Heartless People

EIGHT

In business, ruthlessness is righteousness.
~ Justin K. McFarlane Beau

LAUREN

He sat across from me, his face expressionless as I poured a shot of Green Spot Irish Whiskey into my coffee.

"Ma'am—"

The moment I held my hand up, he stopped speaking, allowing me to enjoy my afternoon coffee in silence. Like always, I dipped my pinky finger in it, stirring it around before sucking the coffee off my finger. Inhaling the scent as I brought to the cup to my lips, it tasted like liquid fire going down my throat, and yet I couldn't stop until I finished every drop.

Licking my lips, I sat the cup to the side, next to the salt and pepper shakers on the diner table, relaxed back into the booth, and focused back on the man in
front of me. "You're going to need to repeat what you just said one more time."

He swallowed, licking his lips. "We got jacked ma'am about ten pounds worth of product and ten large.

"But you know who did it, right, Flannery?"

"They are nothing but a bunch of bone-headed kids. Vionas boys. Right after leaving her I was going to see—"

Once again I held my hand up and once again, he shut up. Scratching the side of my neck, I glanced out the window; the clouds above were slowly turning from white to gray, and from gray to black.

"So, what you are telling me is not only did I get robbed, but I got robbed by a bunch of kids, is that right?"

"Ma'am—"

"Is. That. Right?"

He nodded, adjusting the brown cabbie cap on his head.

"Okay." I laughed, standing up.

"Okay?"

"You said you were going to see these kids, so lets go. Its only two blocks up the road right?" I reached into my jacket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill,
turning back to my favorite old waitress behind the bar and sliding it across the counter to her.

"How many times do I have to tell you the coffee is only twenty?" She grinned.

"How many times do I have to tell you that doesn't even cover seeing your beautiful face?" I replied.

She tried to make a face at me, but she couldn't stop the grin forming on her cheeks, the wrinkles on her face more prominent now than ever.

"Ever the charmer. How does your wife put up with that mouth of yours?"

"I could tell you but you'd get me in trouble now, Beatrice." I winked at her, grabbing a toothpick before walking toward the door.

Beatrice had worked at Eastside Diner for almost thirty years now. I'd come every Monday with Vero at first, and now Chris, and always ordered the same
thing. She knew it, but she still asked anyway. Five years ago, I bought her the diner so the poor woman could finally retire, but she was so damn enthusiastic to diner so the poor woman could finally retire, but she was so damn enthusiastic to be the owner she now came every bloody day, working harder than she had before.

Stepping out into the cold, I saw Fedel made a move to the car, but I shook my head, walking toward Flannery. He said nothing, just stuck his large scarred hands into the pockets of his trousers and put his head down, obviously thinking far too hard.

"Hi, Mrs. Jauregui." Two young girls, maybe three or four years older than Elisa, waved to me once we got closer to the neighborhood.

"Ladies." I nodded to them, moving to give them space on the sidewalk.