An Order of Coffee and Tears (23 page)

“Gabby?” he asked, and his expression began to change to one of embarrassment. Had I waited too long? I was quick to raise my hand to tell him to give me a second. I’d just been asked out on a date – a real date. Grabbing for my coffee, I felt nervous and giddy at the same time.

“I’d love to,” I gushed, and felt my smile stretch from ear to ear. I didn’t hold it back, or push it away in an attempt to look less interested. The embarrassment that was settling on his face disappeared as he sighed into a full smile.

The bell above the door sounded. Habits are habits, and the sound pulled my eyes up away from Jarod. Detective Ramiz walked in, and brought with him the smell of a cold spring night with storms resting for the evening. He shook off the remains of the day, and plodded toward a seat at the booth next to mine.

“Well, Miss Gabby, nice to see you again,” Detective Ramiz began, and tilted his fedora. “And, I believe, this is Jarod – the diner’s handyman. In fact, the handyman for the entire block. Sir, my name is Detective Ramiz,” he ended with an outstretched hand. Jarod shook his hand, but said nothing – offering only a short nod before turning back to face me.

The glassy sound of something rolling interrupted as a ketchup bottle fell over onto the counter. Ms. Potts grabbed the bottle before it left the edge of the counter.

“You have some more business here this evening?” She asked. The detective bared his nubby teeth, and hissed a wheezy laugh before answering.

“Why do I have that reaction with people?” Whether he meant it to sound funny or not, nobody answered.

Waiting for a reply, the detective finally resigned, and took a seat in the adjoining booth. Sitting, he wheezed a few laughs into a napkin. And, as before, when he was done, he opened the linen to reveal the squashed butterfly remains of phlegm and blood. He was getting worse. Did his color look grayer since the last time I saw him? I think it might have.

“Ms. Potts, no need to fret – this visit is purely a self-serving one. I’m here for a late supper. Nothing more,” he answered, and plunked the napkin in front of him, while collapsing his body to rest against the back of the booth. The detective was dying. Thoughts of the diner’s secret crossed my mind, and a small feeling of hope rested in me. I shook the thoughts away, and felt guilty for thinking such things.

“Then we b-best get you a m-meal so that you can be on your way,” I heard from the counter. And then I heard Ms. Potts squeal, and saw her drop everything in her hands to run to Clark. Coming in from the back, his book in his hands, Clark stood at the opening, his large frame a familiar silhouette. I could make out his smile. As I stood up, I took Jarod’s hand in mine, and moved next to him. His eyes filled with surprise, and he eagerly moved so that I could sit next to him.

“Jarod, I like you. I think I’ve liked you for a while… just didn’t know how to say it, or show it,” I stammered, trying to rush my words. He raised a brow, his lips turned up in a grin, and then my hands were on his face, and I kissed him. It was a good kiss – his lips felt velvety soft and supple. I was glad I kissed him, especially when he began to kiss me back. The kiss lasted longer than I thought it would. And I loved that it did.

When I pulled away, I went back for another short peck, and then told him, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time. I have to go and see Clark. And, yes! Yes, I would love to go out to dinner and a movie with you,” I beamed, and then ran off to the back room.

Clark settled back in behind the grill, and, while he griped about how unkempt and filthy Ms. Potts left his work area, we were just happy to hear his voice.

“Took me a small vacation,” he began, and shouldered a spatula onto the metal of the grill to scrape away the remains of Ms. Potts’ cooking. “Took me a p-pilgrimage, of sorts. Went to see an old friend.”

“The list!” I blurted, and he stopped scraping the grill long enough to lift his chin and smile at me. He waved his spatula toward me.

“You
were
l-listening.”

“I listened to all of it. Was your friend still there?” I asked, and heard the bell ring out from the front. Suzette pressed a hand on my arm, and said she’d get it. Ms. Potts seemed to hear nothing as her eyes were moist, and stayed fixed on Clark. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or relief, or a combination of the two that was stewing in her eyes.

“He was there. Old n-now… very old,” Clark paused, and straightened his shoulders and continued, “Ma’am… told him I d-done something. Told him I’d done something that made me want to run. I told him I was running, and that I’d never go back, ‘cause I was afraid.” I heard shame in his voice. He did plan to run. He was scared, and he ran.

