I stand there, absolutely shocked. Did I just get fired because this rich bitch told me off when it was completely undeserved? Did I just lose my job because Jimmy’s a megalomaniac and wants to crush me? How did a tiny mix-up over salad dressing get me a pink slip?
I want to give them both the middle finger and storm out without a care in the world. I want to take off this ridiculous uniform and burn it, smirking while it goes up in ash. But the thing is that I can’t afford to lose this job. It’s the only one that pays me ten dollars base plus tips. Other diners around here do seven or eight, and unfortunately, the lost wage really adds up. Plus, I spent thirty bucks to buy this ridiculous silver lamé outfit, and what am I going to do with it if I no longer work at the Silver Star? I open my mouth to protest, but Jimmy’s turned back to me with ice in his stare.
“Did you hear me?” the fat man huffs. “Get your stuff from your locker and scram. Otherwise, there might not be a last paycheck for you,” he threatens. Of course, the blonde lady is looking on with satisfaction while toying with her fork.
“I knew HR here was good,” she says in a charming drawl. “But I didn’t know it was that good.”
Jimmy’s about to smile at his new best friend when suddenly the door bangs open and a couple of masked men appear in the entrance.
“This is a hold-up,” one says in a low, raspy voice. “Put your hands where I can see them. No one’s leaving here. Do it. NOW!”
I gasp, all thoughts of food, weight, customer service, and Jimmy pushed out of my mind. The Silver Star is being robbed … and my life is in danger.
Chapter 2
Gemma
This can’t be happening. I stand there, frozen in place, as what seems like a dozen mask men swarm the Silver Star. To his credit, Jimmy is a blur of motion instead of a block of ice like me.
“Oh my god!” he squeals like a pig while making a dash for the cash register. “Oh my god, oh my god! We’re going to be killed!”
It shows where my manager’s priorities are. He’s already got one meaty fist in the cash drawer when one of the black-masked men comes up to him.
“Stop,” the masked man hisses. “Put your hands up.”
Jimmy’s sweating bullets and his face is red and puffy.
“I was getting the money to give to you,” he babbles tearily. “I swear! I wasn’t going to take it for myself or anything.”
That makes no sense whatsoever, and the masked man agrees. He jerks his head and says, “On your knees.”
Jimmy’s chin trembles and he looks like he’s about to cry. His hands waver in the air and as I watch, horrified, one big tear rolls down his nose before dropping off the tip.
“Oh my!” he wails. “Oh, what’s going to become of us?”
This is weird. He sounds like a damsel in distress from a Shakespearean play, rather than the rat bastard that I know he is. But the masked man isn’t amused at all.
“On your knees,” he growls again.
This time, Jimmy listens. Even as tears roll down his face, he tries to lower himself to his knees with both hands on his head. But that’s the problem. Jimmy’s about a hundred pounds overweight, and instead of sinking gracefully to his knees, he trembles for a moment and then falls in a clumsy heap on the floor.
“Oh!” he cries in a high, panicked voice. “Oh my! My knee! I have weak knees- Ahhhhh!” he screams.
Because this gunman is a madman. Instead of giving my manager a well-deserved kick or a blow to the head with the butt of his weapon, instead the gunman takes aim and then shoots. He’s blown Jimmy’s kneecap and my boss is now squirming on the floor in a pile of wobbly flesh while grabbing at his knee.
“My kneeeee!” he screams in agony. “My knee!”
The blood pooling beneath him is horrendous. It’s dark red and seems to grow exponentially larger as I watch, becoming a small lake on the diner floor.
“My kneeee!” Jimmy screams again. “I’m dying!”
Clearly, someone who’s screaming, “I’m dying,” is probably not dying. But I can sympathize with my boss even if he’s been absolutely horrible to me. No one deserves to be shot in the knee, even if they’re mean to their reports and unnecessarly cruel. So I run over to the gunman as he takes aim again.
