Page 4 of Fortune's Control
My legs cooperated, and I stood, looking behind me at the wall of shops. Most were dark, while an illuminated sign advertised one. Gator Tale Bar and Grill.Perfect.
*****
Quiet conversation, dark wood, and leather greeted me. A stuffed alligator hung from the far wall. Couples occupied three booths along the back wall, each more interested in themselves than in me. Two women shared a high-top and abottle of wine. It was the table in the middle that grabbed my attention.
My would-be rescuer, Shane, sat with three other men. I stopped short and allowed myself to stare one more time. He found me twice, and now it was my turn.
He gripped a brown bottle, his thumb stroking its side. Shane leaned forward, and the man on his right laughed. Sensing my rude stare, he looked up, and our eyes met. I swallowed, telling myself to move since I still stood on the black mat by the entrance, risking a fall if the front door were to open.
He raised his bottle toward me, and his lips approached something akin to a smile. I returned it, and my legs came to life. I sat in the middle of the empty bar and turned my head to check on Shane again.
A server took his order, and our moment ended. I slumped forward and let the tension drain from my body. Food first, and then a plan. It’s possible that a bed-and-breakfast was nearby, or I could arrange an Uber ride to Gainesville. I could even borrow a phone to call Emma and ask her to pick me up, except she was hours away and wouldn’t arrive until the middle of the night.
The waitress who took Shane’s order approached, pulling a pen from behind her ear. “Are you ready to order?”
I didn’t have a menu yet. “Anything, I’m not picky. A salad, if you have it, or a chicken sandwich if you don’t.”
“How about both?”
I almost forgot. “Do you take credit cards? Please say you do, or I might burst into tears right now.”
“You went to Willards, didn’t you?” She shook her head. Probably in her forties, the laugh lines around her eyes softened her judgmental expression. “He never met a conspiracy he didn’t like. Either way, it doesn’t matterbecause your meal is covered. Whatever you want, it’s on the house. Anything to drink with it?”
“Diet soda. Any kind. Thank you so much.”
A random restaurant offering a free meal? Unlikely. I glanced over my shoulder one more time to mouth a thank you and received a gentle nod.
I ate slowly, letting time pass and my panic grow. Places in a small town didn’t stay open for twenty-four hours, and I’d have to go back outside.
Her face appeared as blood fell, spreading on her shirt and forming an ugly crimson stain.
Slow breaths. In and out. In and out.
The evening grew late. Shane’s conversation with his friends gave the impression of old friendships and shared memories. They each laughed so much I could tell one from the other without knowing their names or seeing their faces.
I glanced back for a last look at my would-be rescuer. His calm expression sharpened when the man next to him spoke. He tensed, leaned back in his wooden chair, and our eyes met again.
2-Shane
My foot landed on a weed sprouting through the cracked sidewalk. I ground it under my shoe’s shallow heel and ignored the twinge in my left leg.
A tall figure waited under the Gator Tale’s awning. The setting sun hid his identity, but his stance was as familiar as my own.
Jack whistled as I crossed the street. “They’re already inside. You’re late.” In the eight months since he left the Marines, Jack’s only change in uniform was subbing out old t-shirts to wear with his desert camo fatigues. I couldn’t recall a man who took less care of his appearance than my oldest friend.
“I had something to do.” Behind me, Lilah still sat on her wooden bench. My guilt wanted to return and offer help one more time. She also refused multiple times, and I ought to respect that.
“What is it?”
The park bench obscured everything below her shoulders. “Nothing. Let’s go.” In ten minutes, I would check on her again.
Some might label The Gator Taleas a dive bar or neighborhood haunt, as the dated decor and worn leather seats gave that impression. I slapped the wooden bar and nodded to Abe as we entered. Abe had worked behind the counter since before I could legally drink, and I expected he’d still be there after I died.
We headed to the only occupied table, where I took a seat facing both the bar and the entrance. A year ago, the positionnever bothered me, but now, after the accident, I was paranoid about such things. “Have you ordered yet?”
Dean pointed toward the bar with his index finger. “First thing.”
Diane approached with a tray carrying four brown bottles. “What else for tonight?”