Ms. Potts’ eyes widened, but only for a moment. “You stop any worrying. Whatever happens is gonna happen. No stopping it, now. I’m gonna tell 'em I killed my husband. Should’ve told the detective that a long time ago, and freed you of the burden. I’m ashamed of myself.”

“It’s okay, Ma’am, I think it’s g-gonna be okay,” Clark said to Ms. Potts, and then turned to me, and added, “Old man laughed when I told him I still had my list. He laughed c-‘cause I never read it or throw it out. ‘It’s j-just a list. Read it, and throw it away,’ he told me. When I feel the n-need, I can start over. We can always start over,” Clark finished, and, as he looked at us, I saw a young man in his eyes. I knew that he would be okay, no matter what happened.

The first scream sounded like something from a movie, and the three of us lifted our eyes, uncertain of what we had heard. I heard Suzette’s voice in the second scream, and my heart dropped when I realized the voice of the man screaming was her husband. My feet were clumsy and heavy again as I pushed to run to the front. Fear weighed on my legs, and I grabbed my arm where Suzette’s husband had held me down. The flower-petals had wilted and gone away, but their memory stayed deep, like the memories I’d tried to bury.

James Wilkerson stood near the center of the diner with a knife in one hand, and Suzette in the other. A spilled cup of coffee lay on the counter where Suzette liked to sit, leaving me to wonder how it was that James approached her and took hold of her. Her face was a mess of tears and steaks of blood. The blood fell over her eyes in long narrow streams, while her husband held her up by the back of her neck. Her feet dangled beneath her – the toes of her shoes skipping over the floor while she struggled to fend off the pain of being suspended.

Suzette’s husband was powerful. He was stronger than anything I could imagine. I saw no evidence of struggle in his eyes as he held his wife above the floor. His powerful hands gripped tightly, his fingers wrapping around her neck, and an awful thought came to mind: he could snap her neck if he wanted to. He was much stronger than I ever thought a man could be. And I wondered how it was Suzette could have survived his attacks all these years.

The sound of Suzette’s feet skipping against the floor chirped and screeched amidst the cry of another scream. James towered over Suzette, and, except for Clark, he towered over all of us. His clenched fingers glowed white as he held her up in the air, dangling like a rag doll. Dark spots of red stood out amidst broken skin on his fist, and I guessed it to be the bloody remains from Suzette’s mouth, where he punched her. The side of her face was on fire with a raised lump that crested in purple marks. A tooth and pool of spit and blood puddled on the floor next to the stool. Suzette screamed again. The sound was terrifying, and I heard Ms. Potts begin to beg and plead and cry. And then I heard her praying. She prayed to Suzette’s husband, as if she were in church and seeking answers to make things right.

“I said, put her down!” Detective Ramiz demanded from the booth where he stood, his hand on his revolver, sitting in the holster on his hip.

“What are you going to do, old man?” James shot back. His words were mangled and slurred. I didn’t see it at first – I only saw Suzette and what was happening to her, but James had been drinking. On the floor, a bottle of whiskey lay on its side, open and dripping. The bottle had been kicked and left under a stool at the counter. The picture of what might have happened became clearer, but that didn’t matter. James put the knife behind one of Suzette’s ears, and pushed the blade forward. Blood sprayed onto the floor as the knife passed through the back of her ear. She screamed a murderous sound, and my heart pressed against my chest while I grabbed and pulled on Clark’s arm.

“We have to do something! He’s going to kill her!” I screamed at Clark with words that fell on ears stifled by a same mix of fears. Suzette pulled at her husband’s hand, and swung aimlessly with her arms as blood ran to the nape of her neck and along the front, above her chest. She wore a necklace of red like the pearls he’d once given her. Clark stepped around me to better survey what he might be able to do. James stopped immediately, the hideous smirk and laughter disappearing. He pointed his knife in Clark’s direction. Clark stopped. The detective pulled out his revolver, and pointed it at James.

“Ms. Potts, Clark – I trust you’ve dialed 9-1-1 by now. I trust you did that, and that the patrol cars are rolling, and will be here in the next minute. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, sir?” Detective Ramiz yelled, and then doubled over as he grabbed his mouth and choked out a fit of coughs. The detective’s gun was down: it wasn’t pointing at James, and James knew it, and began to laugh again. The laugh was animal. It was a jackal sound, and he clapped a foot against the floor in rhythm to his howling.

