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Dale insists that fresh flowers placed at every table, every day, makes his joint less of a greasy spoon.
“I don’t even know what all that cryptocrap is,” I add, shrugging my shoulders.
“It’s the currency that drug dealers and hitmen use.” Bethany’s fascinated tone leaves me to wonder how much she really gives a shit about crypto, versus the tip she’ll be getting for serving Simon his usual grilled cheese and fries.
“Ah, well, I forgot to renew my hitman card this year, so I guess I’m not eligible.” I turn to leave, but pause at the sound of Simon clearing his throat.
He rarely makes eye contact with anyone, so when I twist back around, I’m surprised to see him looking up at me. “It’s a relatively small investment. I’ve turned as little as fifty dollars into thousands. If you’d like, I can set you up with an account. The lingo is a little daunting at first, but the more you play with it, the better you’ll become.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling her, Simon.” Bethany shoots me a wink, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head at yet another sex reference. One Simon doesn’t seem to pick up on. “So are we on for this weekend? You show me how to work it, and I’ll play with it?”
Ugh, this conversation is nearly as bad as the one with Harv. The two of them could probably start their own cheesy dictionary of sexual puns.
Simon adjusts his glasses, his cheeks three shades of red. Maybe he caught on, after all. “Certainly, I’m happy to get you started with an account.”
“You should come over, too, Nola. We’ll make it a crypto party.”
With a huff, I push away from the booth and knock my knuckles on the wooden table. “As thrilling as that sounds, I’m gonna pass. Thanks, anyway, Simon.”
“Sure. If you change your mind, there are plenty of tutorials that show you how to set everything up.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
I want to ask him why, if it’s worked so well for him, is he still dressing like a prep school reject and eating grilled cheese at a greasy spoon every day. But I suppose some people are just happy where they’re at in life, and he certainly seems to be content.
My shift drags on into the evening, and when it’s finally time to go, I can hardly stand the walk to my car. The heels of my shoes bite into my skin as I limp across the mostly empty lot toward my car. Lara, one of the waitresses, zips by in her compact little sedan, waving at me when she passes.
An obnoxious slam from behind signals one of the busboys tossing a bag of garbage into a nearby dumpster, before heading back inside the diner.
An eerie quiet looms in the shadows across the lot as I shuffle toward my car.
Plastered to my windshield, a strip of red paper flaps against the glass, and I tilt my head, eyes narrowed, trying to make out what it might be.
The blare of a horn steels my muscles, and I turn to see Harv and Bethany roll past in their creepy white panel van I often tease looks like something a serial killer would drive. The sight of Harv blowing me a kiss through the window has my lip crimping.
Tugging the paper out of the wipers, I wait until I’ve fallen into the driver’s seat before opening it to the words typed across.
If given the choice, would you prefer to be strangled in your vehicle, or raped against the hood of it?
Breath whooshes out of me, and I snap my head to the rearview mirror, to find no one staring back at me, and when I peer over the backseat to be sure, I click the lock on the doors. The surrounding lot is empty. Not a single hint of movement. It’s only when I stare back down at the note in my hand that I realize I’m trembling. Flipping it over to the back reveals Sweet Dreams.
One more glance over the backseat confirms no one is inside, and with both hands gripping the steering wheel, I attempt to settle my rattled nerves.
It’s then that a recent conversation comes to mind, one Bethany told me about weeks ago, when she decided to follow me outside for a smoke. Apparently, swinging with random men and women hasn’t been enough excitement for her sex life, so she and Harv decided to spice things up, by having someone rape her as he watched. Role-playing, of course, but according to her, it was the most exciting thing she’s ever done. It wouldn’t surprise me if the two decided to step it up a notch.
Too far, Harv. Way too far.
“Idiot,” I mumble, firing up my car. It isn’t enough that the asshole harasses me during my shift, but he’s gotta creep me the hell out on top of it.
Sunday is my next shift with Beth, and she’s going to hear about this, because I don’t take this crap lightly—not anymore. I’m sure Jonah would be happy to send an officer out make Harv shit his pants a little.
5
Nola
A thick chill settles into my chest, as I look around at surrounding graffiti-spattered walls wherein I watched Oliver disappear. Distant screams add an ominous quality to the dark and peculiar corridor ahead. Shiny white-tiled floors carry red smears and handprints of what looks like blood.
“Oliver?” My voice reverberates off the walls in a harrowing calm. Something tells me this place—a hospital, judging by the tipped over stretchers and rooms with medical-looking equipment—is the kind of place that swallows fears, glutting on every moment of dread it can reap. “Oliver, answer me!”
