2 Last Diner Standing

by Terri L. Austin

  “How are we going to get out of here?” I asked.

  “We’re not,” Sullivan said.

  That’s not what I wanted to hear. I wanted reassurance. Not a death sentence.

  I wished I had time to take a couple of pain relievers before I got abducted. Getting kidnapped sucked balls and my head felt like it would split open like a cantaloupe. Oh my God. Pills. I had pills in my pocket. The Clonazepam.

  My heart pounded, out of fear of getting caught by Mike and excitement that maybe we had a way out. But what if he came back and found me trying to drug his brandy?

  Stupid Rose, what the hell did it matter? He was going to kill us anyway. I’d rather go quickly than with a long, drawn out torture scenario.

  I pushed myself up against the wall, inch by inch. I’d made it to a crouching position, every breath agony in my chest and head.

  “What are you doing, Rose?” Sullivan whispered.

  “I’m going to drug him. Hope this works, because this is all we’ve got.”

  With every ounce of strength I possessed, I pushed up and forced myself to walk to the desk. Tears pricked my eyes from the lightning bolts shooting through my brain with each step. As quickly as I could, I shoved my hand in my pocket, searching for the pills the doctor’s wife gave me. Don’t mix with booze or take on an empty stomach, she’d said. With shaking hands, I unscrewed the brandy cap, fumbled a bit as I quickly broke each pill in half and dropped them into the bottle. I recapped it and gave it a shake before staggering back to the wall, where I allowed myself to collapse.

  Sullivan watched me. “Rose, I want to tell you—”

  The door opened. “All right, let’s make this happen,” Mike said, striding into the office. He glared at me, but I barely lifted my eyes to meet his gaze. “You ready to tell me?”

  I said nothing.

  With agitation Mike grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the top, and chugged the contents. He threw it against the side wall and glass rained down the damp, heat-blistered surface.

  “Okay, we’re going to have to expedite matters.” With a sniff, he pulled out a sheathed knife from his inner pocket. He extracted the long, serrated blade and held it up to the portable light. His eyes met mine. “Ever seen a man gutted?”

  How fast would the pills work? Why wasn’t he calming down? I thought those suckers were for anxiety, but maybe he was too hopped up on adrenalin.

  “I know where the money is,” I blurted out.

  Mike blinked at me. “Oh, do you now? What a coincidence.”

  “Kyle hid it, but I know where it is.”

  He smiled. “Really? Because I did some pretty horrible things to him and he never said a word.” He rubbed his eyes. “This wouldn’t be a ploy, would it? A bid to buy more time?”

  Totally.

  “Sullivan and I will take you to it,” I said.

  He waved the knife in front of his own face. “Unh, unh, unh. I don’t believe you.”

  My eyes flew to Sullivan’s. Blood still ran from his nose and a bruise was forming on his cheek.

  Mike leaned against the desk and rubbed his forehead. “I feel weird.” He took a deep breath and straightened. With halting steps he moved to the desk chair and sank down, dropping the knife. “What were we talking about?”

  “The money,” I said.

  His eyes drifted closed, but then he snapped them open. “The money. I want my money.”

  I sat in silence, waiting to see if the pills were going to put Mike out completely. Nope. He hung onto consciousness.

  “Worked hard for that money. Sheik stole it from me.” He seemed beyond drunk. A nice combination of sedated and wasted.

  Sullivan may be handcuffed, but I wasn’t. This was my chance. I shoved myself to my feet and slowly placed one foot in front of another. I stopped to pick up a long, narrow piece of wood off the floor. Used to be a table leg in its former life. The wet splinters dug into my palm.

  “What are you doing?” Mike asked, his words slurred.

  I took a deep breath, gathered every bit of strength I had, and hit his head as if going for a home run. The sound of the wood on his skull was a sickening thud and I felt the vibration clear up to my shoulders. Mike slouched face down on the desk.

  I stumbled toward him, my makeshift bat at the ready, but he didn’t move. I grabbed the knife and flung it across the room, then dug into Mike’s coat pocket for both his gun and Sullivan’s, which I shoved in my own pockets. I found the handcuff key in his jeans, and step by painful step, made my way toward Sullivan.

  When I unlocked the cuffs, he swiftly rose to his feet and rubbed his wrists. “Is he dead?”

  I glanced over at Mike. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. “No.”

  Sullivan grabbed the wooden scrap from me and raised it above his head to finish what I had started.

  I grabbed his arm. “No.”

  He glared down at me. “I’m going to end this.”

  I shook my head, almost collapsed from the pain stabbing through my temples. “No. Please. I don’t want to decide who lives and who dies. Not this time.”

  He stared at me a moment, then threw down the wood. After he retrieved the Mercedes keys from Mike’s jacket, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the car.

  The next morning, the news repeatedly replayed Mike’s perp walk and the tale of how the crooked cop murdered three people, put one in a coma, and set fire to a local bar.

