Final Breath

by Kevin O'Brien

  She couldn't marry him. It was that simple.

  Leah planned to tell him tonight over dinner in Thai Paradise. She figured he couldn't yell at her or cause a big scene in one of their favorite restaurants.

  Jared held the door open for her. "You feeling okay?" he asked. "You're awfully quiet tonight."

  She shrugged. "I--think maybe I'm just hungry."

  The restaurant felt almost steamy after the cold night outside. A blend of sweet and spicy aromas filled the place. The busboy who met them at the door wasn't much bigger than Leah. He was in his mid twenties, with long black bangs that fell over one eye. He had a sweet, handsome face, and he smiled a lot--perhaps to compensate for the fact that his English was horrible. That never stopped Jared from trying to strike up a conversation with him.

  Tonight was no different. While the busboy led them past the empty counter area and around the huge tank full of tropical fish, Jared asked how he was, and how business was, and gosh, it sure didn't seem too busy tonight.

  The busboy just nodded and smiled--until he sat them in a secluded booth against the wall in the windowless, dimly lit eating area. Leah used to think it was charming the way Jared was so friendly with waitpersons and salespeople. Now it just got on her nerves. It seemed phony and oversolicitous.

  Slipping into the booth, Leah shed her coat and thanked the busboy as he handed her a menu.

  "Looks like we're just about the only ones in here," Jared said to their busboy. "Hope we aren't screwing up your chances for an early quit tonight."

  He doesn't have a fucking clue what you're saying, stupid, Leah wanted to tell her dear, well-meaning fiance. But she just kept a pleasant smile frozen on her face, and took a quick inventory. Jared was right. There were only two other customers in the restaurant--in a booth across from them. They were finished with their dinner and donning their coats. Leah's hopes that Jared wouldn't pitch a fit in a restaurant full of people vanished as she watched the other couple head for the door. She and Jared were now the only customers in the place.

  The busboy filled their water glasses. Leah waited until he left their table, then she cleared her throat. "I need to talk with you about something, Jared," she said, squirming a bit in the booth's cushioned seat. "This has been really heavy on my mind lately..."

  He looked up from his menu. "What is it, sweetheart?"

  The busboy returned with their tea in a medium-size stainless-steel pot. "Tea very, very hot," he said, filling their cups. He set the pot on a trivet on their table.

  Leah's stomach was still in knots. She watched the busboy retreat toward the front of the restaurant. He hung the CLOSED sign on the door. It occurred to Leah that after tonight, she wouldn't want to come back here again. It would always be that place where she broke up with Jared. This was probably her last time in here, and it was too bad, because she loved their garlic chicken with wide noodles.

  "What is it?" Jared repeated.

  Leah couldn't answer him.

  The waitress approached their table. Delicate and pretty, she had a round face and a shy manner. Her black hair was swept back in a barrette, and she smiled a lot--like the busboy. In fact, they were brother and sister. Her English was better than his. After Jared subjected her to his requisite chitchat, she took their drink orders.

  Once the waitress withdrew, Leah sighed and nervously drummed her fingers on the table top. "Listen, Jared, if I've seemed distracted and on edge lately, well, there's a reason..."

  Staring at her, he put down his menu.

  "This just isn't working out," she said finally.

  "What isn't working out, babe? This booth? You want one on the other side of the room?"

  She quickly shook her head and then looked down at her engagement ring. "No, that's not it. I'm sorry, Jared, but it wouldn't be fair to you if I--"

  "No, we closing, we closing!"

  Leah glanced up--just past the fish tank, toward the front of the restaurant. The busboy was shaking his head and half-bowing to two men who must have ignored the sign on the door. "We closing now!" he repeated.

  But the two men were already in the restaurant, and they didn't look as if they were ready to leave. One was tall and skinny, with long, greasy, wavy black hair and a goatee. He wore jeans and a black leather jacket, and had a tattoo on the side of his neck. He muttered something to the busboy. Leah was too far away to see what the tattooed image was, and she couldn't hear what he'd just said. But she had a terrible feeling about this. The meek little busboy was still shaking his head at him and his friend.

  "What's wrong?" the man asked loudly. "Answer me in English, asshole. What? Are you all out of food? Did the kennel stop delivering the dog meat?"

