Page 119 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

“See ya,” Memphis sang then leaned in to whisper, “I might let him fuck me in my dad’s car.”

“Eww,” I picked up the cloth on the counter and hit him with it. “I didn’t want to know that.”

Although I would give him props for soiling his dad’s car. I’d love to see the Sargent’s face when he found that out. And I meant when not if, because the guy had some super eerie detection skills. I hoped they did it on his bed too.

I waved as they walked out, then turned my attention to the counter while completely ignoring the couple that walked in after they left.

This was more important than waitressing. I’d been working for months on this counter and almost had all the cracks filled in the far left corner. Sugar with a fine coat of clear nail polish oddly matched the color. It was a few shades whiter, but it kind of gave it a marbling effect. Besides, what else was I supposed to do? Work?

“Excuse me miss.” Someone called out, as if the universe heard my thoughts.

Goddamnit, couldn’t these people see I was busy?

“Hello,” they called again, making me sigh and screw the lid back on my bottle of polish.

“Coming,” I sang before grabbing two menus and walking around the counter.

What were they so excited for? Nothing in this place was worth that kind of enthusiasm. When did this become a popular place? Three of the six booths were full, which never happened, and two of those were returning customers.

Was Daryl putting crack or something else addictive in the food? That would explain the new customers. These two had clearly seen some rough times. They both had a few scars and I was pretty sure the girl was wearing a wig. Who the hell would buy a mullet? Fake hair or not, that cut should’ve never been in style.

“Good afternoon,” I placed the menus down on the table, one in front of the guy and the other in front of the girl, who he should not be expecting to get lucky with. This was no place to bring a date.

Flipping open my notepad, I plucked out the pencil I had tucked in my bun, and said, “todays’ specials are some kind of meat in sauce that probably isn’t safe for human consumption.” I stopped and thought for a second, then added, “I wouldn’t feed it to a dog either. Can I start you off with something?”

The girl blinked up at me while a smile spread across the guy’s face.

“Well, aren’t you a delight.”

“That’s what I keep telling people.” Memphis disagreed.

“I’m Craig, but you can call me Wild Dog.”

“Uh huh? And why would I do that?”

“Everyone calls me Wild Dog.”

“Riiight.” What the hell was wrong with this guy? No one should be that happy, unless they were psychotic.

Narrowing my eyes, I scanned the booth for a gun or some other weapon. I didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something tucked into his leather jacket. I heard stories all the time about some creepy or strange guy going into a business and leaving bodies behind.

The guy shrugged off his jacket. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

Fine afternoon? This guy was definitely up to something.

“Well Wild Dog, I’m a little tired from a prolonged sexual experience I had last night. How about you?”

“I’m not bad.” The unwavering smile on his face was making me concerned that the girl with him wasn’t here of her own free will.

They were both rough, but in a weird way attractive. Wild Dog had scruff on his face, tattoos all over his arms, and a big skull ring on his middle finger. If the crazy bastard wasn’t smiling at me then I might’ve taken a minute to appreciate the firm muscles flexing on his forearms.

Compared to him the girl looked normal. She had on a Led Zeppelin shirt that was so tight I had no idea how she was able to breathe. And there was the fake mullet on her head. They weren’t exactly the kind of people that came in here.

“What brings you in today, Wild Dog?” I was genuinely curious and a tad afraid. He could rob us if he wanted, but he’d only get like eighty dollars.

“Well, Annie and I were driving by and thought let’s have some good old fashioned Louisiana home cooking.”

What?

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