by C. J. Birch
Hayley nodded without looking up or stopping her bobbing head. “Ramiro gave me a list of what needs to get done. If I have questions about a task, I’ll just leave it until you get back. That cool?”
“I won’t be gone long.”
On her way up to her apartment she tried to figure out what it was about Hayley. She’d only known her for a few days. She was polite, a good worker, and she was always on time, eager to do things the right way. But she’d thought about Hayley more than any other employee she’d had. Ever. And that was unsettling. She didn’t have any reason to be putting this much thought into her.
By the time she made it back to the diner, the music was cranked full blast, and Hayley was fist-pumping to “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” singing at the top of her lungs. She wanted to cross the kitchen and turn down the music, but then the bridge started, and Hayley began drumming on the counter to the beat. The sight actually froze her on the spot. She didn’t want to make any movement that would stop what was going on in front of her. She’d never seen anyone lose themselves so fully in a song. And then Hayley turned around, and the spell was broken. She lunged for the volume nob and yanked it to a reasonable level.
“Don’t let me stop you.” Lauren took a step into the kitchen. “What are you listening to?”
“Joy Division.” Hayley followed that admission with a look that said, duh. “Don’t you like eighties music?”
“I like it fine. Were you even alive in the eighties?”
“I missed it by this much.” She held her thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart, a lopsided grin on her face. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it anyway. My sister says I was born in the wrong generation. I grew up obsessed with retro game systems.”
“I can tell.” Lauren pointed at her T-shirt.
And then Hayley blushed. It started at the base of her neck and swept across her face. It was the most adorable thing Lauren had ever seen. And that’s when it hit her, what she found unsettling about Hayley. She didn’t take anything seriously. She let everything wash off her back like it was no big deal. It was the same attitude Ramiro had, which was probably why he’d hired her in the first place.
Lauren turned away from Hayley, disappointed not in Hayley but herself. When had she become her mother?
Growing up, Lauren hadn’t noticed how much of her life her mother had controlled. It wasn’t until after she died and when Lauren’s dreams were cast adrift that she’d realized they were her mom’s dreams. Her whole life she’d been living her mom’s life; she’d just never known it until that guidance was gone.
Every activity and class she’d ever taken was because it’s what her mom wanted, although at the time Lauren had thought it was her idea. Even though she hated ballet, she’d spent six years doing it until finally her ballet instructor had pulled her mother aside and told her Lauren had no talent and that no amount of practice would help. The truth was, she could see what Lauren couldn’t, that she didn’t have the drive to be talented.
Lauren had applied to the university her mom wanted her to for the courses her mom wanted her to take. Lauren wouldn’t have known what to do with a business degree if she’d gotten one.
When Lauren was eleven, she’d asked to take a baking class. Her best friend’s mom used to decorate these elaborate cakes, and Lauren and Tracy would sit at the breakfast bar watching Mrs. Gardner sculpt amazing fantasy worlds out of nothing more than melted marshmallows and icing sugar. It was a revelation to watch her work, and Lauren wanted to be able to create something out of nothing.
Her mother had told her baking was for the Dark Ages. No self-respecting woman should spend her time in the kitchen baking. She could see her mother’s expression perfectly—lips poised in a straight line, her red lipstick perfectly applied as she uttered the word frivolous.
Lauren still loved creating beautifully intricate cakes; she’d had to teach herself over the years. It had gotten easier with YouTube and the endless treasure trove of tutorials. But she didn’t really broadcast her interest, because somehow she felt like she was betraying her mother’s wishes. Without even knowing it, she’d internalized her mother’s issues and made them her own.
Chapter Nine
Hayley tightened her arms around her chest. As cool as her leather jacket was, it had no warmth at all. The zipper had split last year, and she had no idea if it could be replaced or how much that would cost. Besides, it was vintage, and you didn’t mess with vintage.
She hadn’t thought to bring her winter jacket, which was sitting in a closet back home. She’d ask Kalini if it was okay if her parents sent her stuff there. They still thought she was living with her and Jason, and she didn’t want them to know otherwise. Not until she got a better place.
The leaves were just starting to turn those brilliant shades of fall. She took a deep breath. This was her favourite time of year—after the heat waves but before the snow fell. You could be comfortable during the day, although at night it was chilly. Tomorrow she’d bring an extra sweater to layer up until she got a warmer jacket.
As she rounded the corner, she spotted a cop car parked up on the curb in front of the Palace Arms. Hayley skirted around it. Nobody was inside, but the lights were still twirling, sending red and blue blotches dancing on the pink building. As sad as it was to say, seeing a cruiser parked next to the building was a regular occurrence. After the third day in a row coming home and seeing the red and blues, she’d lost all her anxiety.
The F-word floated down from upstairs as Hayley opened the door. That would be Dunne. She could tell his gravelly voice anywhere. A few years ago he’d gotten punched in the throat by one of the other guests and hadn’t talked normally since. He was her closest neighbour, and as far as she could tell, he was a giant teddy bear. A barely functioning alcoholic, but always a friendly drunk.