“Please!” I gasp, kneeling beside my boss as he cries in agony. “He’s just a big baby! Take pity on someone who’s only a child!”
The gunman snorts and raises his piece again, taking aim once more. This time, it’s at Jimmy’s head. Fearing the worst, I throw myself over the trembling pile of flesh that’s my manager, shielding him with my body.
“Please!” I whimper again. “He’s nothing more than a child. Surely you can’t be so cruel as to shoot a child.”
The gunman doesn’t seem moved at all. In fact, I can practically see his finger pulling down on the trigger, and time seems to stop as my life plays out in slow motion before my eyes. What have I done with myself? Who’s important to me? Who do I love? The answers to these questions are scary. For one, I’ve done nothing of import. I’m a waitress working full-time at a diner with hopes of saving enough to get into community college one day. I live in a drab apartment that’s seen better days, but it’s the only thing I can afford. My sole companion is a tomcat, Henry, who’s seen better days too. He’s old and scratched up, with half of one ear missing, and seems content to lay on my couch and nap when he’s not eating the cat chow which I can barely afford. As to people, there aren’t many folks who’d notice if I disappeared one day. I’m an orphan, and I suppose the person who means the most to me in life is Mamie. The elderly black lady is my only true friend, and the only person who cares if I live or die.
As I lie crouched over Jimmy, shielding him with my body, Mamie stares at me from the kitchen window.
“You’s go!” she waves wildly. “Go go go!” she mimes.
What? What is she talking about? But it’s all too clear. Mamie doesn’t want me sacrificing myself for a lump like Jimmy. My manager doesn’t deserve it, especially after the way he’s treated me.
But I can’t leave him like this. Again, Jimmy’s probably one of the few people in the world who’d notice if I didn’t show up one day, and besides, no one deserves to die like this. So I hunch over his portly form again, ready to meet death if that’s what Fate has determined. My eyes close, and I begin to dream of a better future. Days where I’m not scrimping and saving every penny I’ve got. Days where I wake up on a bed of clouds, instead of my lumpy, stained mattress. Days where Henry has enough to eat, and doesn’t stay up all night yowling from hunger. The rainbow of dreams has already taken over my mind when suddenly a low voice interrupts my reverie.
“You stupid fuck,” the new voice says to the gunman. “What the fuck is wrong with you? We were told to take their shit, not to kill people. Killing people is Murder One. You ready to sit on death row over someone like this?” he says, gesturing to me and Jimmy huddled on the floor.
“Aw man!” the gunman whines, dropping the muzzle away from us. I let out a relieved sigh even as Jimmy vomits beneath me. The stress has gotten to my manager and he’s not doing well. There’s blood pooling beneath us, and I can almost see it pulsing from his leg. The bullet must have hit something important, and Jimmy’s bleeding out.
Before I can think, I’m speaking.
“Take him to the hospital,” I say. “If you don’t want Murder One, then get him to the hospital now. Otherwise, this is on you,” I say fiercely, turning to the gunman.
He squints at me from behind the black balaclava and lets out another whine.
“Aw, man!” he says. “Shit, this has all gone south so fast.”
But I’m serious.
“He’s bleeding out,” I say with urgency in my voice. “Use your eyes. You can see the blood pulsing from his vein or artery or whatever. He’s going to be dead in minutes if you don’t get him to a hospital. Pick him up and go now!”
Even I’m stunned by the confidence in my voice. Never have I
heard myself be so pushy and convincing. Usually, it’s the other way around – I’m the one who’s begging for external affirmation, instead of believing in myself. But my words are true. As the gunman turn to look it’s obvious that Jimmy’s in big trouble. Dark red, almost purple blood is pulsing from his wound in time with his heartbeats. He’s ashen and limp as his life slips away, and even the whines and whimpers from his throat have stopped. Jimmy’s close to death and there’s no denying it.
“NOW!” I practically scream, and that does the trick. The masked men jump into action, and two of them lift Jimmy by the arms while the leader surveys the scene.
