by Cassia Leo
Corgie himself finally pushed through a pair of swinging red doors and sat down opposite her.
“Name?” he asked.
So much for small-town manners. “Stella Ashton.”
“Experience?” His small black eyes bore straight into her.
She stared at his grease-smeared apron instead. “Two gigs waitressing.”
“You get fired?”
“No.”
“You quit?”
“Yes.” Stella’s heart hammered painfully. She wasn’t sure she could work for this guy.
“You in any trouble? Why you looking?”
“I just moved to Jefferson.”
“Where you leave from?”
Stella’s eyes skittered from his face to across the cafe. “Holly.”
“Whooeee!” The young waitress was lingering, still holding the pitchers. “Now that town there’s a hole in the wall.”
“You waitress there?”
“My last job was actually in a shop.” Stella reached for her purse and the recommendation letter, but he went on.
“You got a license?”
“To waitress?” Did you need one?
“Nah, to drive.” His face never changed expression, just a deep frown and hard eyes.
“Yes.” She didn’t want to reach for her purse again.
“Can I see it?”
This time she did unzip her bag and tug her wallet out. Her hotel key was caught on the clasp and skidded across the table.
He picked it up. “You ain’t got a place to stay yet?”
“Just got in town today.”
He turned around. “Rennie!”
She looked up from her pad. “Just a sec.”
“Rennie can help you find a place. You should get settled in before you start, unless you’re super hard up for money.” He looked at the key again. “But I guess not, if you’re there.” He slid the key across to her and took the license, squinted at it, then set it back on the table. “You okay to start Monday?”
The hours. She needed to know the hours. “I think. When?”
“We would want to start you on days.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure I have a whole lot of flexibility.”
Rennie walked up, her gait a little off, like she was hurting. She wore soft white shoes with thick soles, like nurses did. “What she need?”
“A place. Your cousin got a list?”
“She does.”
Corgie turned back to Stella. “So what’s your issue?”
Stella’s face burned. She couldn’t tell them her boyfriend was in prison. “I get phone calls in the middle of the day. I like to be able to take them.”
The young waitress poked her head in beside Rennie. “Ya got somebody on the inside, eh?” She shoved her way into the booth next to Stella, setting the dripping pitchers on the table. “Who it is? Your pa? Brother?” She assessed Stella’s face. “Nah, a man. Your man is on the inside.”
Stella turned back to Corgie. “Your ad said night shifts.”
He rubbed his neck. “Trouble is, that can be a rough crowd. Someone young and pretty like you’d have a time of it.”
Stella sat up straighter. “I can handle rough.”
The young waitress turned to face Stella, revealing her own name tag that said “Cayenne.” She saw Stella looking at it. “Yeah, like the pepper.” She smacked her hand on the table. “Some of the boys that come in late are tough critters. Come up to see inmates, just like yourself, then seem to hang around to stir up trouble. Corgie’s brilliant idea for a cafe attracts every lowlife west of the Mississippi.”
“When did he go in?” Rennie asked. “He got privileges?”
Stella figured there wasn’t much use hiding anything now. “A month ago. He called yesterday.”
Cayenne wiped the dripping pitchers with her rag. “Then you can go see him. You got your papers square?”
Stella shook her head. “No visitor’s forms yet. That’s been slow. And now I’ve moved.”
Rennie ripped an order from her pad and handed it to Corgie. “You get on back there and cook this up. We’ll take her from here.”
Corgie slid out of the booth. “I still say she ain’t right for the night rounds.”
“We’ll watch out for her,” Rennie said. “I can stay a bit late for her first few.”
Apparently she had the job. The women were nosy, but seemed to want to help.
Rennie slid into the booth and picked up the license. “You got to get this changed right off, as soon as you have a place. Everything’s gotta match. Your ID, your papers. Come by tomorrow morning, and I’ll get you a list of places. You got a budget?” She handed the license to Stella. “Never mind, you work here, your man is in the pen, you got a budget. We’ll see what we got.”
