Working in a coffeeshop was less boring than it had sounded when she had applied for it. Even if most customers were vanilla stereotypes of the Instagram-addicted girl who just wanted to look cool on social media by taking a picture of the trendiest latte some multinational brand pumped out, it was still less boring than just serving these lattes to these clichés.
Quite the contrary, in fact.
Ema had taken that job until she could make enough money with cyber-treasure hunting (that was the prettier way to say hacking into people's personal data and taking bounty hunting missions to infiltrate even more databanks), but she had eventually grown out to like it. The shop is near her place: it's at the middle point between her flat and the local supermarket.
What was amazing about coffee shops was how you see anyone enter the place: broke students allowing themselves a small hot chocolate once a month, businessmen who didn't have time to wait in a fancier-branded shop, families, friends or single persons… Anyone could come in. That was what made it so interesting.
What Ema liked the most about working in such a place was the diversity of information she could get from these people. Soon enough, she had mastered the art of serving lattes, cappuccinos and other drinks on the menu: she could observe people the way she had loved to do so ever since she was a child watching over her classmates during recess.
She knew the regulars by heart: Naya Nekono (nicknamed Nyan), the cat lady who always wore cat-patterned sweaters or shirts; Josuke and Katsuya the two obnoxiously loud bros; Ayako Ainana, the decora kei girl who always had something nice to say and something shiny to give to the cashier (she usually gave Ema heart-shaped hairpins)… All of them knew her name, because they had all asked at one point or the other.
The best shift she could have to observe people was the night one, ending at midnight. Nobody else ever wanted it: Ema always wanted it. It was convenient: she had less clients than anyone else once the 8PM hour clocked in, people were usually quieter, she had an easier time observing everybody else. Her favorite clients came around that hour: the cat lady was out to buy cat food, the bros were out of practice, the decora kei girl was late-day shopping after classes.
Usually, night shifts were uneventful. The shop was calm, dimly lit. People were more open and outgoing when they were in this calm, serene atmosphere: they'd speak to themselves more loudly, be less prone to hiding their phone screens, spend more time at their table as they watched people in the streets.
However, some shifts weren't like the others. There were shifts where things got different. These were definitely her favorites: she could witness truly unique things happening during these, all the while her barista position would justify her observing eyes. It was a perfect compromise.
Sometimes, some weird and shady people would enter the coffee shop. They'd never say much, but she knew everything about them in seconds: modern-day yakuza, drug dealers, crackheads and delinquents all came in at late hours like that. They thought it'd be easier to hide themselves: they were right, because they didn't know she was here and that she knew who they were.
These people weren't, contrarily to how frightening they were to everyone else in every other single situation possible, any worse than other clients. They'd be dry and straight-to-the-point, but they would never threaten to take her life away if she served them too bitter of an espresso. They knew they couldn't fuck around with her: she had access to data she could always sell them. It was all dirty money; but sometimes, money is needed to survive, and she'd take it from anyone else.
But hey, who didn't like the thrill of risqué situations sometimes?
These shady people who'd occasionally propose her to buy some weed or to purchase data about their targets weren't the cause of her weirdest shift yet.
It was half past eleven on a Friday night when a normal shift took a sharper angle. A guy dressed in a disheveled suit, panting as if he had lost the ability to breathe properly, made his way into the shop. She swore he'd just fall on himself as soon as the hand on the door's handle would no longer sustain him, yet he managed to somewhat stay afloat. That was a surprise, would she say so herself.
He slammed himself onto the bar, his palm's skin making a harsh sound upon entering in contact with the plastic. He seemed to be drunk: his eyes were unable to focus, he didn't control his own body, his balance was merely an afterthought of the latter. There was something seriously off about the guy, so she prepared herself mentally to deal with some irrational drunkard. In a way, it wouldn't be too much different from dealing with her asshole of a "father".
"Can I help you, sir?" she told him, using her professional politeness as a way not to scream at him not to be a douchebag in her coffeeshop.
He finally looked at her, crouching over the bar, his arms barely supporting the rest of himself. His eyes were truly unfocused, his hair was messier than his suit wanted to be. He reminded her of something, though…
"Give me a… huh…" His voice was hoarse, barely getting out of his throat at all, unable to speak out words for more than a few strings at a time. "An espresso…"
"Sure thing."
