Page 533 of Devil’s Disciples

I gave a nod. “I’ll believe you, then. Go ahead with your story.”

As he began to speak, a thunderous roar was followed by the sound of screeching tires. I craned my neck and looked out the window behind Walter. With smoke bellowing from the fender wells, a vintage Mustang fastback shot past the parking lot and sped toward the highway.

I shifted my eyes from the car to the table. “Someone’s in a hurry.”

As Walter continued his story, it dawned on me. He had no more than spoken about receiving signs from his deceased wife, and an old-school Mustang sped by. It was undoubtedly different than Ghost’s old car, but it was also very much the same. In fact, it was the exact same as Ghost’s when he started modifying it.

A chill ran up my neck.

I grinned and tilted my head toward the ceiling.

Thinking of you, too, Brother.

197

Carma

I rushed from table to table, taking breakfast orders from the starving masses that were shoehorned into the diner like sardines in a can. As with many mornings, there was a group of people waiting at the door to get the first available table.

When I got to the end of the aisle, I looked up. “What can I get—”

I nearly fainted. “Mister Ortiz!”

My customers were so much more than customers to me. They were friends. Having him stop in and see me was one of the best gifts I could ever receive.

He smiled. “How’s your day going?” He glanced up and down the aisle. “This place is hopping.”

“We’re busy all the time.” I sighed. “I love it.”

“Do you?”

“I do. I love it. L-O-V-E, love it,” I said. “It’s so different than La Cocina. The people are all nice, and no one seems to be in a huge hurry. Everyone speaks English, too.”

“That’s a plus for someone like me,” he said with a laugh. “A non-Spanish speaking Mexican.”

“We have huevos rancheros,” I said. “But I don’t know if it’s any good. I haven’t tried it yet.”

“Truth be known,” he said. “Huevos rancheros isn’t a favorite of mine. The only reason I got it was because it was the closest facsimile to breakfast food you guys had.”

“Have you looked at the menu?”

“I have. Let’s go with the biscuits and gravy—the full order—and a short stack.”

“The short stack is anything but short,” I said. “I’d go with the biscuits and gravy, and a pancake on the side. It’ll save you two-fifty, and I’m sure it’ll be enough.”

“You sure? You know how I eat.”

“The pancakes are as big as our plates. Have you seen the plates?”

“I haven’t.”

I glanced to my right. “Mister Reeves, can you show Mister Ortiz your plate?”

Mister Reeves pushed himself away from the table. “If I must.”

Reeves was a sweetheart. His sense of humor was dry, making him seem to be a jerk.

Ortiz leaned forward and peered toward the booth next to him. Upon seeing the plate, he looked at me. “Let’s go with the single flapjack.”