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Chapter Five
"Road Stop"
Peter finally arrived at the first of a series of stops he was to make before the day was out. Before him were three buildings scattered around the lonely road stop. The lack of upkeep on the buildings indicated there wasn't a lot of money pouring into the three businesses. A gas station, a diner, and a flea bag hotel. Peter sighed as he looked around the shoddy gas station for the phone booth he was to receive a telephone call precisely at 2 o'clock.
The young detective was irked by the fact that he was expected to make at least three more stops on this trip. At each stop, he would receive more instructions on how to proceed to the next phone call until he eventually wound up at the location of his hidden witnesses. It was all done to ensure no one was following him.
"Geez, we aren't talking about a money drop-off for a high stakes kidnapping here!" he complained out loud as he ran a gloved hand through his hair.
Peter parked the car beside the phone booth and looked at his watch again. He still had another forty-five minutes to waste before his call would come through. His hands already felt chilled with the motor switched off, despite his insulated gloves. He caught himself in the act of puffing on his gloved hands, as if that would warm them while he decided what to do next.
Glancing across the way, he smiled. The little Mom & Pop diner suddenly held a great deal of appeal to him. Peter had a special affection for diners. Some of the most satisfying food in the world could be found in those little hole-in-the-wall establishments, places most of the world shunned as 'greasy spoons'.
Leaving the car parked where it was, he strode toward the diner with a purpose, mainly because his stomach had rumbled to life. It was enough of a distraction that he hardly noticed the chill to the air anymore.
While waiting for an elderly couple to exit from the entrance of the diner, Peter glanced around at the cloudy sky and wondered if it would start snowing before he finished eating.
At last, his path into the diner was clear, so he entered in anticipation of good eats, but his eyes had trouble adjusting to the dark interior lighting.
He pulled off his sunglasses and slowed down until he could see better, but he still ran into the back of a solidly built man blocking the inner doorway. Immediately, Peter uttered sincere apologies, but not fast enough to stop the surprised and sputtering man from launching into a steady stream of expletives.
The fellow spun around with fire in his eyes and a threat on his lips. He was pulling at his shirt and pants, trying to pull the garments away from his skin before the spilt hot coffee could burn him.
He stared angrily at a stain of dark fluid running down the front of his clothing, then at the source for the mess, namely one Peter Caine. Peter was so upset about ruining the man's clothing, he didn't notice the pure look of death being glared at him.
"Ah, geez, I'm sorry about that!" Peter exclaimed.
Peter was so focused entirely on the clothing and not on the man, but somewhere following the collision, there was an inexplicable shift in the man's expression.
"Don't worry about it, pal," the man said briskly, clearly anxious to be away from Peter.
"That jacket will have to be dry cleaned. Man, I'm sorry. Here, let me give you something to pay-"
Peter was reaching into his wallet when something in the man's next words caused him to stop in mid-stream. The stranger's harsh tone differed from the understandable anger uttered only moments earlier.
"Listen, I said it's okay!"
Peter finally noticed the hard edge in the man's voice. His eyes suddenly narrowed as his trained detective senses picked up on a dozen clues in the man's rigid body language, attire, and manner; all telling him the man was dangerous and warranted a greater portion of his attention.
Another man appeared behind the first man. This one was blonde and tall, a sharp contrast to the coffee-soaked friend who was dark-haired and medium build. He was pushing forward, urging the man before Peter to move on.
"Really, I insist," Peter said coolly as he reached forward with a twenty dollar bill, still eyeing both men with suspicion.
The reaction was purely based on telltale signs and quickly exchanged glances between the two men. Peter had a gut feeling that these two were the type of men he'd avoid crossing in a dark alley. He still had his hand out with the money, but he knew it wouldn't be accepted. Both men weren't concerned with twenty dollar bills. They had the feel of tainted money, obtained from illegal actions, and involving thousands of dollars.
"It was all my fault. Shouldn't have been standing there blocking the entryway," muttered the burly man as they pushed past Peter and out the door.
Peter walked over to a curtained window beside the door and pulled back the heavy fabric to peer out. The two had made it out to their vehicle, a late model black Ford Explorer with gold trim and climbed inside in a hurry. Peter couldn't see anymore beyond than that due to the darkly tinted windows of the popular SUV.
He let the curtains drop back into place. As he did so, he lost track of everything around him as he stewed over the encounter. He found himself standing in place, unable to move further into the diner. Instead, there was an irritating tickle scratching at the back of his mind as he replayed the details of the two men's strange reactions moments before.
Stepping to the heavy wooden door, Peter opened it partway while still staying just inside the diner's doorway. He glanced out in time to see the Explorer barreling out of the parking lot, as if it was on its way to a four-alarm fire.
Peter reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a small notebook and pen to jot down the SUV's license number. Then he noticed there was a heavy buildup of mud over the license plate, either accidentally or on purpose.
Slapping the notepad against the yawning door, Peter stood in indecision, wondering if the situation warranted taking off after the Explorer with only the vaguest of hunches for justification.
"Hey, buddy, either come in or go out, but do one of them pronto! It costs too much to heat this blasted place for you to just stand there with your thumb up your-," A man with a shaved head barked at Peter from behind the cash register, his burnt-out cigar dangling precariously from his lips, but stopped when he saw Peter's head jerk to attention.
The upset man appeared to be a cook by his attire. He had one of those faces that could be twenty-five or forty-five years old, nearly impossible to determine by sight alone. By his belligerent stance, the cook and part-time door monitor was ready for a confrontation if Peter chose to stand with the door ajar.