“I don’t have any furniture.”
“Okay. I’ll see what’s around. Not much furnished. But there’s garage sales. Certain parts of town got lots of people comin’ and goin’, due to transfers and paroles. We’ll get you set.”
Cayenne got up from the booth. “All right, fun’s over. See you tomorrow. What’s your name?”
“Stella.”
“Well, all right, Stella.” She lifted the pitchers like a toast and then turned back to the other tables.
Rennie stuck her pen behind her ear. “Come ’round about ten. When is his rec time?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did he call you?”
“Oh. About two.”
“So that’s his rec time. There’s phone booths downstairs in every block. He won’t get to ’em every day. There’s not many, and he won’t have much pull yet. But he got to you once. He will again.”
“How long is rec time?”
“An hour, generally.”
“So you know someone inside?”
Rennie pushed herself along the booth, painfully, to stand up. “My son. Been in since he was nineteen.”
“Oh. Will he get out soon?”
Rennie’s features fell a notch. “Not while I’m still livin’.” She forced a smile. “Yours a short-timer?”
Stella didn’t know what qualified as short or long. “Twelve to fifteen.”
“Oh.” Rennie smoothed her apron. “Young thing like you.”
Stella knew what she meant. “We’ll have to see.”
Rennie nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Stella slid out from under the table, feeling more than a little lightheaded as she shoved her way out the door and into the cool early evening. She needed something to eat. And to drive around some more. She’d just gotten lucky, and she knew it. Somebody was watching out for her. Her bracelet slid down her arm, the amethyst one she’d broken on the tower, pieced back together in the long days of waiting at Beatrice’s house. Of course. She glanced up into the evening sky, awash with blues. “Thanks, Grandma. You always did take care of me.”
***
37: Alex
“INSPECTION.” The guard banged on the bars, waking Dane. He sat up. It was dark.
Alex rolled over on his bed as the guard shined a light on him. “What the hell?”
The door swung open. Dane wasn’t as familiar with the night guards, but he recognized the stance, the set of the jaw. An ass-kicker. He’d have to play this really cool.
The bruiser guard stepped aside. “Cuff them.”
Two other men entered the cell, jerking Dane and Alex up from their beds and locking their hands behind their backs. They were pushed forward until they stood outside their cell on the walkway.
The guard jerked the bedding off the steel frames, tossing it on the floor. He felt along all the seams, then got on the floor and shone the flashlight underneath. He reached up under Alex’s bed and tugged something down. Shit. What was that boy up to?
Alex acted like he might step forward, but the guard bellowed, “Turn them around,” so they were forced to face the railing. He could see some stirring in the cells on the walk across the way.
Da
ne tried to keep his demeanor calm as the guard tore through the cell. He could hear the table screeching as it was moved, the drawer opening and closing. He began reciting numbers in his head. His inmate number. His phone code. The perfume-shop phone. The hotel-room phone Beatrice had given him a few days ago. Stella was looking for a place in Jefferson. His heart surged, just thinking how close she was. He’d already had the forms sent, but Beatrice planned to drive them straight up to Stella, who had gotten a job already.
He clamped his jaw tight. Keep it cool. Finally, the guard came out. He held up a piece of mop handle, sharpened to a point, and shoved it in Alex’s face. “Who’s this for?”
Dane kept his head turned away, just barely able to see. So far the guard was only interested in Alex.
“Never seen that b’fore. Must’ve been there when I got there.”
“I wasn’t looking for the hell of it. You’ve been waving it around.” The guard kneed Alex in the gut. “Still don’t recognize it?”
“Not…mine.” Alex could barely grunt out a sound.
Dane wished he would just admit it and move on. He’d watched him rubbing the damn stick on his bedpost for weeks.
