Chapter three: Wrong turn

The morning continues on the way it always does.

The same people coming in around the same time, ordering mostly the same things time and time again, so I’m taking the orders, serving the food, pouring cups of coffee, wiping down counters, cleaning up tables, mundane and repetitive, nothing has changed. By the time 10am rolls around the diner has quieted down to just 3 elderly gentlemen sipping coffee and eating apple pie while talking about their glory days, what-ever a neighbor did or said recently and expressing how the whole world is going to hell, based on a half read article in the newspaper.

Knowing it wont get any busier until around noon I walk over to Linda and ask if it’s ok to take slightly longer break than usual. With my truck out of commission I’ll have to walk over to the repair shop and hope Joe or mister Jackson, who owns the garage, is willing to drive out to my place and tow the truck into town for repairs.

Maybe I should ask her if I can work the evening shift as well tonight, lord knows I need the money, but I already know the answer. As grumpy and unapproachable as mister Mason seems, he is also extremely protective of us girls. He would never let a woman work the evening shift.

With Linda’s okay, I move through the swinging doors into the kitchen and empty out the trashcans on my way out the back door. Sam, our chef, is leaning against the alleyway wall across from the door, a cigarette between his lips. With the bandana tied around his head, the tattoos covering both his huge forearms completely and the large scar that runs from the left corner of his mouth all the way to his ear, he looks more like a dangerous criminal than a cook. If I didn’t know him, I think I’d avoid walking down this alley altogether. I have no doubt that he has a motorcycle stashed away somewhere, he just looks like the type you’d expect to ride a Harley Davidson all across the country, sleeping under the stars and getting in fist fights in dingy dive bars.

But instead he’s standing here, wearing a dirty apron with the name of a diner in a small town no one has ever heard of printed on the front, a black t-shirt that strains against his biceps and a pair of black slacks, giving me a half smile with the right side of his mouth. He probably had a lovely warm smile at one point in his life, I think to myself while I toss the two stinking and dripping garbage bags I’m carrying, into the dumpster.

“I’m heading over to Jackson’s garage, my car broke down this morning.” I tell him. “yeah I heard” he replies, which kind of surprises me, he wasn’t anywhere near when I told the Masons what had happened.

Seeing the surprised look on my face he continues, “the sound carries pretty well into the kitchen, there isn’t much that goes on up front that I don’t hear.”

“oh,.. “  is all I can think of to say, feeling pretty stupid, I guess I never noticed that, but it seems logical enough, he needs to hear us call out the orders right? And there is a cutout in the wall behind the counter where he puts the orders when they’re ready, of course he can hear what’s going on! “Well, I better get going, Linda is handling the orders ‘till I get back and I don’t want to burden her too much. I’ll be back before the lunch-rush!” I half yell while turning and making my way out onto the main street. “Don’t go making any wrong turns now ya hear?” I hear Sam hollering back.

Wrong turns, right.. out here? There’s only other 3 streets in this town and all of them lead back to Main street eventually. Well, unless you count the route I took this morning and there’s no road there anyway, heck, I wouldn’t even call it a path, I shudder just at the thought of my early morning track through the woods. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved to set foot on regular pavement.

After about fifteen minutes trying to get the events of this morning out of my head and convincing myself I’m just conjuring up things that aren’t really there and driving myself nuts due to lack of decent sleep, I step into Jackson’s auto-repair shop where I’m met with the smell of gasoline, oil and stale cigarettes. The shop is dimly lit and the main focus of the space is a car lift positioned in the center. A large sedan perched atop, held in place by the big sturdy looking metal arms, the car is halfway disassembled, revealing it’s inner workings like a mechanical puzzle waiting to be solved. Around the shop, tools of various sizes and shapes are scattered across workbenches. Grease-stained manuals and repair guides line the shelves, testament to the knowledge and expertise mister Jackson demands, several sets of tires are stacked up in a corner, but I don’t see Joe.

Making my way to the door that has office written on it in big bulky, bright red letters, I suddenly hear an god-awful ruckus coming from out back. Metal against metal, shouting, screaming, cussing and..  growling?? It sounds like a rabid dog going absolutely nuts! Is Joe being attacked by a rabid dog? Oh no!!

I rush towards the rusted metal door at the other end of the garage, it seems to be somewhat bent out of shape and slightly ajar, the sound of fighting coming from that way. Thinking on my feet, I grab a large metal bar, it looks to be the crank part of a car jack, the rubber handle giving me the ability to hold a nice firm grip ‘cause if it’s indeed a rabid dog that’s attacking Joe I can hopefully use it to fend the animal off long enough to get Joe out of harms-way. Since I’m not entirely sure what I’m dealing with or how far away this fight actually is, I peek through the gap first, hoping to catch sight of what’s going on.

“Can I help you miss?”

I practically jump 15 feet up in the air, my heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll jump right out of my chest, still holding on tightly to the metal bar I quickly turn around ready to strike, only to be met by a questioning look plastered on mister Jackson’s rugged face. Just like most men in this town, mister Jackson is built like a tank, tall and muscular, and just like Joe, his physique probably comes from working hard.

He seems to be in his mid to late forties, sun-kissed skin with just a few lines around his eyes, light brown hair and deep set hazel eyes, his high cheekbones and rounded eyebrows nearly give him a feminine look, were it not for his square jawline, thick whiskers and full mustache.

“Mister Jackson!!” I squeal, “Joe is being attacked by a rabid dog! We need to go and help him!”

“Nonsense, Joe is on his way to the city to get parts for that heap of Japanese plastic” he says while pointing behind him towards the car hanging halfway up in the air. “But the banging, the shouting, the growls, someone needs help” I say while turning and sticking out my hand to push open the banged up metal door, but mister Jackson places his hand on my shoulder and steers me away from the door. “we need to help whoever’s out there” I shout frustrated. 

“There’s no one out back, you probably just heard the echo of the tv show I was watching, now tell me, what can I do for you miss?”

**authors note: The chapters will get longer, I promise. This is my very first attempt at writing so please be kind. **