Or had she been laughing at him? The sudden thought made him jerk his head in her direction. Sparks exploded behind the shades. Jaysus, that hurt. Take it easy, Mick. Get a grip. Ye’ll do yerself an injury.
Aye, even worse than his broken brain, his bandaged head and the Elastoplasts on his cheek.
The waitress stopped for a quick word with the manager. Big guy, impressive in his suit and tie, long black hair tied back in a ponytail. They both laughed.
Mick reached for the triple espresso. He needed a whiskey. By Christ, how he needed a whiskey. But this would have to do. He waited for his hand to steady itself before raising it to his lips. Not that anyone would notice if he spilled coffee on his shirt. It would blend right in with those god-awful palm trees and coconuts.
Sweet mother of god, was this the only clothes that bloody wop owned? His own T-shirts wouldn’t fit over his bandaged head, and he didn’t have time to go shopping. So he’d settled for borrowed rags. On the positive side – even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.
Now why was he thinking about that old witch? He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she’d enforced the restraining order and had him sent away the first time.
He took a deep breath. Focus, Mick. Focus. Let’s keep that particular can of worms locked in its padded cell.
The old woman a few tables away must have stirred up those memories. In her threadbare greatcoat, with her smart new hairdo, smiling at every shape that passed her table. She probably couldn’t even see their faces without her glasses.
There they sat on the table in front of her, next to the two handbags she wasn’t letting out of her sight. One gnarled fist held both handles in a death-grip.
The manager approached her table, hand on her shoulder, leaning down to share a friendly word. She managed a shaky smile and nodded her thanks.
Mick wondered if she was waiting for someone. That could throw a monkey wrench in his plans. She’d been alone when he’d come in. But something must have happened before that. Those eyes weren’t just red from wearing glasses. Her jutting chin and the handkerchief stuffed up her sleeve told him more than he wanted to know.
⛥
⛥
Read Dancing in Valhalla in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole book – 13 decadent twisted tales of mystery, music, magick & mayhem.
Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Including the new Burning Books sampler booklet (also available on Kindle Unlimited).
No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.
⛥⛥
Check out the Burning Books product range on Zazzle. Shirts, playing cards, sanitizers and more.
⛥⛥
Cheers.
No comments:
Post a Comment