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“Alana,” he says, “why didn’t you tell me there was someone leaving flowers at your apartment? Or that you thought it was the same person who left a message for you the other day? Andreas called this morning and demanded I check camera footage, and I didn’t even have a clue anything was going on.” He sounds hurt that I went over his head to Andreas.
Sheepishly, I reply, “Oh, Jim, it wasn’t intentional. I had talked to Andreas about the meeting we had a few weeks ago, and it just came up. I know I can talk to you about this kind of stuff. Right now, I feel like somebody is just playing a prank on me or something.”
“Well, I rewound all of our footage from the Friday someone left that note on your windshield. And around eight thirty, we can see a black car pull up next to yours. Somebody gets out and approaches your car, but they were wearing a ball cap and a hoodie. The angle is bad, and these cameras aren’t the highest quality, but it had to have been whoever was in the black car. Nobody else even walked close enough to touch your car, let alone leave the note. From now on, make sure you have the manager-on-duty walk you out at the end of your shift.” He nods toward one cashier. “Go get Gabe.”
Gabe walks from the back, and his beady eyes rake over my body. It makes me want to kick him in the nuts.
“I want you to make sure you’re taking Alana’s trash out for her when she works. There’s some weird shit going on, and I don’t want her outside alone at night. Understood?”
He nods and winks at me. I’d rather puke than have to talk to him every night I work, so thanks for that, Jim. My thinking goes back to the black car that was idling behind work a few weeks ago, then to the black car that followed me before it sped past me. Is it possible that’s a coincidence, or are the two events related?
Jim turns back toward the computer, signaling an end to our conversation, so I grab my cash drawer and head back to the bar. I do my pre-shift tasks and turn around to see Shane at the rail. Greeeeat.
“Hey Shane, you drinking the usual today?”
He leans over the trail and devours me with his tired, bag-ridden eyes. “I’ll have the usual with a side shot of you, hot stuff.” He punctuates his unoriginal quip with a wink, his brown eyes never leaving my tits.
I ignore him and turn toward the bar cooler, grabbing a mango hard seltzer, popping the top, and sliding it toward him.
“Any plans tonight?”
He tries to engage me in conversation, but I turn and walk over to the POS to grab a ticket, effectively cutting him off. I’m not playing games with that perv today. I’mnot.Laying my tickets side-by-side, I grab the tall beer glasses needed and pour them. Ignoring Shane is easy while I’m busy, but eventually the ticket printer slows down, and I’m stuck standing idly with nothing to do.
“Alana, can you get my food order soon? I’m wasting away over here,” Shane calls while I’m leaning over the rail to answer a question about the menu.
“Sorry, he’s a rude asshole,” I whisper to the guest. “You should get the barbecue chicken salad.”
Still making a point to not look in Shane’s direction, I walk back to the printer to make a few more beers. With men like Shane, the less you speak to them, the better. They thrive on engagement and interaction, so when he’s in rare form—like tonight—I do my best to only talk to him when it’s necessary.
Finally, I turn around and say, “What do you want, Shane?”
“I think I’ll have an order of potato skins and six boneless hot wings with bleu cheese.”
“You think, or you know?” I don’t bother masking my annoyance. At this point, he doesn’t deserve politeness.
“Just put the order in, sugar. You know what I like.” Again, he winks at me when he finishes talking. I’m going to end up stabbing him with the needle-like thing we stab tickets on when we’re done with them.What a scumbag.
With a sigh, I type in Shane’s order and walk around the bar rail to go into the back of the restaurant. Gabe sings R. Kelly to himself while he does the dishes, which seems fitting with R. Kelly’s recent legal troubles regarding minors and sex trafficking. I don’t have proof that Gabe is anything but normal; however, the weird feeling I get in my gut when he looks at me can’t be in my head.
Successfully, I tiptoe behind him without gaining his attention and walk into the outside expo.
“Enrique, how’s life?” I ask one cook.
The kitchen workers are some of my favorite people in this entire store. They are always sweet and respectful, and if I ever need food rushed or a snack because I’m starving, they’re always on top of it. Michael, Rico, and Enrique are my three favorites, though. They’ve been here forever, and when they’re all working together, our ticket times never get over twenty-five minutes.
Rolling my eyes, I see Shane’s food is already up. Great. Of course, the golden trio is working. I should’ve known a simple wing and app ticket wouldn’t take long. Damn, I should’ve made a note to make it take an hour. That would serve Shane right for being such a dirty, gross little pig.
Drop it on the floor, I think to myself as I grab the tray.
“Thanks, guys,” I call over my shoulder as I leave the kitchen.
Without a second glance, I sit the food in front of Shane and walk to the now-overflowing ticket printer. Trent and Holly are waiting at the well, so I turn and greet them both. “Hey friends, how’s your night going?”
Holly laughs. “Well, I have six tables of teenagers who keep ordering Shirley Temples, and they’re running me ragged. It’s going smashingly. What about you, toots?”
“Shane’s here, so I want to shove nails into the tip of his penis. Other than that, not too bad.” I look at Trent, who’s staring off at a table with a leggy brunette in a low-cut top.
“Earth to Trent, I just said I wanted to shove needles into someone’s dick, and you didn’t bat an eye. What the hell?”
