Page 14 of Smokey's Distraction
Smokey scanned the restaurant: all the tables were full and the counter as well. He rocked back on his heels and peeled off his gloves as he looked over at a table with four little boys and two frazzled parents. Two of the kids were constantly on the verge of knocking over their glasses of milk, and the mom and dad took turns grabbing the precarious beverages and pushing them back toward the middle of the table.
Watching the family’s interaction reminded Smokey of his own when they’d gone out to eat on the rare occasion. His parents would sit in the middle of the booth, and he and his four brothers would be divided on either side of them. As boys tended to do, they would act up sometimes—nothing serious. His father would give them a cold stare, and in a steady voice would tell them to settle down. His mother never said a word, but that had been par for the course for most of Smokey’s childhood.
“I told you boys to stop it,” the father with a beaklike nose and small eyes said to his sons. Smokey wondered if the kids would get a beating when they got home, just like he and his brothers always had afterwards.
“You solo?” Maddie’s voice yanked Smokey out of recollections.
“Yeah—I forgot about it being so damn crowded in here on Sundays,” Smokey replied.
“In three hours, this place will be so nice and calm.” Maddie glanced around, shaking her head. “That’s what gets me through this crap.”
Smokey laughed, then nodded toward the back of the eatery. “Is our booth free?” Ruthie’s was a favorite Insurgents’ hangout, and the last booth in the back of the diner was normally reserved for them.
“Sorry, it’s taken. You guys hardly ever come in this early on Sundays. I can get you a place at the counter.” She took a step closer to him and whispered, “The guy with the T-shirt pulled tightly over his big belly is just finishing up a slice of banana cream pie. Will that work? It’s the last seat and your back will be to the wall.” Maddie knew the bikers required seating that enabled them to have a full view of the restaurant.
Smokey nodded. “That’ll work.”
“I’ll get it fixed up for you,” she said in a low voice before rushing away.
In less than five minutes, the pot-bellied customer was at the register paying his bill, and Maddie was motioning for Smokey to come over.
“Why do you get preferential treatment?” someone behind him said.
Smokey’s jaw tightened as he turned around and squinted at a shaggy-haired guy in baggy pants and a loose-fitting hoodie. “You talking to me?” he said, slightly leaning forward.
The people standing near the young man quickly scattered away to the corners of the small waiting area. The dude darted his eyes from the dispersing patrons to Smokey then back to the customers.
“I didn’t hear your answer,” Smokey said in a voice as sharp as a razor blade.
The early-twentysomething-year-old looked down at the floor and shuffled in place. “I … uh … was here … uh … first.”
“So?” he growled.
The guy shrugged. “So nothing.”
“If you got a problem—tell me and we can deal with it.” Smokey watched the guy shift from one foot to another.
“Everything okay, honey?” Ruthie asked as she came over to Smokey. The owner looked at the fidgeting man and then back at the biker. “Is he giving you trouble?” she asked Smokey.
“I’m not causing any trouble,” the young man said.
“He just needs to learn to think before he talks.” Smokey turned away and slipped an arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “It’s good to see you. Haven’t been at the diner in a while, have you?”
“I’m trying to take it easier—doctor’s orders, not mine.” She laughed. “How are you and the other guys? Still breaking women’s hearts and partying too hard?”
Smokey smiled. “You know it—some things never change.” He squeezed her shoulder, then dropped his arm to his side.
“I’ll come over and visit with you in a while. One of the cooks called off, so I’m in the kitchen.” Ruthie winked at him, then slipped behind the counter and disappeared into the back to help out with the orders.
Smokey moseyed over to the counter and settled down on the red vinyl-cushioned chrome stool. Maddie placed a steaming cup of coffee, a small earthenware creamer, and a glass of water in front of him.
“Do you need a minute?”
Smokey tipped the creamer over his coffee. “Nope. I’ll have the steak—medium—and eggs.” He picked up his spoon and stirred the coffee.
Maddie scribbled on a pad. “Fried potatoes or hash browns?”
“Fried potatoes.”
