Spoiler
Read part 1 first.
II – A run in with Rafa and the cowboy
It was only a few steps, but by the time I got to the door my lungs itched as if I was breathing in lint. Inside, the diner had a few customers scattered about but it was much quieter than usual. To my surprise Joe himself was in, though he wasn’t behind the counter. He sat with a group of truckers, downing coffee and eating eggs. As he spoke, he tilted his head forward and pointed at them with the tip of his knife. I ordered a coffee and a hot chocolate for Janey and while I waited, I shifted into earshot, listening to the knot of truckers.
"You going to make it back for game seven," the biggest one was saying with a southern drawl.
"Ah I don't mind if I miss it, only got to get a load to Portland by Tuesday and I can listen to the game on the way back," replied another, " You catch the game yesterday? Top of the ninth Met's 9 Cards 7, two outs and that rookie, Cavalho, was at the plate. He had a couple at first and third. He swung at two then, I tell you he got hold of that third one, put it out of the park. Card's win ten - nine."
The other's whistled their admiration then each took a gulp from their mugs. They continued talking baseball and I tuned out.
Joe looked up and caught me working over the weather conundrum.
“Ross, my old friend, have a seat and grab some food.”
“Hey Joe, I’ve got my girl out in the car so I've just grabbed something to go.”
“Oh that’s not such a great idea, I just had a road worker in and he’s gone up to shut off Little Rock Road, and by the looks of it they will shut off all the roads for now.”
“Here you are, Mr. Stone, would you like to add a muffin to the coffee for 99 cents?”
I realised it was Sarah Griffin, a local girl who baby-sat once when Tara and I went south for her father’s funeral.
“Oh, no, it’s fine Sarah. Can you tell me what the time is?”
She glanced down at the cash register, then looked up with the same expression she had probably given every other customer that morning.
“It’s ten-to-eight.”
I went to move to the door. That’s when it started.
The door was yanked open. Rafa, our gardener, stumbled into the diner. I found my eyes centre on his, and I got the feeling I wasn’t alone. The fog eddied into the diner for a moment then the door swung back. The white of his eye was full of blood and his mouth flapped like a landed trout.
“Rafa?” I said, edging closer with my hands out. His eyes darted about, then the settled on me. He looked like the sex offender mugshots you see tacked up power poles in livid suburbs. Beware: this man. With lewd indifference in the eyes, looped in sleepless bruise.
He retreated slowly still watching me, now with a heavy suspicious brow and eyes moving to anything that gave a sudden move. It was silent, there was a family down one corner, and the truckers sat still awkwardly eyeing Rafa. In a booth, a young couple who were necking and laughing a moment ago now silently held each other.
“Rafa, are you okay?”
Sweat started in his catfish moustache. Then he turned through the door and into the dark mist. He may have only traveled a yard before his limbs disappeared. His red shirt hovered ghostlike and a second later, he was gone.
Nobody spoke. An urge washed over me, as though I had woken in a burning room. I needed to hold Janey. I rushed out. Through the door with a hand over my mouth. There she was, the belt still holding her up. I opened the door, unclipped her and she came effortlessly into my arms. She stirred a little, and clung to my neck as she sucked the thumb of her free hand. People still didn’t speak when we got back inside. The trucker with the brick red forearms at last mustered words.
“Damn drunken Mexican.” He didn’t get the reception he expected and his dopey grin quickly disappeared.
Conversation barely restarted. It was silent and everything seemed still. The parents of the family talked with serious faces occasionally glancing back over to the door. The couple were still tight in each other’s arms not quite smiling. The truckers went back to baseball talk but they spoke slowly and glanced out at the fog like TV static. I was happy to sit down, have my coffee and some pancakes and wait.
Sarah, the babysitter, took my order and she smiled at Janey, who was dozing off again. I found a seat and noticed one person tucked into the adjacent booth, who had apparently been unfazed by Rafa’s catatonia. He was a man with a curled white moustache and under the brim of a white cowboy’s hat sat brilliant blue eyes. I’m not sure what was in the flask on the table but whatever it was, it was going down smooth, in unflinching mouthfuls. He didn’t meet my gaze as I carried Janey by, just took another swig with a sullen look.
Janey started her hot chocolate, then slipped back to sleep, with my thigh as her pillow. I felt the cowboy’s brilliant blue eyes sharpen on me. I downed the pancakes quickly without looking up and sat a while; the fog was too thick to go anywhere anymore so we would stay until it cleared.
I noticed a clock on the far wall. It was 8:15 and still black as midnight out there. I could have dozed off with Janey on my lap. But something kept me awake. It may have been the staring cowboy or perhaps it was the scene reeling over from my dreams, the dinghy and Janey’s eyes filled with terror, her piercing cry. I wouldn’t fall asleep, not here.
The cowboy shuffled to the edge of his booth, he glanced over and tipped his hat with his index finger.
I suddenly realised what was in the flask; his breath carried the pungent trademark scent of whiskey.
“Hello Mr. Stone.”
Spoiler
Next topic87439.html