“Old man – this is a joke! Say it isn’t a joke,” James began, but then grew grim-faced, and put the knife’s pointed edge to Suzette’s eye. “This is
my
wife, and I’m going to see to it that nobody ever loves this pretty face again!” And, as he finished his words, he ran the blade under Suzette’s eye just enough to open her skin. Suzette screamed again, and punched aimlessly with her hands. She beat on his arm and hand, but he didn’t move. And, as he continued to cut her skin, a pool of urine formed beneath Suzette. Her bladder let go and dripped from her shoes, and when her eyes found mine and I saw the terror in them, I started to cry and scream, and ran to her.

All the air in me disappeared in an instant, when her husband’s leg bolted upward, and the bottom of his shoe met me square in my middle. I couldn’t pull in enough air as silvery white streaks of stars raced in front of my eyes. The silver streaks flew around, and then were gone, and there was nothing but the blackest of black.

“Just breathe,” I heard, and saw Jarod’s face come into view. Ms. Potts’ face was next, and both of them were helping me sit up. The jackal sound of his laughter shook my ears, and Suzette’s scream singed my heart. He was going to kill her. But he was going to torture her first, if we did nothing.

“We just need to wait, Gabby, please wait. I called the police, and they assured me they are on their way,” Jarod said in a quiet whisper, inches from my ear.

“One Punch, is that you? Ha! Oh, this is sweet. It is you! Come on over, One Punch. I had some fun telling everyone about you.” When Jarod heard the nickname, I saw his eyes go cold, and his face long, absent of all expression. As he stood, anger rose on his cheeks, and his skin went red. He turned to face Suzette’s husband. I reached to pull him back, I pushed my hand into his hand, but my fingers fell away when he let them go.

“Put her down,” Jarod began, and then balled his hands into fists. “How about we finish what you started the other day?” he added, and waved an invitation. James’ jackal laugh grew into a roar, and his eyes squirted tears as he watched Jarod dance a boxer’s pose and continue to wave on invitation after invitation with his fists. James’ hold on Suzette wavered. He roared again, and I saw Suzette’s feet begin to take hold of the floor. Her foot slipped in her urine. It slipped again, but, as her husband’s hold of her weakened, she took back some of her footing.

“Squads are going to be here – I suggest you put her down now!” the detective yelled. He’d regained his stand and his gun was fixed on James. Sweat poured from his face, and his gun shook and threatened to fall to the floor.

“Come on, you big fucker. Try and take me on when I’m watching. When I can see you. Just try! No more sissy back-handed shit. Come on,” Jarod yelled, as James shot more tears. Suzette’s feet touched a firm hold of the floor, and, in one motion, she swung her other foot and connected with her husband. She knocked the wind out of him just long enough to loosen his grip on her.

“You bitch
–
” he started to say. Suzette fell to the floor, where she grabbed the whiskey bottle. James turned, his hand reaching for the prize he’d lost. Suzette screamed, and threw her arms in a full swing. An explosion of glass opened the side of her husband’s face. The glass rained down inside the diner, splintered shards landed on the tables and the counter and floor. Glass and blood went in every direction. James heaved a sickening moan and fell forward in a stutter of steps. His right cheek hung open from below his eye down to the line of his jaw. He fell toward Detective Ramiz in an effort to regain his balance. We heard the detective scream for James to stop, and then a flash of lightning filled the diner twice. Thunder and the smell of gunpowder came next, as James’ body tumbled to the ground. Past the ringing in my ears, I could hear faint sounds of glass continuing to tumble around us, and saw Suzette’s husband gasping for air. Blood spread on the floor around his face, and he gasped again, sucking in air and spitting blood. He pulled one final draw of breath, and then stopped.

“He was coming at me!” Detective Ramiz screamed, “You all saw it! He had his knife in his hand and was coming at me!” Clark stepped over to James and knelt at his side, taking care not to step in the pooling blood. He pressed two fingers to his neck. Clark looked back to us, shaking his head. Suzette’s husband was dead.