  Janelle got her fifteen minutes of fame. She was interviewed by every local station and full of ‘I told those fools I was innocent.’ She threatened to sue the police department. Seems the I’m-sorry-we-accused-you-of-assault-and-murder gift basket didn’t quite cut it.

  Sullivan insisted I go to the emergency room. Their conclusion? A mild concussion. Rest and take it easy for a couple of days. Didn’t need a doctor to tell me that.

  At Ma’s insistence, I skipped work the next day. But that night, I let Roxy do what she does best—break into Fit and Flex. I figured if Mike couldn’t find the money in Kyle’s apartment, this was the next logical place.

  Armed with flashlights and Ax fiddling with the alarm code, we snuck into the locker room and cut off seven combination locks until we found the bag of money.

  We did a four way split: Ax, Roxy, Janelle, and me. But we all agreed that Janelle got most of it because of the kids and her legal fees. Which left the rest of us fifteen thousand dollars each. I tried to give my share to Ax for wrecking his car, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Dude, if anyone needs this money, it’s you. Buy a car already,” he said.

  A sound plan, but I needed to pay Sullivan first.

  Axton had retrieved his car from my sister’s house and handed the keys over after our little bout of B & E.

  The next morning before work, I stopped in at Rudy’s Roundup Restaurant. When I walked in the door, Sarah looked shocked to see me and hurried over. “What happened?”

  “I ran into a fist. A few times. Where’s Rudy?” She pointed to his office next to the restrooms. Without knocking, I walked in.

  He glanced up from his desk. “What’re you doing in here?”

  “Listen up,” I said, “because you only get one chance to do the right thing. I know people in this town and if you don’t cut out this breakfast bullshit, I’m going to have you inspected by the health department every week. I’m going to have your license revoked. I’m going to let everyone know that Rudy’s is nothing but a mouse magnet. You’re not going to have a business at all by the time I’m done with you.”

  I wasn’t sure I could pull any of that off, but I figured Sullivan could. And I was already in debt to him, might as well go for broke. Or broker, in my case.

  “You can’t do any of that.”

  I smiled. “All rig
ht. But don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  I turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  I peered at him over my shoulder.

  “Ma would have to give up lunch.”

  “Of course. Right after you apologize.”

  I could see the thoughts chugging through his tiny brain. “Fine. I’m about to lose my staff anyway.”

  I was five minutes late for work. Roxy and Ma scurried around the diner, which was already filling up with customers.

  They forced me to work the counter. And at nine, Officer Hard Ass strode in, his eyes scouring every nook and cranny of the place. With his thumbs hooked in his belt, he sauntered up to the counter.

  “Miss Strickland, is there somewhere we can talk?”

  I sighed. “Sure.” I took him to Ma’s office. I propped my hip on the desk. “What is it? I’ve got customers.”

  “You told me that day at the station to look closer to home to find Crystal Waters’ killer. How did you know about Officer Goedecker?”

  I hadn’t. I’d been talking about Police Chief and stripper connoisseur, Martin Mathers. “Just a hunch.”

  He narrowed his hazel eyes and tried to stare me down. I just let him and refused to get flustered.

  “Well, if you get any more hunches, I’d like a heads up.”

  I finished out my shift and even helped clean up a little. As I sat at the counter, rolling silverware into napkins, Ma got a phone call. When she hung up, she grinned at Roxy and me.

  “That jackass, Rudy, has given up. I win!”

  Roxy and I clapped. Jorge and Ray stepped out of the kitchen.

  “Is lunch over?” Roxy asked.

  “Yeah,” Ma said. “We’re a breakfast diner. It’s worked for almost sixty years, I say we keep it that way.”

  There was much rejoicing.

  I went home and napped. I was exhausted and still sore. Even working the counter had zapped my energy.

  Sullivan woke me up when he dropped by around six with a green wrapped package in his hand. A large bruise covered his jaw and his nose was a tad swollen.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Clay is still gunning for you.”

  “It’s no longer a problem.”

  “What do you mean?” I was scared he’d say the words. I didn’t want to hear them, but I couldn’t bury my head in the sand. Had Sullivan killed Clay?

  “He left town and sold me his business interests. And if he wants to live, he won’t come back.”

  “How?”

  “Henry and I found the recordings of Martin Mathers. And several other items Clay wouldn’t want leaked to the world.”

  I felt my shoulders relax. “Good.” I was just glad that Clay was still breathing. “What about Stuart?”

  “Also gone.” He handed me the package. “Open it.”

  I sat on my futon, but he remained standing, his coat buttoned, a blue scarf wrapped around his neck.

  Out of the rectangular box, I pulled out the softest pair of red leather gloves lined with silk. I stroked them, tried them on and they fit like …well, you know. “Thanks. They’re beautiful.”

  He pocketed his hands. “I’m starting my business back up.”

  I felt a twinge of disappointment. “Okay.”

  “It’s what I do, Rose. It’s who I am.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not changing.”

  I stood. “I never asked you to. You’re a criminal, I get it.”

  He stiffened. “I think of it as being an entrepreneur.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you do. By the way, I have your ten thousand dollars.” I started walking to my freezer, but his voice stopped me.