“Come on, go, go, go,” he says, pushing the glass door open. “We’ll dump this loser off at the nearest hospital and then get back to base. Come on!” he says.
I stand there as my manager’s hauled across the restaurant floor, streaming blood the entire way. Our customers are stock still and ashen, watching with wide eyes as this scene plays out before them.
“Shouldn’t we take the cash?” one guy whines, gesturing to the open cash register. “Since we’re here, we might as well.”
The boss merely shakes his gun in the air.
“Don’t be so fucking greedy,” he says. “Let’s go!” he yells before letting off a bullet that slams into the ceiling. The guests and staff alike jump, and we huddle again in place, praying for this nightmare to be over.
The glass front door bangs shut, and I hunch in place with my head down. Are they gone? Are we safe now? I can hear sirens in the distance. Oh good, Mamie must have called 9-1-1 as that business with Jimmy went down.
But to my horror, as I’m just about to sit up, a big hand grabs me by the shoulder roughly.
“Come on,” it hisses. “You’re coming too.”
With that, I’m dragged off and hurled into a van before the door slams ominously. We race off into the distance as I stare around in the dimly lit interior. Why have they kidnapped me? Where are we going? More importantly … will I live to tell the tale?
Chapter 3
Gemma
The van squeals as it takes a turn on two wheels.
“Oh my god!” I scream. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”
There are no seats in the back, and I’m forced to brace myself against the vehicle’s metal walls as we’re tossed around carelessly. The masked men laugh, and one of them pulls his balaclava off, revealing an ugly smile with two missing front teeth.
“To the hospital, girlie,” he sneers. “That’s where you wanted to go, right?”
I stare at him even as we go over a huge bump, making me hit my elbow painfully. Yes, I said we should go to the hospital, and it becomes even more clear as Jimmy lets out a grunt of pain from the hard jostle.
“Jimmy are you okay?” I say in a panicked tone, shaking him by the shoulder. “Wake up! Don’t pass out. You’re suffering from blood loss. Stay with me, stay with me!”
The other masked men pull off their balaclavas, revealing an ugly array of unwashed, dirty criminals. All of them have yellowing teeth, beady eyes, and evil smiles that promise of a nightmare come true.
“You said hospital,” one remarks as we go over another bump. My head almost hits the ceiling of the van this time. “This was all your idea.”
“My idea?” I shriek I protest. “It’s because you have a dying man on your hands! Do you want to go down for Murder One?”
One of the guys shrugs.
“Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck. Johnnie’s the one who shot him.”
The man who must have been the one who hurt Jimmy shrugs as well.
“I don’t care either,” he says. “I was using Tommy’s gun, so who says it was me? We all look the same on camera.”
That’s right! There are video cameras at the Silver Star that must have recorded everything, from when these criminals first stepped in through the door to every detail of the shooting. They’re going to jail, for sure. I press my lips together, determined to hang tight. The police will find me. Maisie called 9-1-1 and it’s only a matter of time before law enforcement’s on our tail.
Suddenly, the driver turns back to look at us.
“How do we get to the hospital?” he demands. “Where is that fucking place?”
The men stare at each other, befuddled.
“GPS doesn’t say?” asks one.
“I can’t use fucking GPS!” screams the driver back. “It just gives them another way to track us! How many black vans do you think are hurtling through the streets of Vegas right now? The hospital, goddamn it! Where is it?”
That’s when the leader turns on me.
“Tell him,” he hisses. “That’s why we brought you. Fucking billionaires, they don’t tell you anything,” he says with disgust.
What the hell? What billionaires? These guys definitely are not billionaires, given their unshaven, grimy appearances, and the fact that they just did a stick-em-up at the local diner. What billionaire would do that? Plus, it’s not like they even took the cash. The only thing they’re making off with is a fat, injured man and a waitress in a stained, bloody uniform.
I press my lips together, determined not to speak. But then Jimmy lets out another moan, and I swear, he’s even more pale if possible. The florid color is gone from his cheeks and he looks like death warmed over.
