by fear. It’s a razor’s edge I’m skating along as I scoot across the leather and position myself against the opposite door and as far away from the leather-clad thug as possible. I glance over my shoulder to find the back of the SUV filled with something that looks like a tarp, but in the darkness I can’t tell. I’m putting two and two together here and while my mental math isn’t always spot on, goons plus guns equal bodies, so I’m going with that being a big wad of plastic to wrap me in when they finish.
Not so great. They are going to kill me, wrap me up and dump me in some landfill. My mind races with a reason behind all this, and I’m pulling up a big fat blank.
“So, huh, this boss of yours…he…huh, give you that nasty scar or did you face plant on a machete?” I catch a twitch of the thug’s upper lip in the street lights as we speed off in what direction I have no idea. I’m too busy keeping an eye on the guy’s hand clamping down on something inside his trench coat. Unlucky for me I tend to get a little mouthy when I’m scared, and this time it might get me in more trouble than I already am. For what, I guess I’m about to find out.