  Jared half-turned in the booth and looked over his shoulder. "What the hell?" he murmured.

  The tall, creepy man's friend laughed--a high-pitched cackle. Shorter and stockier than his buddy, he had a marine buzz cut and muscular arms covered with tattoos. Despite the frigid weather, he wore only a T-shirt and jeans. He was all twitchy and seemed hopped up on something. Still laughing, he reached over and slapped the busboy on his shoulder.

  "You go, please, we closing!" the busboy repeated. He pointed at the sign on the door.

  A hand over her heart, Leah watched as the cook emerged from behind the counter. A thin, older man, he had a red apron over his short-sleeve shirt and baggy black slacks. He, too, was shaking his head at the intruders and pointing to the door. Between his hushed tone and the broken English, Leah wasn't sure what he was saying. The young waitress hovered behind him.

  "Fuck you, old man," the skinny goon said, laughing.

  "Who do these scumbags think they are?" Jared muttered. He started to climb out of the booth, but Leah grabbed his hand to stop him.

  "Please, Jared, no--don't," she whispered urgently. The scumbags obviously hadn't yet noticed two customers were still in the restaurant. Part of Leah wanted to stay inconspicuous, just lay low until all of this was over. It seemed like the safest option right now: avoid a confrontation at any cost.

  Then the stocky man suddenly pulled a revolver from the waistband of his jeans. His T-shirt had been camouflaging it. All at once, he slammed the butt end of the revolver over the older man's forehead. The waitress let out a scream as the cook collapsed on the floor. "No, no, no!" she cried, rushing to his aid.

  But the stocky man grabbed her. His friend pushed the busboy against the counter and sent him crashing into two tall counter chairs. They tipped over and fell to the floor with a loud clatter while the busboy clung to the counter for balance. The chubby guy thought this was hysterically funny.

  Paralyzed, Leah watched in horror. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Call 9-1-1...."

  Jared quickly dug into his pants pocket for his cell phone.

  The two assailants still hadn't spotted them on the other side of the large fish tank.

  The skinny one grabbed the busboy by his hair, and then hit him in the face. The waitress screamed out again as her brother tripped over the fallen counter chairs and tumbled to the floor. The thug kicked him in the ribs.

  "Who else is back there?" he asked, nodding toward the kitchen area behind the counter. He glanced at the waitress. "You got somebody washing dishes back there?"

  Tears streaming down her face, the waitress shook her head and said something. Leah couldn't hear it. All the while, the hulky creep pawed at her and cackled.

  "Do you have a safe in this dump? A safe?" the tall one asked her.

  Once again, Leah couldn't hear her reply. But the man must have heard it. "Fuck!" he hissed. "Okay, so where do you keep the money?"

  With the phone to his ear, Jared peered over the top of their booth. His earlier fortitude had disappeared. Leah could tell he didn't want to be a hero right now any more than she did. This was something for the police--if they ever picked up.

  "Yes," Jared whispered into the phone--finally. "I'm reporting a--a--a robbery in progress at--um, at Thai Paradise on Hawthorne...No, I'm sorry. I
can't speak up. I'm here in the restaurant. It's happening right in front of me..."

  The busboy let out a frail cry as the tall, skinny creep savagely kicked him again. It broke Leah's heart--and enraged her--to see that sweet, quiet young man brutalized. His sister sobbed uncontrollably in the other thug's clutches. "I'm getting some of this yellow tail before the night is over," he announced, groping her.

  "Take her into the can," the one with the goatee said. "Let's move them all in there and get away from this front window. I'll clean out the register. Then we'll cap them all. I don't want any fucking witnesses..."

  "Oh, my God," Leah murmured. She'd heard that term cap in a movie about street gangs. It meant shooting somebody in the head.

  Jared was still whispering into the phone, explaining he couldn't talk any louder. "These guys have guns!" he said under his breath. He peered over the top of the booth. "They're going to shoot everyone in the place, for God's sake. Please, send help..."

  "Where's the restroom?" the skinny one asked the waitress.

  She timidly pointed toward the dining area--past the fish tank. The man's gaze followed, and suddenly, he locked eyes with Leah.

  She gasped and tried to duck. Jared shrank back in his seat as well. But they were too late. They'd been spotted.

