Ann Evans - Home To Family

The place was small, a single counter with stools and a few booths along one end. Nobody looked up as he came in, though there were four or five people who had obviously sought shelter against the inhospitable weather.

There was a man seated on the end stool, nearest the door. A young woman with sallow skin but pretty blond hair stood behind the cash register. At the opposite end of the counter, a barrel-chested guy in a spotty apron— Duffy?—nodded curtly at Matt.

In half a dozen strides, Matt reached the counter. “Hi,” he said to the waitress. “Can I get a cup of coffee to go? Black, please.”

She didn’t say a word, just turned around and started to fill the order. Little white bag, napkin, stir stick. Matt blew on his hands to warm them while he waited. The man beside him looked up and gave him a tight smile. Matt nodded.

The service was slow. The blonde turned at last, coffee now hidden away in the bag. Matt could smell it—strong and heavenly, and he could almost feel it warming his insides already.

And then he heard something strange. Bells. Very faint and delicate-sounding. He thought it might be coming from the jukebox at the opposite side of the room—Christmas tunes would be the order of the day—but that couldn’t be. The colored arch along the top of the machine was dark, like a dead rainbow.

He realized the sound was coming from the waitress. He caught a name badge over her right breast. Jill. Her hand was clutched on the take-out bag, and it was then Matt noticed that she wore a bracelet. A concession to the Christmas season—small linked jingle bells covered her wrist.

They were shaking. Hard. So was her hand.

In fact, when Matt looked back at her name badge, he could see her heart pumping wildly, moving the plastic back and forth.

“Are you all right?” he asked with a frown.

The girl went white as new snow. Unexpectedly, the man on the stool next to him rose and quickly went around the end of the counter. He hugged Jill to his side, then smiled at Matt.

“Not a problem, man,” he said. “Jill’s my lady, and we just had a little spat. But everything’s okay now. Ain’t that right, Jill?”

Jill nodded, trance-like, but nothing in her stiff posture indicated smooth sailing ahead for this couple. Must have been one heck of a spat, Matt thought.

And then, in that moment, in one split, God-awful moment of understanding, it hit him. He knew precisely what he was witnessing here, and it wasn’t an embarrassingly public lover’s quarrel.

The nearly deserted street outside. The unnatural, still silence of the other diners. Jill’s barely controlled panic. The tense, wary way in which the man who held her smiled at him.

In that same instant, the older employee at the opposite end of the counter took several steps in their direction. “Turn her loose,” he growled, his eyes wild and burning.

The man holding Jill lifted one arm, and Matt saw the gun in his hand for the first time. “Back off, old man,” he snapped. “You don’t want my kind of trouble.”

He pointed the gun at Matt when the employee stopped dead in his tracks. “You. Just stand right there. If you’re smart, you won’t move.”

Matt did as he was told. The robber was short, but he had a bully’s jaw and the harsh, fierce eyes of a sewer rat. Matt watched as the man let go of Jill and came around the counter to stand in front of him. With the end of his gun, he motioned toward the counterman. “Finish opening the safe.” Jill had begun to cry now, and the robber barked at her, “Shut the hell up!” For good measure, he reached across the Formica, yanked her close with a twisting grip on her blouse, and slapped her.

Matt flinched inwardly, but remained still. He knew enough to keep from escalating this any further with a foolish show of bravado. The robber would take the cash and make a run for it. There wasn’t any need for anyone to get badly hurt.

Jill bit down on her bloodless lips and went silent.

“Harley!” the sewer rat shouted down the length of the room. “What’s taking you so long? Hustle up!”

For the first time Matt realized that a second robber had begun rounding up prizes from the other diners—wallets and rings and anything that looked remotely valuable and portable. He was tall, with long hair that made him look young and oddly innocent.

While Harley worked quickly at the other end of the diner, the first robber kept his gun trained on Matt. A demented grin snaked across the man’s face.

He thumped Matt lightly on the chest with the barrel of his weapon. “Nice coat. Got anything else under there I might like?”

Matt unbuttoned his coat, withdrew his wallet and handed it over.

The man glanced at Jill and made an impatient gesture with his fingers. “Get that ring off.”

Unexpectedly, the girl showed a sudden spark of life. “No,” she said. “It’s my engagement ring.”

The guy didn’t like that. “I don’t care if you inherited it from your dear departed mother. Take it off.”

He started to lean over the counter, but Matt took a step in front of him. “You don’t have to hurt her,” he said, desperate to keep the situation calm and his thoughts coherent. “Go easy. She’ll give it up. Won’t you, Jill?”

He looked at her, this stupid, stupid girl who seemed willing to go to the mat for a bauble that wouldn’t bring one hundred dollars in a pawn shop. “It’s not worth getting hurt,” he told her, softly.

He felt a swell of relief when she started twisting the ring off her finger. No reason for this to go sour. Unpleasant, yes. A nuisance, really, with the police reports that would have to be filed.

Shayla had been right, damn it. He shouldn’t have stopped.

And just as he had that thought, the door to the diner was opening. He turned his head to see Shayla come into the restaurant, her features pinched and cold from too many minutes spent alone in the car.

“Jeez, Matt. How long does it take to get a cup of coffee?” she complained as she came toward him.

“Shayla, wait for me out in the—”

Jill began to wail, a high-pitched, nerve-jangling sound. Matt turned toward her, saw that the robber had turned his gun in her direction, clearly intending to silence the girl once and for all.

“No, don’t,” Matt said quickly. “Don’t…”

“Matt?” he heard Shayla say in sudden, quavering distress.

“Shut up!” the robber yelled at Jill. “Shut up!”

There was sudden movement at the other end of the room and a terrified squeal from one of the diners. Everything happened so fast, almost simultaneously, and yet Matt was vividly aware of every moment, as though they were frozen in place like statues.

The older man reached below the counter, pulling a shotgun from some hidden nook. “You sons of bitches!” he shouted. “You’ve taken your last nickel out of this place!”

“Harley!” the robber called to his compatriot.

A gunshot exploded.

A woman screamed.

Matt launched himself at the robber closest to him. The man bellowed in surprise, but Matt concentrated on getting control of the gun.

Chaos suddenly. More screams and shouts as gunshots sounded again, so close together that Matt couldn’t tell how many or just where they had come from. The robber’s gun lay trapped between their bodies now, and as they both grunted and cursed and struggled for control, Matt felt himself shoved hard from behind.

Moments later, when the pain hit, he realized the truth.

Not shoved. Shot.

And only seconds after that awareness, the gun in his hand went off.

He was free suddenly, the robber sliding bonelessly into a heap at his feet. Matt backed away, aware that he’d just shot another human being.