"Okay, okay, the door's closed. Satisfied?" Peter grumbled with more irritation than the situation required, wishing the heavy door would have a resounding slam to show his displeasure, but it could not. Peter shoved the pad and pen back to his pocket before glancing back to the closed door one more time.
Belatedly, he thought again about the bellicose cook. When he swung around in the direction of the cash register again, the cook had disappeared from view and Peter was left staring at an unattended Christmas paper-wrapped counter top, complete with a miniature Santa in his sleigh and a full complement of reindeers perpetually ready for take off.
Shrugging, Peter ambled towards an empty table as he reconsidered his idea about calling the precinct. 'Yeah, right...The Chief would just tell me I've spent too much time around Kermit and to not be so paranoid. Well, no, he wouldn't say that, but still...'
He seated himself in a well-worn, orange vinyl-covered booth with his back to the wall and his eye on the door, all done subconsciously as he was still in his 'on the job' mode of thinking. His worried thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of an animated gray-headed waitress arriving at his table only seconds after sitting down.
"Wanna look at a menu, sugar?" the gum-chewing server asked saucily as she set down a glass of water, a set of silverware, and paper napkin, pulling a menu from under her arm.
"Sure," Peter replied, flashing her a smile as he pushed his concerns to the back of his mind.
"How about somethin' hot to drink? Ya look like ya need somethin' to warm those bones of yours and I'm afraid I'm too busy at the moment to accommodate a young hunk like yourself, darlin'."
Her natural flirting way jostled Peter from his silent musings. Had she been someone closer to his own age, her flirtatious words would have gained his undivided attention, especially given the fact that she was genuinely attractive. Unfortunately, she also appeared old enough to be his grandmother, but she didn't seem to have any inhibitions about age in choosing potential sexual partners. In fact, she gave every indication she'd be more than willing to jump his bones right then and there.
Peter looked up into her aquamarine irises which sparkled with an inner humor and caring. He smiled inwardly as she gave him her best shit-eating grin. The lady had character and moxey, he had to give her that much.
As he assessed her true spirit with a mixture of police experience and Shaolin senses, he decided he had taken a liking to her. Even with her decadent carnal thoughts being telegraphed to him with her every glance.
"Well, I don't know about that...Millie," he said as he read her name from her plastic name tag, "but how about a cup of black coffee to start off with?"
He winked at her as he placed his order.
"I bet ya just kill the ladies dead with that wink of yours, sugar. Add in those puppy dog eyes and that scrumptious smile and I'm sure as shootin' willin' to bet there's not a one of those ladies back where ya come from who could say no to ya."
Not only was Peter taken aback by her forwardness, but it was so intense and unexpected that he found himself blushing from her direct attention. He decided he had better change the subject before she noticed he was blushing and pounced on it. He liked her, but he wasn't willing to become her next sexual conquest.
"It's, uh, it's not quite that easy, Millie, but thanks for the compliment. Um...what do you recommend on the menu?" Peter asked, looking at the laminated menu with great interest.
"The beef stew, darlin'...It's fresh and made from my momma's own recipe," the woman exclaimed. "It must be pretty cold out there, because if I didn't know better, I'd say you were blushing."
Busted. She had him pegged. Peter cleared his throat, and focused once again on the menu. "Yeah, it's pretty cold," he said without looking up at her.
"Uh, your suggestion sounds great. I'll have that," Peter said in a flash of decisiveness, feeling the need to put some distance between him and the admiring waitress. He handed her back the menu while still feeling the remnants of the burning sensation in his face.
"Ya better bet ya will and you'll have a piece of my cherry pie for dessert!"
Peter was startled by her command, but considered her choice. Peter thought beef stew, a cup of coffee, and some cherry pie sounded like just the thing to gird him against the cold. He nodded to indicate his approval of her suggestions while still avoiding direct eye contact with her.
"Oh, darlin', ya are just too cute! I'd pinch your cheek if I didn't have my hands so danged full!" she exclaimed, her arms already filled with the dirty dishes of a nearby table before heading off through a swinging door, saving Peter from having to think up some type of embarrassed response.
When the older woman returned through the still swinging door, the words 'human dynamo' came to Peter's mind. She whisked through the small, but busy diner to deliver a steaming meal to a trucker and his wife. As she breezed back by his direction again, Peter called to her. "Say, Millie, the men who just left here...You don't know them, by chance, do you?"
"Ya mean that no account fellow who's wearin' his coffee now cuz of ya and his silent friend?" she declared with a teasing smile, still gazing at Peter too closely for him to relax completely.
"Yeah, that's them," Peter said, feeling like he was trying to have a conversation with a high school girl he had a crush on. Back then, he'd always been so shy, he was constantly finding himself tongue-tied. He never thought he'd ever be able to carry on a complete verbal exchange with any of them.
"Nope, never seen them around here before. But they are bad eggs, that's for sure. I'd steer clear of them, if I was you. Dangerous like a cornered coyote, they've got the feel of dark times around them. Terrible tippers too," she said as she left him, totally unaware of the significance of her words as she was on the move once again to fetch his coffee.
Peter rubbed his chin and ran over the Crowfoot/Hills case file again in his head. The men didn't match any of the photos included in the file he'd been given. He sighed as he saw Millie speed towards him with a welcomed cup of steaming coffee.
'The man was probably just some poor schmuck upset over spilled coffee. Yeah, right, and how many times will I have to tell myself that one before I start believing it!'
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