  “So, you found the money? Good, keep it.”

  I faced him. “No, I owe you.”

  His gold eyes narrowed in irritation. “Why do you have to argue every goddamned point?”

  “I owe you ten thousand dollars for Janelle’s bail and I’m paying you back.”

  “The debt’s clear. I’m not taking your money.”

  I raised a brow. “Why? You don’t forgive loans. That’s not who you are either.”

  He took three steps forward until he stood in front of me. Cradling my face in his hands, he slowly leaned toward me, his eyes on mine. “I can do whatever the hell I want. Besides, it’s Christmas.”

  And then he kissed me.

  Reader’s Discussion Guide

  1. Rose never doubted Janelle’s innocence. Was she right to blindly trust Janelle?

  2. Rose denies feeling guilt over killing her stalker. Do you think Rose is feeling guilty? Why or why not?

  3. Helping Sullivan is as important to Rose as clearing Janelle’s name. What do you think about Rose’s dedication to Sullivan?

  4. Rose isn’t in the Christmas spirit. She claims Janelle’s troubles and the threat to Sullivan are the cause. Do you agree?

  5. Rose develops feelings for Sullivan in spite of the fact he’s a criminal. Should Rose pursue her feelings, knowing what she does about him?

  6. In spite of Rose’s difficult relationship with her mother, was she right to dismiss her mother’s behavior at the Christmas party? How would you have handled the situation?

  7. Rose is willing to ask for help for her friends, but not herself. Does Rose’s pride get in the way of her own well-being?

  8. Did Rose do the right thing by putting herself in debt to Sullivan in order to help Janelle?

  9. Should Rose have accepted her sister’s offer of a car? What is the difference between accepting Axton’s loan of a car and her sister’s offer?

  10. Tariq sells stolen goods out of his car, Roxy is adept at breaking and entering, and Sullivan is a criminal. Do you view Rose as a moral character? How does she justify the illegal actions of her friends?

  11. Do you agree with Rose’s final decision at the end of the book? What would you do if your life was threatened?

  About Terri L. Austin

  When Terri isn’t writing, she enjoys eating breakfast at her local diner, watching really bad movies, and hanging out with her kids when they’re home from college. She lives in Missouri with her funny, handsome husband and her high maintenance peekapoo. Visit Terri at www.terrilaustin.com to see what’s next or drop her an email (terri@terrilaustin.com), she loves to hear from readers!

  The Rose Strickland Mystery Series

  Book One:

  As a struggling waitress and part-time college student, Rose Strickland’s life is stalled in the slow lane. But when her close friend, Axton, disappears, Rose suddenly finds herself serving up more than hot coffee and flapjacks. Now she’s hashing it out with sexy bad guys and scrambling to find clues in a race to save Axton before his time runs out.

  With her anime-loving bestie, her septuagenarian boss, and a pair of IT wise men along for the ride, Rose discovers political corruption, illegal gambling, and shady corporations. She’s gone from zero to sixty and quickly learns when you’re speed-ing down the fast lane, it’s easy to crash and burn.

  Available Now

  For more details, visit www.henerypress.com

  In Halo, Georgia, folks know Cherry Tucker as big in mouth, small in stature, and able to sketch a portrait faster than buck-shot rips from a ten gauge -- but commissions are scarce. So when the well-heeled Branson family wants to memorialize their murdered son in a coffin portrait, Cherry scrambles to win their patronage from her small town rival.

  As the clock ticks toward the deadline, Cherry faces more trouble than just a controversial subject. Between ex-boyfriends, her flaky family, an illegal gambling ring, and outwitting a killer on a spree, Cherry finds herself painted into a corner she’ll be lucky to survive.

  Available Now

 
For more details, visit www.henerypress.com

  Private Investigator Liz Talbot is a modern Southern belle: she blesses hearts and takes names. She carries her Sig 9 in her Kate Spade handbag, and her golden retriever, Rhett, rides shotgun in her hybrid Escape. When her grandmother is murdered, Liz high-tails it back to her South Carolina island home to find the killer.

  She’s fit to be tied when her police-chief brother shuts her out of the investigation, so she opens her own. Then her long-dead best friend pops in and things really get complicated. When more folks start turning up dead in this small seaside town, Liz must use more than just her wits and charm to keep her family safe, chase down clues from the hereafter, and catch a psychopath before he catches her.

  Available Now

  For more details, visit www.henerypress.com

  Former US Army JAG specialist, Faith Hunter, returns to her West Virginia home to work in her grandmothers’ scrapbook-ing store determined to lead an unassuming life after her ad-venture abroad turned disaster. But her quiet life unravels when her friend is charged with murder – and Faith inadvert-ently supplied the evidence. So Faith decides to cut through the scrap and piece together what really happened.

  With a sexy prosecutor, a determined homicide detective, a handful of sticky suspects and a crop contest gone bad, Faith quickly realizes if she’s not careful, she’ll be the next one cropped.