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As I sipped the last of my coffee, the middle aged waitress returned. She smiled and raised a wash cloth, then began wiping down the crumb festered table.
Without stopping her task, she leaned towards me and whispered, "Your wife owes me a bit of money, Mr. Delvino."
My lips sputtered in my coffee at the realization that she knew my name. I stared at her in confusion, "Umm, sorry. Excuse me?"
She finished wiping the table and stood up. Leaning on the table, "Where's your wife tonight?"
Still confused I replied, "I'm sorry, I don't understand. How do you even know my name?"
She smirked, "Come now, Mr. Delvino. Or would you prefer, Mark?"
I was at a loss for words and started to scoot out of my booth to leave.
Placing a hand on my shoulder, she pushed me back, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Following her eyes, her other hand rested on a small pistol, just visible below the hem of her apron.
"I'm not sure what you want. I don't have any cash on m-"I began with a nervous gulp.
She interrupted me. "Tsk tsk tsk, Mr. Delvino. I believe it was a simple enough question."
"About my name preference or my wife?" I asked, praying that it did not come off snarky.
Her eyebrow twitched, "your wife's whereabouts, please."
I sputtered a response, "But what do you want with her?"
The blonde tilted her head with a saccharine smile, "Like I said before... she owes me some money."
Dumfounded, I could not help but question further, "What could my wife possibly owe you money for? She's a house wife, not a business woman."
"Ehhhhhh," she imitated the sound of a buzzer, "wrong answer. I already checked your home. So let's give it one more go. Shall we?"
My eyes widened at the idea, and I began to protest. She quieted me by nudging her gun. In response, I shook my head, "I'm sorry, I just don't know what you expect from me."
She stepped closer, blocking me from view of the other customers.
"It's simple really," her hand shot forward and yanked my beard. My jaw hit the table. The sound, of which, was muffled by the wash rag she had set on the table. I could feel the gun pressed firmly to my temple. "Where. Is. Your. Wife." she emphasized each word through gritted teeth.
My jaw tightened in response, until she startled me by reaching into my coat pocket. I stiffened at the action, but was relieved when she brought out my phone.
"Alrighty, then. We'll just call her. Maybe we can get this straightened out and nobody gets hurt," she said, swiping through my contacts.
Finally, she hit the call button and handed me the phone.
Placing it to my ear, I heard it automatically click into voice-mail. The phone eventually slipped from my hands as I finished listening to Vivian's latest voice recording, "Goodbye forever, darling!"
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