Page 11 of Lack of In-between
“I am. You always make me smile, baby.” A buzzer sounded in the distance, and she knew it was the bell on the customer door of his shop. “I gotta go. See you at eight. I’m cooking, so bring your appetite.”
“Where?” She asked the question into dead air, Paul already having disconnected. “Hmmph.” Flipping to the text application, she tapped out a quick message asking for location clarification then hit Send, shoving the device into the pocket of her apron.
Looking around the diner, she shook her head. They’d been reopened for a couple of weeks now, it having only taken a few days for the damage to be repaired. Working overtime, her memory kept overlaying the reality with remembered destruction and left her feeling unsettled. It was something she suspected Gary felt as well, their interactions having been stilted and uncomfortable. It was a little disconcerting that the perpetrators hadn’t been identified or caught, but she knew the state police were keeping a closer eye on the diner now, which gave her some sense of security. She’d gathered from overhearing tiny bits of conversation Paul had with the other men in the BFMC that they were keeping watch, too. She assumed it was because she and Jenn both worked here, and both were involved with men in the club, but her mind kept returning to how Paul’s position in the diner had been targeted so specifically.
She pushed through the door into the kitchen to drop off the latest order and shivered slightly as she stepped over the spot where the man had died. He’d been identified, a local man who was known to the cops because of the plethora of bad choices he’d made throughout his life. Hooking himself to the other two men had been the final one. He’d come through the back door as Gary was exiting, and they’d scuffled for a moment before Gary’d broken away. It was supposed the man who died had been assigned the flanking movement by the driver or shooter, but it hadn’t worked out the way they’d intended. One of the shots through the counter had punctured the kitchen door, catching him in the belly and severing an artery in the process. He’d bled out in minutes, and when she’d asked, the cops said even if she or Paul had known what had happened, it was unlikely they could have halted the inevitable.
She hadn’t suffered through flashbacks after that first night, the event having been pushed back in her consciousness by her immersion in all things Paul Bailey. Few nights had passed without his arms around her, his hold possessive even in sleep. The last time she’d declined an invitation to stay over, he’d shown up at her kitchen door at zero dark thirty, carrying a tray of coffee and pastries in apology. He’d shaken his head when she asked why, urging her to accept the offerings instead of answering. From the circles under his eyes, she suspected that like her, he hadn’t slept well alone.
No matter his hints, she believed it was too soon to be thinking household consolidation. There were still too many things unknown about each other. While she knew it wasn’t a mistake to be falling in love with him, she’d fought so hard to be strong on her own that it felt a little bit like giving up to be thinking of herself as part of a pair again.But I also don’t want to think about him not being part of my life. She shook her head at her own confused musings.Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
“How you doin’, Rose?” Gary stood in front of her, spatula in one hand, brow furrowed.
“I’m good.” With a forced smile, she glanced at the back door to verify the bolt was locked. “I saw a couple of cars pulling in, wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Okay.” He didn’t move, just stared at her. “I didn’t know what to do, okay?”
Rose frowned at him. “What?”
“When he came in the back door, there was gunfire out front already and I was freaked. All I could think about was getting away.” He scrubbed across his forehead with the palm of one hand, then held that pose, keeping his face hidden from view. “I didn’t think about anything else. I was scared and ran, okay? I just ran, and I didn’t think about you.”
“Oh, Gary. It’s okay. I’m glad nothing happened to you.” This wasn’t the first time they’d worked together since the diner reopened, but his guilty confession explained his distant attitude. “You couldn’t have done anything against them. Dale only kept the one gun under the counter, and I had that.”
“Yeah, but I ran. Just ran and left you hanging.” His hand dropped, and he stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry, Rose. So sorry.”
She stepped forwards and pulled Gary into a brief hug, holding tight as she told him the truth. “I’m glad you’re safe. There’s nothing to forgive.” She released him, arms falling away. “No need for apologies, promise.”
He ducked his head in a tiny, awkward nod, then turned back to the grill. She heard a suspicious sniff before he called over his shoulder. “Thanks, Rose.”
