|
|
|
Closing Time At The Red Ball Café by Christine A. Verstraete
Finally, with the last customer gone, Gina locked the front door, dimmed the lights and dusted the old appliances behind the counter before she went back to doing the payroll.
When the bathroom door opened, she gaped in disbelief at the emerging figure––the dishwasher who'd left her last year in the middle of a rush without any clean plates.
"Ray? Ray Alton? How'd you get in?"
"I hid in the john." He stepped from the shadows, revealing the .22 in his hand. "That's the least of your damn problems. Sit down."
Her eyes narrowed, Gina noted his slurred speech, shaky hands and the odor of stale beer. She sat at the counter.
"You remembered I do payroll on Wednesdays? I still don't go to the bank until tomorrow either."
He shrugged, then pulled up a chair. "Chanced it. Thought you'd wise up, switch your schedule, but ya didn't." He glanced around. "This dump hasn't changed. You got the same people?"
“Same crew. Joe still cooks, Tillie waitresses, oh, and there's Mack.”
Darn, she shouldn't have said that. Gina ignored the question in Ray’s eyes. How could she get rid of him?
"Look, I've had a good week. There's money in the safe. You want a bag?"
Ray glared from half-hooded eyes; his hand absentmindedly caressed the gun. He looked tired, but Gina knew he wasn't so incapacitated that she'd escape him that easily. Not when he was armed.
A banging sound began in the kitchen.
"What’s that?" Ray asked. He jumped to his feet, then staggered forward. "I thought everybody left. Who's this guy Mack?" He swayed, then plopped back in the chair.
Gina prayed for quiet. "They did leave. Mack? He helps me sometimes." She jabbered on, ignoring Ray's look of confusion. "Ignore the noise. The heater acts up. Someday I'll get a new one."
He yawned. "Whatever. Bag the dough, and gimme a coffee."
He seemed less uneasy. Gina decided that if she was going to do anything, now was the time.
"Decaf or regular? I've got amaretto, vanilla or mocha cappuccino. You like iced coffee? Tea? There's Earl Grey, black pekoe, oolong…."
His eyes drooped further. The gun lying in his limp hand made her nervous. Gina fought the urge to grab for it.
She stepped forward, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaked against the heavily waxed floor tiles. Ray suddenly bolted from his seat, waving the gun at her as if she were a video game target.
She gasped and attempted to defuse the situation. "Ray, why don't you wait to point that thing at me until after you've had my coffee, huh? Come sit at the counter."
"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled. "Regular, cream and sugar."
The clock ticked past midnight. Gina laughed sourly. She'd left her cell phone in the car. The push button phone was in the cabinet since it didn't fit the decor.
Gina realized that short of knocking Ray out with that heavy chrome-plated mixer, she’d have to find another way out––and quick.
Her heart pounding, she watched him sit down, then hurried behind the scarred counter. She took out two plates with thick slices of apple pie and chocolate cake from the small fridge. She set the desserts before him and filled the coffee cups.
"Take your pick, made fresh this morning."
Ray's fork stabbed the largest piece of cake. His mouth full, he studied the numerous appliances.
"Good cake. I never realized all the old stuff you had. Must be worth something, huh?"
Gina controlled her anger. "It means more to me than anyone else."
"It opened after the war."
She froze when the banging in the back of the kitchen started again. Ray arched his eyebrows. The pounding abruptly stopped.
"Pa got hit with shrapnel," she continued. "He couldn't go back to the factory. The diner was the answer. He and Ma loved running it."
“What’s with the name anyway?"
Smiling, Gina reached for the coffeepot. "You know, this coffee's overcooked. I've got something better. Want to try it?"
He shrugged. "I don’t care, sure."
“I need to get a can from the kitchen cooler."
“I'll give you to twenty,” he said. “Hurry it up."
As he counted, Gina pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, then ran to the cooler at the far end of the room. She grabbed a can of premium coffee from inside, her fingers grazing the giant ham bone Joe had saved for soup. She took that, too.
She paused in front of the former storage area, now her office. She held her breath, slipped open the door, and slid the bone inside. She checked that the lock didn't catch, then raced back to the dining room.
"About time," Ray said.
Gina grabbed the electric can opener. "This thing's older than me, but mother insisted, 'if it works, we use it.'"
She clicked the lever. Nothing happened. She checked the wall socket, it was plugged in. With a shrug, she pulled the hand-crank opener from the drawer.
Ray shoved her aside, grabbed the opener, and attached it to the can. "I'll do it."
There was a loud squeak as he slowly twisted the key-style opener. The can opened with a whoosh, the air filled with the strong aroma of Colombian coffee.
Ray frowned when the banging started again. "Cry-eye. Don't you have anything new or--?"
The door to the kitchen burst open. Ray screamed as the giant German Shepherd lunged at him.
"Good boy, stay." Gina smiled at how Mack hovered over Ray's prone body on the floor.
"You asked about the Red Ball Café's name? Our first dog Mack loved playing with a red bowling ball."
Gina opened the cabinet, pulled out the phone and punched in 911.
"Mom hated to get rid of anything if it was useful," she said. "Like that can opener. It's old, squeaky and drives this Mack crazy. He comes running whenever I use it.”
THE END Christine A. Verstraete © 2007 |
