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Spike can’t stop himself from smiling warmly whenever he glances their way. “They used to own this place,” he says. “It was a rundown diner. The whole area was deserted. Just dust rolling up, dirt gathering in every corner, and cars driving by while the Waverlys were struggling to cover the mortgage.”
“So, you saved them,” I reply.
“We gave them another shot at a peaceful retirement,” Sky says. “Their pension fund is a joke after all their years of hard work. It didn’t seem fair, and we needed a safe place to call home. So, we bought the entire property from Ben and Martha fifteen years ago. They were able to keep their house behind this place, and they get to eat and drink here as often as they want for free.”
“They’re good people,” Spike adds. “And generous tippers.”
“Ever since we took over and renovated the diner and made it into our clubhouse, it’s rejuvenated the entire area. People from all parts of Everton come in for our beer and burgers, for the weekend games on TV, and for the occasional poker tournament,” Sky says.
“Yet for all your generosity and nobility, you still resorted to kidnapping me to get your point across to the big, bad mayor, right?”
As Spike pulls away to serve other customers, I see the frustrated twitch in his jaw. I’m not making it any easier on anybody. Maybe I should dial it down a smidge. My injured ego is getting the better of me.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Sky says, a heavy sigh rolling out from the bottom of his broad chest. “Hang around here for a while, Randy. You’ll see for yourself.”
And I do. To my unspoken shame, I do. As the hours go by, I get to eat and drink and watch people come in and out of the clubhouse. I’m relegated to a corner booth with Sky while he works on his laptop and deals with all sorts of paperwork. Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s just another day at the office for him. Eventually, Kendric and Raylan join us as the evening falls over the clubhouse.
It’s not as crowded at this hour, but according to Sky, it’s because it’s a weeknight. It gets busier from Thursday on as people get giddier about the weekend. The clubhouse is an escape for most. A place to sit back, relax, and have a good meal, a place to meet with friends, play pool or darts, and watch a game on the massive TV. I see no signs of illegal activity anywhere, and it’s making me feel worse with each passing minute.
“How are you coming along?” Kendric asks me at one point.
I sit in my corner by the window, struggling to finish an otherwise delicious slice of pecan pie. Even the Coke won’t go down right, but that’s because I’m actually starting to see these people with my own eyes. I may have been a victim of manipulation, and there’s no getting away from that kind of sentiment. I need to let it go through me in order to lose the sensation altogether.
“I’m great; what can I say?” I reply in a sarcastic tone. “Still a prisoner, in case you were wondering.”
“And still snappy,” he chuckles.
But his focus is more on Raylan tonight, as is Sky’s. Raylan is quieter than usual. Not smiling at all. “Are you okay?” I hear myself asking. Why the hell am I worried about him?
“Not really, but thank you for asking,” Raylan says without so much as looking at me.
Why does that bother me? He’s usually the sunny one, always looking to take the edge off everything. So why do I feel the need to make him feel better, knowing he’s not okay? Oh, God, I think the Stockholm Syndrome is starting to kick in.
“Any word on Manny?” Sky asks him.
Raylan shakes his head.
“He’ll turn up,” Kendric says. “I’ve asked the prospects to scour the whole neighborhood until they find him. He couldn’t have gone far in his condition.”
“Who’s Manny?” I wonder aloud.
No one answers my question. Instead, Raylan shocks the shit out of me by suggesting a trip outside of the clubhouse. Kendric clears his throat. “You must’ve lost your goddamn mind on your way back here. Her face is plastered all over the news; we can’t exactly take her out on the town.”
“Why not?” I interject. “I’m Randy with this ballcap on. I’d be wearing a helmet if you take me out on your bikes.”
Sky snickers. “You’re always looking for ways to escape, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m genuinely curious,” I reply with a shrug. “Okay, I’ll admit, I’m not entirely convincing, but you can still show me whatever Raylan wants me to see. Where’s the harm?”
“All right, then,” Sky declares, finishing his beer before turning his laptop off and putting it away. “You should go upstairs and get some sleep. We’ll have to be up and early if we’re going to do this.”
I’m quiet and obedient as Raylan escorts me upstairs. There’s a pang in my heart over leaving the people downstairs behind. The atmosphere is pleasant and warm, welcoming and quaint, certainly not the den of Everton’s most dangerous and reviled criminals.
The more I think about it, the more ridiculous the whole story seems. It’s not like they were all putting on a good show for me. It doesn’t work like that.
“Who’s Manny?” I ask Raylan again as we make our way down the dark, narrow hallway. My room is at the very end, a bookcase blocking my view of it from this angle. I’m pretty sure they use it to mask my door in case anybody comes upstairs looking for me.
“This kid I tried to look after, one of many. It’s a long story,” he sighs, keeping his gaze down in what I can only interpret as quiet defeat.
