The Diner at the End of His Life.
He stood there in the shadows, the gleam of both deadly barrels catching the wax-light in the diner.
“Alright mister. Geez. I’ll tell ya.” The Cook, and owner of the establishment, was down on his knees behind the bar, with his hands raised. Grease stains and cigarette smoke masked his intentions.
“Go on.” The dark stranger holding the shotgun rasped, as if breathing in through his neck.
“Yeah, I saw her. She got out of a truck. Seemed like she was hitch-hiking before she got here.”
“Did she say anything to anyone?”
“She thanked the man who drove her. Came in, used a pay phone, and ordered a Coke. She spent some time out of sight. Probably in the bathroom.”
“Is that all?”
“She asked directions to Phoenix. She seemed to know about the fork up ahead, and I told her she needed to take the left exit. That the city was only about seventy more miles. She smiled and began walking.”
“Get up.”
The Cook, straining under his own weight, stood slowly. His hands still raised.
“Sit at the bar.”
He took the long way around, not wanting to get closer to the stranger than he needed to.
“Tell me, what did she look like?” The shadow lowered his gun.
“Just like the photo, only older.”
“Answer the damn question! What was she like?”
“She was tall.”
“Go on!”
“Long legged. Blond. Well dressed. Quiet.”
“What else?”
“She had a bag with her.”
“She had a bag.” The man in the shadows nearly choked on his words. Wet and laborious, he seemed relieved.
“Yeah.” The Cook gave him a cautious glance.
“Good.”
“She seemed eager to get to where she was going.”
“Like she was meeting someone?”
“Sure. Yeah. I mean, I really don’t know.”
“No?” He raised the gun again, pointing at the Cook with emphasis.
At that moment a rugged utility van pulled into the parking lot; its lights shining briefly into the diner, tires grating on the gravel drive. Seizing the moment the Cook leaped from his seat at the bar to wrestle the gun from his captor.
“Walter,” the man in the shadows stepped forward a little. The air shimmered around his form. Where he ones had leather shoes and slacks his legs were scaly with hooves. From the darkness dipped one black wing; barbed and gnarled. “Take my gun.”
Walter, the cook, stopped his charge and came forward to take the gun. Several young adults exited the van and began talking loudly amongst themselves as the approached the Diner.
“Walter, you have done well. But your time here is over.”
Walters skin became flushed, red and ripe. His eyes bulged and tears streamed down his face. He made no sound, but nodded in stifle compliance.
The bell above the door rang. The first to enter was a waif of a woman in her early twenties. She halted and swept her copper hair out of her face as she stood in confusion the others nearly toppling her over.
Walter sit up on the bar. His apron balled up on the counter next to him, he rocked and nursed the shotgun deeper into his mouth.
Before the tiniest utterance could escape her lips Walter left this world. The gathering of stranger cringed at the sound of the gun going off. Looking like a mess of Strawberry Rhubarb pie, the tatters of his head now adorned the walls and the ceiling.
Spreading his gnarled wings to the moon, the hoofed stranger nodded in approval.
“I will return for you Walter, when the time is right. For now, watch, observe. And learn of all that goes on in this town.”
One of the male travelers hopped over the counter to the phone on the wall, while another comforted the two girls that were with them. While the first spoke to the operator a headless apparition stood near the body of Walter. Unseen by the others, it stared in sadness at what had become of its life. With little more to do, it walked through the front of the diner, materializing on the other side of the glass. With little thought it began walking into town; most likely to observe its going-ons as instructed.
There was never a trace of the winged, shadowy stranger.
“Alright mister. Geez. I’ll tell ya.” The Cook, and owner of the establishment, was down on his knees behind the bar, with his hands raised. Grease stains and cigarette smoke masked his intentions.
“Go on.” The dark stranger holding the shotgun rasped, as if breathing in through his neck.
“Yeah, I saw her. She got out of a truck. Seemed like she was hitch-hiking before she got here.”
“Did she say anything to anyone?”
“She thanked the man who drove her. Came in, used a pay phone, and ordered a Coke. She spent some time out of sight. Probably in the bathroom.”
“Is that all?”
“She asked directions to Phoenix. She seemed to know about the fork up ahead, and I told her she needed to take the left exit. That the city was only about seventy more miles. She smiled and began walking.”
“Get up.”
The Cook, straining under his own weight, stood slowly. His hands still raised.
“Sit at the bar.”
He took the long way around, not wanting to get closer to the stranger than he needed to.
“Tell me, what did she look like?” The shadow lowered his gun.
“Just like the photo, only older.”
“Answer the damn question! What was she like?”
“She was tall.”
“Go on!”
“Long legged. Blond. Well dressed. Quiet.”
“What else?”
“She had a bag with her.”
“She had a bag.” The man in the shadows nearly choked on his words. Wet and laborious, he seemed relieved.
“Yeah.” The Cook gave him a cautious glance.
“Good.”
“She seemed eager to get to where she was going.”
“Like she was meeting someone?”
“Sure. Yeah. I mean, I really don’t know.”
“No?” He raised the gun again, pointing at the Cook with emphasis.
At that moment a rugged utility van pulled into the parking lot; its lights shining briefly into the diner, tires grating on the gravel drive. Seizing the moment the Cook leaped from his seat at the bar to wrestle the gun from his captor.
“Walter,” the man in the shadows stepped forward a little. The air shimmered around his form. Where he ones had leather shoes and slacks his legs were scaly with hooves. From the darkness dipped one black wing; barbed and gnarled. “Take my gun.”
Walter, the cook, stopped his charge and came forward to take the gun. Several young adults exited the van and began talking loudly amongst themselves as the approached the Diner.
“Walter, you have done well. But your time here is over.”
Walters skin became flushed, red and ripe. His eyes bulged and tears streamed down his face. He made no sound, but nodded in stifle compliance.
The bell above the door rang. The first to enter was a waif of a woman in her early twenties. She halted and swept her copper hair out of her face as she stood in confusion the others nearly toppling her over.
Walter sit up on the bar. His apron balled up on the counter next to him, he rocked and nursed the shotgun deeper into his mouth.
Before the tiniest utterance could escape her lips Walter left this world. The gathering of stranger cringed at the sound of the gun going off. Looking like a mess of Strawberry Rhubarb pie, the tatters of his head now adorned the walls and the ceiling.
Spreading his gnarled wings to the moon, the hoofed stranger nodded in approval.
“I will return for you Walter, when the time is right. For now, watch, observe. And learn of all that goes on in this town.”
One of the male travelers hopped over the counter to the phone on the wall, while another comforted the two girls that were with them. While the first spoke to the operator a headless apparition stood near the body of Walter. Unseen by the others, it stared in sadness at what had become of its life. With little more to do, it walked through the front of the diner, materializing on the other side of the glass. With little thought it began walking into town; most likely to observe its going-ons as instructed.
There was never a trace of the winged, shadowy stranger.