Don’t Quit - Chapter 1
by Liam Dela Cruz
8 – 10 minutes
The warped, wooden screen door opened with a nerve grating squeak on rusty springs then slammed with a clatter behind the young man as he entered from the heat of the dusty street. Outside a cloud of dirty exhaust swirled up from the back of the departing bus and hung in the air as though indecisive. He swung his pack from his shoulder, crossing to the counter and dropping it on one of the cracked vinyl stools.
Pushing brown wayward hair from his face, he squinted up at the stained menu cards posted above the serve through to the kitchen of the diner.
"What'll it be cowboy?" A seen-it-all, middle aged woman, wearing a faded yellow uniform with blue pocket and sleeve trim, wiped her cloth along the counter to where he sat. Pebbles of sweat dotted her upper lip and her tired eyes brightened slightly over something in the way he gave her his full attention when he answered.
"Is that pie any good? I mean really any good? Are they real apples?" His voice was low and pleasant and he offered her a serious smile exposing a set of white, independently spaced teeth.
"They were. Made it myself in high school," she answered, picking up on his banter with a bit of her own.
"Yeah? What kinda mark did you get?"
"I'm here ain't I?"
He laughed. "That good. Okay, I'll try a chunk and a coffee please."
She went to the glass display and slid open the door lifting out the pie, cutting a larger than normal slice, slipping it onto a plate and with a fork from somewhere beneath the counter, placed it in front of him. "Ice cream?"
"That part of your high school recipe?"
"Nope."
"Then I'll just enjoy the original."
"Twenty years ago I'd say you were flirting with me."
He cut a small piece and held it up to his mouth. "Skip the twenty five years and say it anyway. I'm here ain't I... Wilma...?" He leaned closer and read the name on her uniform badge. "I'm, Ned by the way." He said with a pleasant grin.
She gave a short harsh laugh and put the remainder of the pie back in the case and went to the coffee machine. "Don't waste your time, Cowboy, Ned. Twenty years have taken a mighty toll on this old girl."
The door squeaked and slammed again and he turned slightly to see a young couple enter and find a booth near the back, sliding in as they talked softly. Ned turned and looked out the window at the beat up looking Chevy parked carelessly in front. The paint was peeling from the roof and what was once a light blue had faded badly. He turned back as his coffee appeared and then Wilma shoved the sugar container in front of him.
"This is about as sweet as it gets, Ned." Sadness tinged her words in spite of the smile.
He stopped chewing and tilted his head. "Don't sell yourself short, Wilma. Not many women can make a pie like this."
She threw her head back and barked a laugh then, still snickering, ambled over to the couple in the booth. The pie was really only passable but the waitress was nice and had a sense of fun so he ate and thought about another line he might try; maybe a joke about her schooling. When he heard her gasp he turned to see the young man waving a large gun and rising from the booth.
He twisted on the stool, still holding a chunk of pie on his fork and stared as the woman dashed over behind the counter and opened the till, all the time darting nervous looks at him.
Her short blonde hair looked messy as though she'd slept on it and hadn't brushed it since. Her blouse was off one shoulder and near her neck, around a black bra strap he could see her skin was tanned with a spray of freckles.
She had overly large artificial nails, which it made for awkward handling of the register, and her low-rider jeans were torn at the knees. The waitress backed up awkwardly and bumped onto the stool at the end of the counter beside him as the man kept the gun trained on her.
Ned could suddenly smell her fear and from the look of the shaky gun she had good cause..
"Toss me that back pack." The man snarled, flicking the gun barrel.
Ned put his fork down and reached behind him for the pack and slung it across to the man's feet. The man wore dirty jeans and a torn, grey T-shirt with a Budweiser logo on the front; on his forearm Ned could see the tattoo of a flaming skull in the typical red and blue ink colors. His hair was almost shoulder length and damp looking and he carried a few days' growth of dark beard. The woman held up the few bills and shrugged and the man swore, glaring at the waitress as he hoisted the pack up onto one of the tables and yanking open the flap.
"What's all this crap?" He took out some books and tossed them on the floor.
"They're my research material," Ned answered, his voice still calm and low.
"Yeah? Well this is my research material." He grabbed the few bills from the woman as she came around the counter and waved them at him. "Your wallet."
The wallet slid down the counter and the woman snatched it up and prodded through it. "There's nothin' in it, Gabe..." Her voice choked as the man gave her a nasty glare, baring his teeth. "Sorry..."
He seized it from her, took a look then tossed it aside too. "Empty your pockets on the counter and you," he grabbed the woman's hair and dragged her toward the door, "just keep shut and get the car started."
She quickly hurried to the door, tears forming in her eyes. The man reached in front of Ned and gathered up the few bills and loose change then backed up a little and glared at him. Nadine tried to stifle a sob but couldn't and Ned put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The man stuffed the money in his jeans then he swung the gun toward her, swearing at her and calling her all kinds of filthy names before firing point blank into her chest.
Ned grabbed her before she fell to the floor and lowered her slowly, stunned by the huge mess on the front of her uniform. He glared up at the man's eyes, lit up like Christmas, before watching him run for the door.
Ned cradled Wilma's head on his leg and tried to keep her calm. She looked at him with frightened eyes and clutched at his arm as her body arched in a spasm of pain and then she sagged back limply, those sad, frightened eyes still locked on his.
"The pie was a real winner, Nadine," he whispered as he closed them and let her down to the floor. Ned stood in time to see the Chevy skew off the lot in a cloud of filthy dust; he could just make out the man waving his fist at the woman driving... and part of the license plate number.
The 911 Operator took his information and advised him to wait for the arrival of the officers. He walked back to the front of the counter and chose a stool next to the waitress's body and just stared out the grubby windows through wet eyes while he waited. Ned Wagner felt his jaw clench and the anger simmering deep in his gut.