The guard landed a fist to Alex’s jaw next. “You look to me like you’re resisting a search. I’m afraid I’m going to have to report how you attacked us with this broom handle.” He chuckled. “Hope you weren’t hoping for early release on good behavior.”
The guard pocketed the makeshift weapon. “Back in your cell. Think about it.”
Alex was shoved roughly back inside, still handcuffed. The other guard released Dane without comment and led him through the door.
Dane immediately sat down on the metal frame, head bowed, hands between his knees, to wait out what was going to happen, but careful not get involved.
“You gonna uncuff me?” Alex demanded.
“Nah, I think I’m going to have a momentary lapse of memory,” the guard said, closing and locking the cell. “Have fun picking up in the dark.”
He killed the light, washing them in semi-darkness.
They sat there, silently, then Alex kicked the bedding on the floor. “You narc on me?”
Dane shook his head. “Nope.”
“God damn it!” Alex stood up, pushing aside the papers and clothes littering the floor.
Dane got up and shoved his mattress back on his bed. He turned and replaced Alex’s as well.
“Thanks, man. I’m in deep shit now.”
Dane didn’t want to know anything. To get involved was to court trouble. He just grunted and set to getting his sheets back on, feeling his way around in the dark corners. When it was close enough, he fell back on the bed. Alex still paced. “I’m going to get my ass killed over this.”
Dane turned to the wall. Alex had been desperate for credit, trying to get into the trade. He had night sweats and slept fitfully. Probably withdrawal. He’d do something stupid soon, something worse. Dane hoped he wasn’t around as part of the fall. He only had so much he could feel for anyone. And all that he reserved for Stella and staying focused on not getting any more time.
***
38: First Day on the Job
STELLA pulled up to the Sinners’ Cafe, hoping her first evening on the job went well. Her back ached from cleaning the crappy little apartment she’d managed to finally rent. It was filthy inside, but everything worked and the neighborhood wasn’t bad. It sat halfway between the prison and the diner, no more than ten minutes to either one. And it was an address. She’d already applied for a change to her license and had the printout showing her new place. By the time her visitor’s form arrived at the prison and the background check was done, she’d have a new ID and clearance to see Dane. Most importantly, she already had the phone installed.
Beatrice had been a huge help, driving up with the form, bringing news of Dane, and helping her set up. Beatrice also connived with Joe to get Stella’s father to let them into Grandma Angie’s house, so her new place had a couple of pieces from there—the bedside table where Grandma had stored the bracelets and her night things, plus a small rocking chair that had sat in the living room for as long as Stella could remember. It had exactly fit in the back of Beatrice’s Oldsmobile.
Things were going about as well as they could go.
Dinner appeared to be in full swing. Stella froze at the door, shocked at the din and clattering of ice and plates and scraping chairs and the ring ring ring of the cash register.
“What are you looking at?” Cayenne shouted from behind the counter. “Put this on.” She tossed a heavy white apron. “You can get the rest of your uniform when things settle down.” Stella caught the apron but still stood there, watching the crazy blur of mouths, hands, and food.
Three huge men in faded brown-stained overalls sat at the first table by the door, devouring plates of some mixed-up mash of green things, potatoes, gravy, and what might have once been a chicken-fried steak. The threesome worked almost in rhythm—knife cutting, fork stabbing, shoveling, wiping, gulping, then doing it all over again.
“Hey, you, take some water and menus to the Randolfs over there,” Cayenne shouted again. She pointed at a group pushing tables together in the back. Dodging tables and tying the apron frantically, Stella hurried toward the family. Someone grabbed her arm.
“What?” Stella asked.
A burly man with “Butch” stenciled on his shirt pocket pointed to his glass. “I need some more tea, pretty miss.” Stella grabbed the glass and headed back to the waitressing station, a long, high counter piled up with menus and rolled silverware near the back. Cayenne was behind it, hastily pouring water into red plastic cups. She didn't even lift the pitcher as she moved around the circle of glasses, dumping water all over the tray and counter.