Right now he was yelling at someone for going through someone’s personal stuff. He stopped speaking as someone talking much lower responded to him. She climbed the last flight to see a group of people standing outside her door.
She stopped.
A tall female officer, Ed, and Dunne were standing in a semicircle around her open door. Light was streaming out, and both Dunne and the lady cop were speaking to someone inside. Her heart started pounding. Why were the cops in her room? Had someone called them saying she had drugs? She didn’t, but what if someone had left some behind?
Dunne saw her first, and he looked so relieved she thought he might faint. He was in his nighttime uniform of a dingy-brown terrycloth housecoat and Mr. Rogers-type house slippers. His hands were jammed into his pockets, stretching the fabric at his shoulders, revealing a tear in the seam.
“Oh, thank fuck. Hayley, get over here. They’re messing with your stuff.” He rubbed the top of his head. He was bald except for a ring of curly salt-and-pepper hair around the nape of his neck.
“What’s going on?”
The female cop stepped farther into the hall. “Are you the occupant of this room?” she asked.
Hayley nodded. She peered in to see a male officer on his hands and knees with half his arm down the air vent. “What’s going on?” Hayley almost didn’t want to ask. This all looked so bad.
The policewoman guided Hayley to the right, positioning herself so Hayley had her back to her room. “I’m Officer Ragasa. We were called in on a noise complaint an hour ago. You’re Hayley Cavello?”
Hayley turned to look back in her room. Her mattress was overturned and slashed up, and most of the fabric had been torn off, exposing the springs underneath.
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
How could she not worry about that? Her money had been under that mattress. What had they done with her money?
Dunne walked up beside her and took a flask out of his housecoat pocket. He unscrewed the top and offered Hayley a sip. She shook her head. Dunne shrugged and took a nip.
“Sir?” the officer Ragasa asked. “Can you please put the alcohol away?”
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br /> “Why? This is my place of residence. I’ve retired for the evening. Or I would’ve.” He waved in the vague direction of Hayley’s room. “If that shithead hadn’t ruined my peaceful evening.”
“What’s going on, Dunne? What happened to my room?”
“Alan happened to your room.”
“The guy below me?”
Dunne nodded. “He came home mad about something and kept banging on people’s doors. Your door must have popped open. I found him in there going nuts with your stuff.”
“Where’s he now?”
“He took off when Ed called the cops. Who knows where he is now? Probably coming down from his high.”
“Got it,” the cop yelled from inside Hayley’s room. He came into the hall holding a serrated hunting knife.
“That’s not mine,” said Hayley. The thing looked like it could kill just by being near it.
“It’s Alan’s,” said Dunne. “I saw him drop it down there before he took off. He was screaming something about blue mice in the vents.”
Hayley took a step toward her room, then stopped and looked back at Ragasa. “Can I go in?”
Ragasa motioned her forward. “Please. Take a look around and see if anything’s missing.”
The only thing Hayley cared about was her money. She stepped inside and froze. The place had been torn apart. Not that there was a lot of furniture—just a bed, her dresser, and a chair she’d used as a holding place for worn clothes. All the drawers in her dresser had been pulled and thrown upside down on the floor, scattering her clothes. The chair wasn’t even in the room anymore, and her mattress was on its side ripped to shreds.
The first thing she did was kneel under the bed and check for her money. She’d kept it in an envelope between the mattress and box spring. Not the best place for it, but she’d meant to put it in the bank. She’d just never gotten around to it. She’d almost had enough for rent this week. Two more days of tips and she would’ve been fine for another week.
She reached her hand underneath the bed and felt around. There was no envelope. Only dust.
The next thing she checked was her laptop bag. Her computer was still there, zipped tight.
“Is anything missing?”
Hayley turned. Ragasa was blocking the doorway while the other cop spoke with Ed.
“Yes. I had a hundred and thirty dollars in an envelope.”
The woman pursed her lips and made a note in her pad. Hayley was thankful she refrained from telling her it was a stupid place to keep her money. “Anything else missing?”
“Not that I can tell right now.”
“Okay. We’ll most likely pick up Alan sometime within the next twenty-four hours. He still has a room in the building, and it’s likely he’ll come back.” She held up her hand to stop Hayley from speaking. “However, it’s unlikely we’ll recover your money. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but he’s probably spent it. And if we do find money, it will be a long time before you’ll be able to claim it.”
“But why?”
“It’ll be very hard to prove that’s your money. Alan could say it’s his, and since no one saw him take it, it’s your word against his.”
“And you’ll take his word over mine?” Hayley was on the verge of tears. All of this was so unfair.
Ragasa’s shoulders dropped and she entered the room. “I know it’s frustrating. Can I offer some advice?”
“Don’t keep my money under a dusty mattress in a shitty hotel?”
Ragasa sighed and offered a sad smile. “Also? Find a better place to stay soon.”
“It was this or the streets.”
