by Emily Ford
The old man sits for a moment, listening to the Detective’s noisy departure from the restaurant. He hears footsteps softly approaching and smells the familiar perfume, and smiles. “Miss Martha,” he says fondly.
A well-dressed woman not too distant in age from him sits down at his table. She immediately reaches out and places her hand on his. She’s smiling, despite the fact that she knows he can’t see her.
“Mr. Percy,” she replies warmly.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. What does that police man want with you?”
Mr. Percy sighs heavily, and sits back. “Miss Martha, things are startin’ to heat up around here.”
“I know,” she says, nodding slowly. “As we expected.”
“Yes, that we did. That we did.”
“Listen. I think we should let the boy know. I think it’s time.”
He considers her for a silent moment, then reluctantly agrees. “I think you’re right, Miss Martha. The time has come.”
She smiles warmly again and pats his hand. “We’ll speak soon,” she says. He nods, listening to the sound of her light footsteps trail off as she leaves the diner.
Mr. Percy pats the table, feeling for his tweed hat. He picks it up, shakes it twice, and fits it onto his head. He picks up his plastic change cup, and reaches under the table for his walking cane. “Well, sir,” he talks as if he still has someone listening to him, a habit he adopted to entertain himself when alone. “I best be on my way. Got to get back to work, you know? It’s hard earnings these days.” He chuckles then shuffles out of the diner and disappears down the sidewalk.