  "Shit, we got company," the skinny creep muttered. "Let's round them up."

  "My God, they've seen us," Jared whispered into the phone. "Tell the police to hurry. Did you hear me?"

  Leah flinched at a loud, tinny clattering sound. Peeking around the edge of the booth, she saw the taller one kicking the fallen counter chairs aside. He grabbed the dazed, beaten busboy by the arm, and pulled him up from the floor. Blood streamed from the young man's nose. He could hardly walk. The tall guy seemed to hold him up as they moved toward the dining area. The stocky thug followed them, his tattooed arms still around the waitress. Both assailants had their guns ready.

  "Come out of there, you two," the skinny one called.

  "Yeah, come out, come out, wherever you are!" his friend chimed in, laughing.

  The two hoods stepped into the dining room area with their terrified hostages.

  Leah recoiled in the corner of the booth. Sitting up straight, Jared switched off his cell phone and nervously stared back at them.

  "Get up," the skinny guy whispered. With one hand, he had the trembling busboy in a choke hold. With the other, he pointed a gun at Leah and Jared. "Get the hell up," he repeated. "We're gonna stick all of you in the restroom for safekeeping."

  But neither Jared nor Leah moved. Her heart was racing.

  The tall, ugly gunman violently shoved the busboy to one side. The young man collided into a table, knocking it over. Glasses, plates, and silverware flew in every direction. He hit his head on the top of a chair, then fell to the floor, unconscious.

  The stocky one cackled. Following his friend's lead, he hurled the poor waitress toward another table. The petite girl slammed into a chair, but somehow managed to keep from falling. Wincing in pain, she clung to the chair and caught her breath.

  Horrified, Leah sat frozen in the booth, watching it all.

  "Yahoo!" the hulky guy yelled. He swiveled around and fired his gun three times--at the large fish tank. There was an explosion of glass and water. He must have hit some electrical wiring, because sparks shot out from the top of the tank. There was a loud bang, and the lights in the restaurant flickered. Water gushed from the broken receptacle, and suddenly the restaurant floor was a quarter-inch deep in water and flopping, floundering exotic fish.

  The stupid thug seemed to think this was hysterical, but his skinny friend was visibly annoyed with him. He glanced down at all the water and the fish twitching at his feet. Still chuckling, his buddy went to step on one of them.

  Leah gazed at them. Then she turned and glanced at the stainless-steel teapot on their table. Something kicked in--maybe anger, maybe a survival instinct. Whatever it was, she suddenly grabbed that teapot by the handle and flung it at the tall man's face.

  She was close enough to hit her stationary target dead-on. The lid flew off just as the pot struck his cheek. He let out a startled howl. Scalding tea splashed his face. It must have burned his eyes, because he dropped the gun and immediately covered his eye sockets. Staggering back, he spewed a stream of obscenities--between loud, high-pitched, agonizing shrieks.

  Before the stocky guy seemed to realize what was happening, Jared shot out of the booth and rammed into him. The body blow sent him careening toward the broken fish tank. They tipped over chairs and tables in their path.

  Meanwhile, Leah snatched up the tall thug's revolver. She almost slipped on the wet floor, but caught her balance. The tall man wasn't so lucky. He blindly staggered around the dining room until he tripped over a chair. He fell down on his knees.

  Leah aimed the gun at him, but hesitated before pulling the trigger. He was incapacitated, defeated. The guy couldn't hurt anyone now.

  But apparently, the waitress didn't feel that way. Wiping her tears, the delicate young woman picked up a chair and cracked it over his head.

  The man collapsed on the wet floor. A couple of fish struggled and splashed around him in the thin layer of water.

  "Son of a bitch!" bellowed the stocky thug--over the clatter of dining room furniture.

  Leah swiveled around in time to see him punch Jared in the face. His fist connected with Jared's eye. He staggered back from the blow, but didn't collapse. Wincing, Leah aimed the gun at the big man, but Jared charged him again. Jared slugged him in the gut--a sucker punch.

  The chubby man reeled back and grabbed the top of the shattered fish tank to steady himself.

  Suddenly, the lights flickered again, and the big man froze. His mouth opened in a silent scream. He started to shake violently as the electric currents raced through his body. Sparks arced out from where he clutched the top of the fish tank.