Ragasa bit her lip. Hayley got the impression Ragasa saw too much of this in her job. What a shitty job to have to deal with the worst in people all day. She handed Hayley a business card with her name, badge, and phone number on it. “If you notice anything else is missing, give me a call. I’ll touch base in a few days to update you on what’s happening. But…”
“But I’m basically up Schitt’s Creek, right?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Great.” Hayley stared at the remains of her room. She tried so hard not to, but all she could think about was how things couldn’t get any worse. She didn’t want to make it a coherent thought because that’s when things would get so much worse.
* * *
“Come on, Ed. Please.”
Ed was in his signature Hawaiian shirt, a coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She’d found him out back hiding the next morning, no doubt trying to avoid this very conversation.
“I have people I have to answer to. This isn’t just me sitting behind a desk making my own decisions.”
“I was robbed. Alan has your rent.”
“No, nope.” He stabbed his cigarette in Hayley’s direction. “It’s not my rent until you give it to me. Right now, it’s Alan’s money, and as long as he pays his money at the end of the week, I don’t care where it comes from.”
“Are you serious? How can you be such a jerk to my face? You know he stole it from me.”
Ed shook his head back and forth several times. “I told you this was not a place for girls.”
“I am not a girl. I am a woman. Do people continuously go around calling you a boy?” Hayley was starting to build up steam. She pulled herself up to her full five feet six inches and jabbed a finger right in the centre of one of Ed’s pineapples. “No. You get to be a man. All guys get to be men. Why can’t I have the same fucking courtesy? I am a fucking woman.”
Ed held a hand up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Jesus Christ. I’ll float you a week.” He dropped his cigarette at his feet and stubbed it out with his toe. “But you owe three hundred at the end of next week.”
“Thanks,” Hayley mumbled as she stalked off toward the diner.
“Goddamned feminists,” Ed cursed quietly, but Hayley still heard. She decided she didn’t have it in her for round two.
* * *
Hayley was in a foul mood the rest of the day. She’d just found out she wasn’t going to get paid until the end of the month because she’d started after the last pay period, which meant she wouldn’t have the three hundred dollars to give Ed next week. She still had another week after that, and who knew how big her paycheque would actually be?
Ramiro pulled his jacket off its hook. “Shrug it off, Pollyanna. Tomorrow will be better.”
“That’s what they say.”
“And ‘they’ is usually right.”
She hadn’t told anyone at work about getting robbed last night. She didn’t want them knowing she lived at the Palace Arms. It was bad enough that she was on the verge of being kicked out of the low-rent hotel in the first place, but to prove everyone who’d said she didn’t belong there right? Well, that was too much.
“If you ever need to talk about anything, you can tell us. We’re like a family here. We take care of our own.”
Hayley nodded. She was tempted to say something. Ramiro and everyone at the diner had been nothing but welcoming, which she appreciated because she’d needed that more than even she knew. But this situation felt too personal a thing to share with someone she’d known only a little over a week.
Ramiro shrugged into his jacket, grabbed his crutches, and shoved off from the counter. “Well, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
“Bye, sweetums.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Hayley smiled. She loved listening to Lauren and Ramiro banter. They were like an old married couple, and she found that thought comforting for some reason. Imagining that they were the mom and pop of the diner, and the rest of them were the kids, really did make it feel like a family.
Hayley went back to closing up for the day. She scrapped the griddle, turned it off, and began wiping down the counters. A loud crash from below stopped her.
“What the hell was that?” Hayley grabbed the broom leaning against the sink and stepped out into the dining area.
Lauren placed the debit receipts on the counter, her eyes wide. Another crash. They both stood there for a moment, and then Lauren exhaled in disgust. “Damn…damn, damn.” She collected the receipts and placed them in a bag, along with the cash and credit receipts.
“What’s going on?” Hayley asked as Lauren stood and grabbed the broom from her. She followed Lauren down into the basement on stairs that reminded Hayley of every horror film she’d ever been forced to watch. They were warped from decades of use and announced each foot with a loud groan.
“The window in the basement doesn’t latch properly. I’ve been asking Aaron for months to get someone in to check it out, but he keeps putting me off because the windows are so small not many people could squeeze through them.”
Hayley followed close behind Lauren, her apprehension mounting with each step. Lauren, for her part, had taken on a kind of badassery that was sort of hot. Okay, more than a little hot. It almost made up for the fact that a homicidal clown with a fetish for diner food was going to murder them.
“But, unfortunately,” Lauren said as they reached the bottom of the stairs, “sometimes the racoons find a way in.” Lauren flicked on the light. Several sets of eyes froze. A family of four—a mom, dad, and two babies—had cracked open a bag of potatoes and were feasting on them raw. In the process they’d managed to knock over a tower of boxes containing napkins, paper take-out containers, and a box of mugs, which had shattered on the cement floor.
Lauren smacked the broom on the ground and then waved it toward them. One of the racoons, presumably the mother, hissed at her.
“Block the stairs so they can’t get up into the restaurant.” Lauren walked over to the window and propped it open with a paint stir-stick. “I’m going to try to shoo them back out the window.” She took up the broom again, wielding it like a hockey stick.
“Don’t racoons have rabies?”
Lauren shrugged like this was the least of their problems. “Some. Just don’t let them bite you.” Lauren took a step forward, and the mama racoon hissed again.