Rennie hobbled past, her leg clearly giving her more trouble than a few days ago. “It’s a rough one. Picked a helluva day to start.”
“It is always like this?”
“Just on Fridays. We wouldn’t have brought you on at a time like this, but Corgie’s short a girl.”
“I’ll manage,” Stella said, snatching up the pitcher of tea and filling the glass. “It’s not rocket science.”
“That it ain’t,” Rennie said. “Just holler if you get in a bind.”
“Where’s my tea?” shouted Butch. “A man’s got to have something to choke down this steak!”
“Shut your trap!” Stella shouted. “It’s coming.”
The room quieted, and Corgie stuck his head through the service window. “Who was that?”
“The new girl,” Cayenne said.
Stella set the tea in front of Butch, feeling chagrined. She should try harder. Rennie had been so nice to her, helping her find a place.
But Corgie roared with laughter. “Guess she can handle herself after all.”
Stella snatched a couple of menus from the stand and headed back to the corner and the big table. She was going to fit in here just fine.
When the cafe settled down about nine, Rennie took Stella to the back to pick out a couple of the navy uniforms. She changed in the office, then stopped to look at a menu so she knew what the cafe served. For hours she had been writing down orders, assuming the customers knew what they were talking about. Rennie signed off for the evening. “I’m going to leave it to you and Cayenne. It’ll be a tough crowd from here on out, but not busy.”
Cayenne turned out to be terminally lazy. As Stella started cleaning off tables, Cayenne leaned against the counter and chatted with Corgie through the window.
An excruciatingly thin man with a fuzzy gray beard walked into the restaurant and sat at a booth piled high with dirty dishes. Stella looked at the rows of clean tables and sighed. Cayenne seemed to be ignoring him, so Stella headed for the station to get a menu and a glass of water.
Corgie gestured for Stella to come closer. “You’d better tell her about Crazy Charlie,” he said. Cayenne laughed.
“What?” Stella asked.
Cayenne twisted a b
it of scrunchy hair in her finger. “You’d better take him a big glass and an entire pitcher of water with lots of ice. And don’t bother with the menu. He’ll either order a ham-and-onion omelet with extra toast or a chili burger with ketchup.” Cayenne leaned her elbows back on the counter.
Stella filled a pitcher with ice and water and headed to the table. There wasn't any room for the tray, so she set it on a clean table nearby.
“I'm going to sit here,” Charlie said.
“That’s fine. I just need to clean this off first.”
His bushy eyebrows moved together. “Why isn't Cayenne waiting on me? She knows what to do.”
“She’s on break.”
He sat with his arms crossed over his narrow chest and frowned.
Stella took the pitcher off the tray and piled the dirty dishes onto it. The load was heavy, though, and Stella’s arms were ready to give out after the long day. As she turned to take the tray away, she knocked over the pitcher of water. Cayenne, who was watching with Corgie from behind the counter, burst out with a piggish snort.
Charlie sighed loudly. “I’m thirsty,” he said.
Stella set down the tray and mopped at the water with her rag. “I’m sorry. I’ll get another pitcher.”
“No, I’ll do it.” He stood up, picked up the plastic pitcher, and headed toward the waitress station. Stella scooped the ice onto her tray and carried the whole lot back into the kitchen.
Corgie met her by the sinks. “You’d better be careful with Crazy Charlie. He’s gotten his driver’s license suspended three times for trying to run people over. They finally took it away last year. Keeps on driving, though.”
Stella left the tray by the sink and turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”
Corgie leaned against the doorframe, picking at his fingernails. “When Charlie gets mad, he tries to wipe out people with his truck. This one man wouldn’t buy one of his chairs—he makes chairs for a living—so he got in his truck, revved the motor, and headed right for him.”
Cayenne blew through the swinging doors. “Did you tell her what Crazy Charlie did to you?”