  Jared started to back away. Leah reached out to her fiance, touching his shoulder. He turned and wrapped his arms around her. Clinging to each other, they tried to catch their breath. But they couldn't yet.

  Only a few feet in front of them, the thug stood with his hand seared on top of the fish tank. Spasms racked his body. He wouldn't stop twitching and convulsing, and yet that stunned expression seemed stuck on his oafish face. His skin turned red. Smoke enveloped his feet.

  Leah heard a hissing, sizzling sound. It could have been the electrical charges making that noise. Then a new pungently sweet odor wafted through the dining room--just as the stocky man teetered and fell facedown to the floor.

  Leah stared at his corpse, and realized what she'd heard--and what she still smelled.

  It was human flesh cooking.

  Six months later

  "With wedding bells and jingle bells on their minds, a Portland, Oregon, couple, Jared McGinty and Leah Dvorak, stopped by their favorite Thai restaurant one night last December for a late dinner. They were making wedding plans..." The anchorman punctuated this lead-in with a dramatic pause. The program was On the Edge, a prime-time TV newsmagazine. The handsome newscaster, with a tan and premature silver hair, was Sloan Roberts, recently voted one of People Magazine's Ten Sexiest Bachelors.

  This was a rerun. The man watching the TV program in his Portland hotel room had seen this episode about Jared and Leah before--shortly after the incident had happened, six months ago, around Christmastime. Still, his eyes were riveted to the TV.

  The screen-within-the screen just to the right of Sloan's shoulder bore the words: Movers & Shakers. Appropriately enough, the letters in these words kept shaking and twitching.

  "Jared and Leah had no idea they were about to come face-to-face with death," Sloan continued--in an ominous tone. "On this week's segment of Movers & Shakers, Sydney Jordan tells us how Jared and Leah fought the bad guys, fought the odds, and survived--thanks to a little teamwork."

  The picture on the TV screen switched to a pretty, thirty-nine-year-old, swaddled in a trench coat. Her wa
vy, tawny-brown hair blowing in the wind, Sydney Jordan stood under the red awning of Thai Paradise, and spoke into a handheld mike. Her breath was visible that night back in December when they'd originally filmed the segment.

  "Jared McGinty and Leah Dvorak are 'regulars' here at Thai Paradise in Portland's charming Hawthorne District," she announced.

  The picture switched to Jared and Leah, sitting in front of a fireplace in twin chairs. Except for Jared's black eye, already starting to fade, neither of them showed much sign of the trauma they'd endured just three nights before. "Well, we almost always order the same thing when we go there," Leah said with a timid smile. "Creatures of habit, I guess. The garlic chicken with broccoli and wide noodles is my favorite."

  "I usually order the Pad Thai," Jared said, giving Leah a goofy grin. "But Leah always ends up eating most of it."

  She laughed, and slapped his arm. "Oh, I guess that's true!"

  "Thai Paradise is a family business," Sydney Jordan announced. The cozy image of Leah and Jared together dissolved into a still photo of the owners proudly posing in front of the restaurant on its opening day. "It was started by Som and Suchin Wongpoom, who immigrated to the United States with their nephew and niece, Nuran and Sumalee, just five years ago. Som and Suchin do most of the cooking--old family recipes. Nuran and Sumalee are on the waitstaff..."

  A lullaby with an Asian lilt provided the soundtrack for a brief montage of old family photos and video clips of the Wongpooms interacting with customers at birthday parties and other special occasions in the restaurant.

  "It didn't take long for Portlanders like Leah and Jared to discover the wonderful food and warm atmosphere in this family-run restaurant." The camera returned to Leah and Jared sitting together, zooming in for a close-up of Leah's hand as she caressed his arm. It was hard to miss the diamond ring that sparkled on her finger.

  "Leah and Jared were engaged three weeks ago," Sydney Jordan chimed in--over this image. "They still haven't set a date yet..."

  The picture changed back to Sydney in front of the restaurant again. "The couple were discussing their wedding plans when they stopped in here at Thai Paradise for dinner late last Tuesday night." The brunette reporter gave a nod over her shoulder. "Jared and Leah had no idea that just down the street, parked in a stolen car, two men were hatching a plan of their own..."