The Truth Booth

This short story came from the prompt "overheard." I couldn't help thinking of all the movies and tv shows where the main characters talk about something secret in ear shot of a waitress.

Golden lights reflect off the diner windows turning the night to a slick black void when two men in dark suits walk through the door.

“Hi, sit anywhere you like.” I gesture to the empty restaurant. And repress a groan as they slide into the bloodred booth and glare at each other from opposite sides of the table. Really? In an empty diner at ten pm? Why does everyone choose number seven? After last night’s revelations I didn’t get home until after midnight. I have a spread due in yearbook tomorrow morning, I don’t have time for this. 

“Can I get you two something to drink?” I ask pressing my smile into place as I hand each man a plastic covered menu then retrieve my pad and pen from my yellow ruffled apron. This could still be an easy one. Maybe I can salvage some kind of tip—Two guys in dark suits? Probably not.

“You got a liquor license?” The man’s voice is as thick and craggy as his black eyebrows. He doesn’t look up from the menu.

“Sorry. I just made a fresh pot of coffee though.”

“He will have the double stack with sausage and a side of hash browns.” The other man’s words are as clipped as his neatly trimmed gray beard. Eyebrows snorts and shakes his head handing the menu back to me as Beard continues, “I will have the Fiesta Burrito with guacamole.” He hands his menu back. “And two coffees. Black.”

“Right away.” I say smiling at them. This whole time neither man has looked at me. Not a good sign. I scribble their orders on the ticket and turn to take it to Sam in the kitchen.

 Before I take two steps Eyebrow’s low rock tumbler voice stops me in my tracks.

“I should shoot you for getting me into this mess.”

I exhale a slow breath and wait to decide if this shooting is metaphorical or maybe something…more.

“The way you shot Mac.” Beard’s voice is cut glass.

“No, like you shot the kid.”

Crap. My shoulders tense as I force myself to keep walking.

“The kid will be fine. Besides, he deserved it.”

“He’s a kid.” The gravel turns to a true growl.

“Who has a smart mouth.” Beard cuts.

Am I invisible? Can people literally not see me walking away from them?

“I’m not taking the fall if he dies.” The warning is clear in Eyebrows grumble.

“Stop whining.”

What is it about that booth? The lighting? Maybe because it’s close to the door but tucked in a corner?

“He’s bleeding all over my trunk.”

I just wanted a quiet night. One. Night.

“Are you his Grandmother now?”

“He’s sixteen.” Eyebrows words are accompanied by a thump that rattles the tableware. We where just suposed to grab him."

“Most likely he is healed already.”

Wait? Heald? What? Don’t turn around.

"Should we ordered something for him?” Eyebrows voice softens.

I can’t drag my feet any longer. So, I pick up my pace, ring the bell, and drop the order at the window.

“Table seven up to its tricks?” Sam asks narrowing her eyes at the men in the booth while picking up their order.

“Yep.”

“Do I need to call?”

“Let me take them coffee first.”

“You sure?” Sam quirks her delicate brow at me.

“Yeah, this one is...weird.”

“Suit yourself.”

Coffee pot in hand, I stride back to the red booth with casual speed, nothing interesting happening here just doing my job.

“You see him shift?” Eyebrows is pressing his hands into the table.

 “He has a smart mouth, but he is quick.” Beard agrees.

“Coffee?” I hold the pot out. Both men flick their gaze to me then back to each other as they lean back in their seats so I can poor unimpeded.

“Palatable.” Beard says after taking a tentative sip.

“Thanks." I repress the sarcasm that drenches my tongue. "Your food’ll be right up.” The men nod as I turn around.

“I hate getting blood out of carpet.” Eyebrows sighs like he’s blowing the words across the top of his mug.

“Better than brains.”

It’s a quick walk this time.

“Make the call, Sam.”

“That’s twice this week.”

“Wild how no one ever notices the waitress.”