“Please,” he gasps. “Please Gem.”
Fuck this. My chin snaps up and I look the driver in the eye.
“Left on Roosevelt,” I say, craning my head to see out the windshield. “Go two blocks, then a right onto Mary, then a left onto Garland. All the way up for another few blocks, and you’ll see it on the left.”
The driver puts his foot to the metal, and we speed off, hanging on for dear lives as the van makes another screeching left.
“My knee!” mutters Jimmy. “Oh god.”
“You’re going to have a lot more problems than your knee if you don’t shut up,” grunts the driver. “Come on, faster, faster! He’s bleeding all over the van! Who the fuck’s gonna clean this up once this is over?”
But fortunately, after a few more squealing turns, the vehicle pulls into the hospital’s circular driveaway and the guys pull their masks down over their faces once more. The double doors in back bang open, and my kidnappers literally roll Jimmy over and over until he falls out of the van and onto the pavement in a painful, bloody heap. The doors slam shut once more, and one guy screams, “Come on! Let’s go! Go, go, go!”
Once more, the van leaps to life with a jolt and we’re speeding down the roads of Vegas again.
I look dumbly at my captors.
“Is that what you do with injured men?” I ask in a dead voice. “You dump them at the local hospital? What if no one finds him for a few minutes? You know he’s dead.”
It’s the wrong thing to say because suddenly, something strikes me on the face, and I fall to the floor, gasping with pain. A white light flashes before my eyes and stinging pain jolts straight from my cheek to my brain, making it difficult to think.
“Unnnh,” is my ugly groan. “Ouch.”
“Fuck you,” says the guy who hit me. “Someone shut this bitch up.”
As my eyes smart, another man stuffs a gag in my mouth and ties my hands behind my back. The pain is still making my vision blurry, and I’m limp like a rag. The van jolts over another bump and I groan again, hardly able to believe this is happening to me. After all, I thought today was going to be a normal day. Nothing new, nothing exciting. Instead, I’ve been kidnapped, beaten, and my boss was shot in the knee before we dumped him off at the local infirmary. Plus, the men are now jabbering on nervously about some billionaire this, and some billionaire that. What billionaires? Are they out of their minds? Clearly, they must be some lowlifes hired to do a hit that’s gone wrong. The only problem is … now that their plans are completely out of whack, what’s going to happen to me?
Chapter 4
Gemma
After what seems like hours, the van finally grinds
to a halt. Dizzy with pain, I sit up a bit and crane my head, trying to see out the front windshield. Instead, all that gets me is another whack to the head.
“Unnh,” I grunt through the gag. “Rrrfff.”
“Shut up,” says my attacker. “You’re nothing but a fucking gash.”
The men have since taken their masks off again, and suddenly, one of them pops the back door open, letting in a glaring ray of sunlight. It’s hard to believe that the robbery, assault, and kidnapping all happened in the bright light of day, but there you go. Clearly, this crew isn’t afraid of being caught.
One of the men grabs my elbow and drags me out of the van, my knees and elbows getting scraped along the way.
“Rrrrh!” I protest.
“Shut up,” he snarls before jerking me to my feet. The bright glare of sunlight makes me squint and I look around, expecting to see … well, I’m not sure what. I suppose I expected a clubhouse of some type with a pirate flag and some skulls on bloody spikes for good measure. But instead, I see a diner called Sal’s. It’s really normal looking, with a faded blue awning and deserted parking lot. It looks like the type of place you might go for brunch with your family.
But then I look more closely and see that in fact, there don’t appear to be any people inside. There are no cars in the parking lot either. Other than the cement structure and the black asphalt sizzling in the desert heat, there’s no one here but us. It’s just acres and acres of sand all around. Where the hell are we? It’s the middle of nowhere. But who comes to a diner in the middle of nowhere? Wouldn’t Sal’s be better off located near some gas stations and maybe a highway entrance?
Claiming Her At the Bar Page 2