She pushed through the door and into the front room, quickly cataloging the tables and where the patrons were in their dining experience. More drinks at table four, and the two cars she’d seen parking were just coming inside, looking at her quizzically. “Sit anywhere you want. I’ll be right with you.” She dealt with the drinks first, gathered dirty plates from another table, and finally made her way to where the two couples had chosen to sit, a corner booth with plenty of room to spread out. “If you’re hungry, menus are on the table,” she pointed out, because they hadn’t yet retrieved them. “Can I start you with drinks?”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she smiled, knowing it was probably Paul responding to her question.
Drink order filled, she kept busy, ringing up order totals and making change, clearing empty tables, rolling silverware for the next shift to use, and trucking back and forth to the kitchen to pick up hot dishes and deliver them to the tables.
She glanced outside, surprised to see the sunlight dimming. Déjà vu hit her hard, the surreal feeling she’d been here before. Looking around the diner, she found one couple still seated at the table Tom and Barbara had occupied the night of the shooting. There was a lone man seated in the booth where Paul had been seated.And me and Gary. She shook her head, shuddering as a chill worked up her spine, gooseflesh rising on her arms.
The man in the booth lifted his mug, and she nodded but held up a finger because the couple were approaching the register. Another similarity to that night. Transaction complete, she said goodnight and turned to the counter where the coffeemaker sat, quickly setting up another pot to make fresh coffee. It only took a couple of minutes, and when she turned around with the carafe in hand, the man from the booth stood in front of her, Dale’s shotgun in his hands and pointed directly at her.
There was a ball cap pulled low over his forehead, but she saw the glint of his eyes as he stared at her. Shifting from foot to foot, he shoved the shotgun a couple inches towards her. “Open the register.” His voice was low, and carefully modulated, almost as if he were masking something. “Now.”
“Okay.” She took a half step to the side, wanting to have the register drawer between them when she opened it. “I’m opening it now.” They didn’t have an alarm system, no magic silent button for her to push. “I’m doing what you asked.” She’d lifted both hands when she’d seen the gun, the weight of the coffee carafe heavy in her hand. For an instant she considered throwing it at him, but it was unwieldy, and she didn’t like the uncertainty. Out of habit, because it was nearly the end of her shift, she hit the cash out button instead of the one that would simply open the drawer. “Shit. Sorry. I hit the wrong… It’ll just take a minute.”
Glancing up at what she could see of his face, she saw he was blinking rapidly, pupils drawn down to a tiny circle in his eyes. He was either high or scared to death. “You’re friends with that other bitch, aren’t you?”
“What?”
He moved one hand up and down the slide of the shotgun in a nervous caress of the smooth wood, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t heard him rack it yet.If he pulled the trigger now, it’d be on an empty chamber. She knew an experienced shooter could rack and shoot the five rounds waiting in the magazine in under four seconds, but he didn’t strike her that way. The butt of the gun was inches away from his shoulder, which would gain him a broken bone if he pulled the trigger in that position, or gain her precious fractions of a second while he repositioned.
“That bitch. She didn’t want anything to do with me, but she latched on to Blade fast. Bitch. You’re friends with her, aren’t you?” His chin lifted, and she saw half-moon scars along his throat. “He marked me, took her from me and fuckin’ marked me.”
A motorcycle entered the parking lot well away from the diner and backed into a spot she knew well.Paul.
With the racket the register made as it rattled off the report tape, ballcap guy hadn’t noticed the sound and wasn’t watching behind him, so he didn’t see the moment when a sauntering Paul saw what was happening and his pace turned into a sprint, arrowed directly towards where she stood behind the register.
“Talkin’ to you, bitch.”
She stared at him, then without second-guessing the instinct, threw the heavy carafe filled with hot coffee directly at his head. The glass smashed into his face, breaking and spraying sharp shards mixed with hot liquid all over his head and shoulders. The ballcap went flying, and he dropped the shotgun on the counter as his hands went to his face, blood welling between his fingers. She grabbed the gun, racked a load into the chamber, and leveled the shotgun at him, butt of the gun pulled snugly to her shoulder.