Ema turned her back at him, less to prepare the coffee he had just ordered than to avoid his starved glaze. The cold waves endlessly going down her back told her he was still staring at him with his hazardous eyes. What did she do to him to deserve to be stared at by that creep? If she was a believer, she'd have made a prayer as to forgive her sins, but she was too good for "sins".
The smell of the bitter coffee filled her nostrils as she finally realized something. Why did he even order such a drink at such a late hour of the night? She had become a master at infusions because she was working late: most of the people coming in so late would just order a relaxing chamomile tea and leave soon after. Why was that guy ordering an espresso of everything? Did he want to stay up for the remainder of the night? Whatever the reason, that meant she was even righter to be weary of him.
She eventually put the cup on the bar again, steaming peacefully, coffee scent between the two of them.
"It'll be-"
Before she could announce the price, Ema was interrupted by the sight of his credit card. She was startled enough not to read the name on it: instead, she just transferred the price to the payment machine. She'd just extract the information later on her phone.
"Thank you," he barely replied as he bolted to a table.
"We close in twenty minutes," she spoke loudly so he'd hear it, "so make it quick."
Oops, there went her patience and politeness!
Despite how bizarre the situation was and how weird she felt because of it, her glaze still managed to look onto something. The light next to the table showed that his hands were bandaged: she could still see some white between patches of dark red. On second thought, that wasn't normal at all, wasn't it? She should have studied his clothes further when she had the occasion…
It was quarter to midnight. In fifteen minutes, he'd have to leave, and she could leave too and browse through the data she would had harvested from the machine. Good riddance: that guy was more suspicious than anything she had seen, because he wasn't as obviously shady as all the others. It was intriguing and yet… almost scary, in a way.
She remained at the other side of the bar for a couple of minutes, scrolling down her phone, when she noticed it was almost midnight. There were no other clients than the suspicious guy anymore: it was time for her to strike. Ema left her bar with confidence and a strong stance, determined not to make her shift take an eternity after it had taken such a weird turn.
What was her surprise when she found him slouched over the table, the cup not empty yet.
"Sir, it's time to leave the shop, I have to close," she attempted to tell him, hoping he was just slouched and not asleep.
He groggily rose his head to face her, red drippling down his chin and tainting his lips with an inside lipstick.
"My apologies, I'll leave now…" was all he said before getting up…
Only to stumble in her arms.
Ema stumbled back from the weight suddenly put on her. She hadn't signed up for this. Could she get additional pay for that? She'd have to negotiate with her boss.
"Sir?" she asked, hoping that it'd reach out to him.
He difficultly got back on his own two feet, a hand in front of his face. He was in obvious pain: perhaps it was linked to his bandages. However, she was now sure of his identity and why he was previously disturbing to look at.
"I'm sorry, I'm…" he attempted to say, before she interrupted him with a move of her finger.
"Gee, you don't recognize me? You're really out of it, Akira."
The man immediately rose his head, as soon as she finished her sentence.
"How do you know my name…?"
"We just attended the same schools from middle high to college together!"
She was kind of offended at how he wasn't remembering who she was when it should have been obvious.
"Ema, is that you…?" he then asked, finally realizing who he was speaking to.
"The one and only! What brings you to my coffeeshop in such a rough shape?"
He stumbled upon his own feet.
"I got in… some trouble, let's say it that way. You know, past vendettas I never thought I'd get caught into again…"
"I told you, you should have been more careful about your online persona, you idiot. Anyway, I'm still about to close, so what about we catch up tomorrow? You can give me your phone num…"
Her voice stopped when she noticed he was clutching his stomach. There was even more red pouring out from there, tainting a white buttoned-up shirt and starting to stain the suit jacket over it. The dim light was still allowing her to distinguish the red clashing against the whites and creams: his arms were also colored.
"You're bleeding!" she yelled as she pointed out the biggest stain of them all. "Why didn't you go to a hospital before going in here!"
"I thought about it… but my phone got broken during the fight that injured me…"
She looked left and right, before getting an idea.
"Listen. I'm gonna bring you to my flat, so I can at least patch you up. It'll be more effective than calling an ambulance in such intricate streets."
Akira nodded in agreement.
