Page 12 of Song Bird Hearts
Well, it’s not a Starbucks, but it’s also not any sort of coffee shop I’ve seen before. I know I was spoiled back in Steele with Georgia and her coffee, and nothing ever truly compares to that, but this place looks sketchy as hell.
“You sure you want me to leave you here?” Perry asks hesitantly, his eyes on the storefront before me. “I was gonna say I could watch Kevin while you go in since they probably don’t let pigs in, but. . . honestly, I think they won’t mind.”
Yeah. It’s that bad. The front of the storefront is located on the corner of two streets. The street signs are missing, only the metal pole left behind where it used to say the names completely covered in stickers. The sidewalk is covered in old bubblegum and stains that I’m certain are from pee judging by the smell. The storefront declares that it’s the “Nightingale Coffee Shop” and it might have been a nice place once. Now, it barely looks open. One of the large windows was clearly broken out at some point, but instead of fixing it, they just put up a piece of plywood that looks like it’s been there for a while. Someone tagged it with harsh graffiti that I can’t reliably read to know what it says. The door has metal bars on them, but some of it has rusted away, leaving a few of the rungs with sharp, brutal points. Grass grows up through the cracks of the pavement around the door, and there’s trash floating around despite the empty trashcan to the side of the door. Hell, the trashcan looks cleaner than the door.
“Yeah, this is where I need to go,” I reassure Perry. Hank wouldn’t steer me wrong. If he says to be here, then this is where I should be. “I’ll be okay.”
Perry winces. “It doesn’t feel right leaving you here.”
“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “Seriously. You go live a good life and pretend you don’t know a damn thing about me. If they ask, feel free to tell them where you dropped me off at. I’ll already be gone.”
Perry purses his lips. “You were the kindest person I’ve ever driven. I hate to see you go.”
That makes me sadder than anything else. Perry is a good person. The fact that he’s been driving around assholes is bullshit. I’m not even overly nice. It’s just the bare minimum of manners.
“Thank you for your help,” I tell him. I reach into my purse and pull out the wad of money I had in there. It’s a couple thousand dollars I think. I press it into his hands. “Consider this severance pay.”
His eyes bug out. “You said you didn’t have any cash.”
“I said I didn’t have much,” I correct. “And now, I don’t have hardly any.”
“I can’t take this?—”
“You can and you will. Your son’s birthday is coming up. Get him something nice.”
I swear the man is about to cry. His eyes water and he blinks rapidly, but before the tears can fall, he pockets the money and kneels down to pat Kevin on the head. The pig gives him happy little grunts and wags his curly tail. Kevin makes friends everywhere he goes.
I hug Perry and then turn toward the dirty coffee shop door. “Come on, Kevin.” I poke my head into the surprisingly clean shop and focus on the barista behind the counter. “Uh, can my pig come in?”
The guy nods as if it isn’t the weirdest question he’s ever been asked and gestures for me to come in. When the door closes behind me, he asks, “What can I get you?”
I grimace and glance at Kevin, before focusing back on the very normal looking man. He’s wearing an apron and everything. His beanie has the coffee shop name embroidered on it. There’s a stain on his white shirt that looks like it came from the coffee he works with.
“Umm. . . I’ve. . . broken both legs and I need an orthopedic surgeon,” I mumble out hesitantly. It sounds ridiculous saying it now, but it’s the line.
The barista’s expression changes from pleasantly welcoming to completely serious. “Of course. Right this way.”
And then he turns and leads me toward a door I hadn’t even noticed. It blends in so seamlessly with the rest of the wall, I wouldn’t have even known it was there. Inside the doorway is a room. It’s plain mostly, except for a few shelves lined with water and food, a comfortable looking chair with a blanket over the arm, and a TV playing an old rerun of Friends. A small stall off to the side looks like it’s the bathroom.
“You’ll be safe in here. The door won’t open until your ride arrives,” he instructs.
“Wait,” I say when he goes to close the door. “Will Ibe safe in here? Is this room bulletproof?”
He cracks a smile, clearly amused. “Lady, this room can survive a nuclear blast. I don’t think bullets are getting in.”
And then he closes me into the room. Well, okay then.
I look around me, noticing that the walls do feel super thick at least. My first perusal of the room told me everything there was and when I search more, I realize that’s pretty much all that’s in here. Nothing extra. I’m surprised there’s even a tv.
“This feels like some spy shit, Kevin,” I tell the large potbellied pig. He grunts at my use of his name. “You’d make a great spy.” Another grunt of agreement.
With nothing left to do, I settle down to wait for whoever is being sent to help me. I trust who I called, but I never expected all of this. What kind of shit is Hank into that he has this sort of connection and pull? I’ll have to ask him when I see him. This is almost over the top and feels silly, but the kind of people I’m running from, you don’t exactly get away. If I survive this, it’ll be a fucking miracle.
I cover up with the blanket and watch TV, kicking my feet up on Kevin when he insists on laying under my legs. I’m nodding off on the second episode when the door clangs and someone starts to open it. I sit up in the chair, the blanket clutched to my front, as I stare at where I entered and the two men who suddenly fill the doorway.
“Valerie Decatur?” the taller one asks. The other one looks at his partner in shock before looking at me.
“Who’s asking?” I say, chin tilting up. I’ll fight if I have to. My mama taught me how to scrap when I was a kid. I can throw down when necessary.
