The meatloaf was long gone and the redhead was greedily sopping up the last bit of egg yolk with a torn corner of toasted bread.
I couldn't help but watch her with a certain horrified fascination.
This girl can really put it away. How the hell does she stay so small?
She swallowed the last crumbs of her meal and gave a contented little sigh. Then, as if noticing me again for the first time, she said:
"I thought you people considered it rude to stare?"
I blinked at her.
"You people as in… who, exactly?"
"No. You as in people."
I still didn't understand. And I didn't care to.
Whatever.
"I'm not staring. I'm thinking."
"'Bout what?"
"You. I'm trying to figure out your deal, Missy."
"I told you my name's not Missy. It's-"
"Hawty Schlitz? Yeah, I'm not calling you that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's such a blatant lie that its actively insulting to my intelligence to use it."
She actually looked a little offended.
"I thought it was cool. Besides, I don't see how my deal is any of your business."
"It's not. But I'm a detective. I'm snoopy by nature. I can't resist a puzzle, you know? They just draw me in. It's like a compulsion. And, Lady, you are quite the puzzle."
"What are you talking about? I'm not a puzzle. I'm just a regular, normal, human girl."
She didn't seem to notice how irregular and unnormal that statement was.
"Bullshit."
A flicker of real irritation flash over her face. Her brow furrowed and a slight darkness crept into those bright green eyes.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I must be on the right track.
"Excuse me?" she said, more than a little indignant.
"Face it, kid, you're in a shitty diner in a shitty town at 3am on a Wednesday morning. You sure ain't got a job—not pulling these kind of hours. Your clothes are all wrong, too. You're young and good-looking. There's no way you looked through your closet and settled on the hand-me-down-grease-monkey look just for kicks. Not a chance. And—don't take this the wrong way—but I'm not sure you know how money works."
"Money is how you pay for things." Her voice was a growl, full of quiet menace.
"Sure. But it's not how you get the things you want, is it? So, what's the story, Lady? Rich daddy cut you off? Trophy husband leave you for the secretary?"
Her eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to blurt out something rude. Maybe even truthful.
I kept on pressing. Because I'm an idiot and I can't help myself.
I never could turn down a good puzzle.
"No, that's not it. It might explain the ditzy, disconnected vibe if you were just some spoiled rich girl—but not the tattoos."
Her eyes widened. Just a little. She made a sharp inhale.
There it is.
"You've been tying to hide them since you got her. You keep pulling the hem of your shirt down, trying to cover them. Like a nervous tick. No wonder the edges are so frayed already. But I guess you like food more than privacy. I got a few good looks while you were chowing down."
Her face reddened. Her hands tightened into fists and she pressed them into her lap, trying, too late, to hide the tell tale ink stains in her skin.
"Got some chains inked on your wrists, huh? That's pretty goth-punk for a rich girl on the hunt for a yacht-club husband. Doesn't exactly scream, 'high society.' So where does that leave us, mystery girl? What's your deal?"
Her pursed lips began to trouble. I kept up the attack.
"What are you running from?"
Her eyes flashed green fire. She gave me what could almost have been called a snarl.
"Listen here you- you meat-sack! Who or what I am is none of your god damned business so why don't you take all your snide little observations and shove them up your-"
The bell on the door jingled again. Just a little musical tinkle of a digital bell.
But, at it's sound, the redhead's jaw snapped shut. She froze.
Almost like the sound frightened her.
Almost like… she'd expected it.
Four of them stepped into the diner—tall men with clenched jaws dressed in black suits, black shirts, and black ties. Like shadows come to life.
"Have a seat wherever you like. I'll be right with you," called Mattie from the kitchen.
But they weren't listening.
They had their eyes fixed straight on us.
Well… her.
The red head's disposition had completely changed. She looked like a whole different girl.
Her shoulders slumped, her head bowed. All the youthful enthusiasm had evaporated into fumes and a weariness I hadn't noticed before settled in around her eyes.
She looked almost old all of a sudden.
One of the black-suited men gave the rest of his squad a curt nod. Two fell back, folding their hands and flanking the door.
Posting guards.
The apparent leader and a chosen wingman advanced toward us, their fancy dress shoes clapping against the linoleum floor.
I watched them out of the corner of my eye, trying to stay inconspicuous.
Then I took a long sip of bitter coffee. I even slurped down a mouthful of grains out of the sticky bottom, just to try and keep my hands from shaking and my lips from quivering.
I didn't want them to know that I'd noticed.
I didn't want to give away that I had seen the bulges under their coats where their guns were stashed.
Oooooh, shit.