Chapter 6 - Midnight at Carmichael's
The neon sign above Carmichael's Diner buzzed with its familiar, dying rhythm as Mave pushed open the front glass door. The familiar wave of frying grease, stale cigarette smoke, and roasted coffee hit her senses.
It was peak midnight rush. Truckers barked orders from the counter, the jukebox was playing a scratchy country tune, and the smell of cherry pie hung heavy in the air.
Mave walked straight behind the counter, tying her apron tight. "You're twenty minutes late, Mave," grumbled Sal, the greasy-haired cook, flipping a burger with a well-worn spatula. "Tables four and six are screaming for coffee."
"Traffic was murder, Sal," Mave tossed back smoothly, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She scanned the room. Table four was occupied by a pair of exhausted long-haul drivers. But table six—the dark corner booth near the back emergency exit—was occupied by a single man.
Henderson.
He was a thick-necked brute wearing a heavy wool peacoat thrown over the back of the vinyl booth, a scar running down the left side of his jaw. He was stabbing at a plate of scrambled eggs with a silver fork, his eyes darting around the diner with paranoid alertness.
Mave took a deep breath, grabbed a fresh pot of coffee, and walked steadily across the checkered linoleum.
"Refill, hon?" she asked, putting on her best tired-waitress smile as she approached table six.
Henderson grunted, sliding his mug forward without looking up. "Keep it coming, kid. Long night."
As she poured the steaming black liquid into his cup, Mave let her order pad slip from her hand, sliding off the table and dropping directly onto the floor beneath the bench seat, right next to Henderson's heavy peacoat.
"Oops, clumsy me," she muttered, dropping to her knees.
She ducked beneath the table, her hands moving with lightning speed. She felt along the deep interior pocket of the wool coat. Her fingers brushed cold metal, slick plastic, and finally—a small, rectangular electronic fob with a blinking blue LED light.
She gripped it, carefully sliding it free from the pocket just as Henderson shifted his weight above her.
"Everything alright down there, kid?" Henderson's voice rumbled, dangerously close.
May you like
"Just picking up my life choices, mister," Mave replied smoothly from beneath the table.
She slid backward out from the booth, tucking the fob securely into the deep front pocket of her apron. She gave Henderson a sweet, empty smile, grabbed her coffee pot, and walked straight toward the back exit leading to the alley.
