One Summer_...at Charlie's Diner

by Mary Jane Forbes

  “Get the rest. There’s more,” he yelled at Tyler squeezing his arm tighter around Star’s throat.

  Tyler emptied the drawer of the few remaining bills.

  “That’s it.” Tyler’s fingers ran around the drawer, showing there was nothing left.

  Snake-man shoved Star into the coffeemaker, stuffed the bills into his pocket. He didn’t see Ash leaping to her defense, lunging at him. Ash’s arm whipped around the man’s neck in a hammerlock. Defensively, snake-man swung his gun arm back striking Ash full force with the gun barrel, swirled around, dragging his fingers down Ash’s face. Ash’s body fell backward, his head smashing against the counter, legs buckling to the floor.

  Snake-man, waving his pistol, backed away, backed into the Wurlitzer, backed out of the diner, retreating into the drenching rain, disappearing into the stormy night.

  A lightning bolt shot through the sky, plunging the diner, the street into darkness.

  Tyler fumbled in his pocket for his cell, tapped 9-1-1. “We need help. Charlie’s diner, Atlantic Avenue, a robbery. A man’s been hurt. Hurry.”

  “I have you, sir. There’s an ambulance a block away. Stay on the line with me until you see them.”

  “Charlie, the flashlight, the shelf in back of you.” Wanda inched back to where she last saw her husband.

  A lightning bolt. Thunder.

  Star stumbled to Ash lying lifeless. Kneeling beside him, she lifted his limp hand to her cheek. “Ash, Ash, can you hear me? Please, hear me.”

  “Got it.” Charlie flashed a beam on his wife, on Tyler holding his cell out for light.

  Tyler crouched beside Star, beside Ash’s body, blood oozing from his skull.

  “Ty, is he dying, is he—”

  Ty leaned down, his cheek to Ash’s nose. “He’s breathing.”

  The 9-1-1- operator kept talking, asking something. “Stay with me caller. Do you see the medics?”

  Charlie moved closer to Tyler and Star kneeling beside Ash, the flashlight’s beam on Ash lying on the tiled floor, blood pooling around his head and shoulders.

  An ambulance screeched to a halt.

  “Yes, yes, I see them. They’re here. Thank you. Thank you.” Tyler disconnected the call.

  Charlie stumbled to the door. Held it open.

  Three medics charged into the diner with a stretcher. Knelt beside the unconscious man assessing his condition, lifted him onto the stretcher. “What’s this man’s name?”

  “Ash,” Star said.

  “Ash what?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  The medics carried the unconscious man out the door strapped to the stretcher. “We’re taking him to Halifax,” the man at the foot of the stretcher yelled over his shoulder.

  The medics drove away.

  Star fumbled in the dark for Tyler’s hand.

  The storm raged outside.

  Lightning struck somewhere across the street.

  Claps of thunder.

  Rain pelted the silver-aluminum diner through the howling wind.

  The diner was dark except for a single beam from Charlie’s flashlight pointed at his shoe.

  Chapter 23

  ────

  RAIN CONTINUED TO DRENCH Daytona Beach as Charlie peeled away from the diner heading to the hospital, Star sitting beside him. Tyler, remaining at the diner, continued to hold the door open, raindrops striking him as he stared at the disappearing van.

  A lightning bolt snapped nearby, sending sparks in the air.

  Tyler pushed the door closed, shutting out the storm. But he couldn’t shut out the storm raging inside him, eating at his gut, eating at his heart. Hands out, he leaned against the door, beating the metal with his forehead.

  Outside the street lights flickered on. Inside neon tubes circling the ceiling flickered to life.

  Muttering, moving his hands to his hips, Tyler stared up at the greasy-film caking the ceiling.

  “I’m losing her.”

  Thunder rocked the little diner again, neon flickered again then steadied, casting red and purple shadows.

  Wanda called out. “Tyler, a black and white squad car, two officers coming up the walk. They must have been sent when you called 9-1-1 for help.”

  “I’m coming, Wanda.”

  Another lightning bolt struck somewhere off shore, sending a rumble of thunder overhead.

  The first officer to step into the diner asked if everyone was okay. Wanda said yes, other than their customer being taken to the hospital. The officer explained they were on their way to an accident. A man blinded by the lightning hit a mailbox. Dispatch told them on the way to the accident they were to check on a robbery. A victim was being transported to the hospital. They were to make a quick assessment. Get a short statement, a description of the robber. Let them know an officer would be back in the morning unless more was required.

  Tyler gave the officer a quick description of the man, a man with a snake tattoo up his neck.

  The officer thanked him, rushed out the door.

  Wanda and Tyler slumped on the counter stools in silence. As suddenly as it happened, it was over.

  “Wanda, can I take you home? Mom watches the weather reports like a hawk. She insisted I drive her car today.”

  “Thank you, Tyler. You lock the front door. I’ll clean out what’s left in the cash register, and then let’s get out of here.”

  The windshield wipers kept up their rhythmic dance but not the rain sloshing against the windshield faster than the wipers could slap it away. Even though the power was restored, Tyler drove slowly. Stopping at Wanda’s house, he waited until she was inside. Seeing the front porch light flick twice, he headed home.

  Climbing the stairs to his studio over the garage, he poured a glass of wine. Drank. He was in no mood to sip.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “That you, Tyler?” His mother’s voice was hushed, comforting.

  “Yeah, I’m home. Talk to you in the morning … the car’s fine. In the garage.”

  “Night, son.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead. Tyler ambled to the control panel, punched two buttons. Drapes over the window pulled to the side. Shades over the skylights rolled back.

  Snatching the bottle of wine off the counter, he slid into the leather lounger, pushed the lever easing him back further.

  “You’re losing her you loser.

  “Get real, you’ve already lost her.

  “Superman? Oh yeah. Super dunce.

  “What’s Ash up to anyway. Always so mysterious. Shows up at the top of her street in the morning. Shows up at night to walk her home.

  “Hey, loser, the woman isn’t exactly complaining.”

  Pouring another glass of wine, Tyler, now shoeless, sockless, padded to his worktable, turned on his computer, fired up the animation software, and started drawing a cartoon of Ash.

  It was night. He was dressed in black. Peering around a corner of an abandoned building. Gun raised.

  “Nothing funny here,” Tyler mumbled. “The way he flew at that robber … that takes commando training.” The mouse gyrated across the screen—the man in black dove across the screen, off the screen.

  “Star’s not like him. She’s sweet, trusting. He has no business pursuing her.”

  Ty began a new file. Inserted Star’s cartoon image. A doll, big blue eyes, blond curls. A Kewpie doll with a chef’s hat.

  Tyler smiled at her. Whispered. “You’re bright, beautiful.”

  A frown spread across his face. “What can I do to make her see he’s trouble? She doesn’t belong with him.

  “Nothing, stupid. There is nothing you can do.”

  Tyler opened the first of two cartoon stories he had just finished to send to Disney contractors. He had sent one to a studio in Burbank, California. He had planned to submit the second in the next few days—just a few more tweaks and it would be ready. The first company had replied almost immediately. They liked his work and would be in touch by the end of August. “E
ven if they don’t hire me, maybe I should go to California … Burbank, where the action is.”

  He absent mindedly began a new cartoon. A blond cat—Blondie—purring. A gray tabby—Sylvester—moves up to her, his grainy tongue caressing her ears. But wait, who is this? A black cat, yellow eyes, sidles up on tiptoe. Hisses. Scares Sylvester away. Blondie purrs up to Blackie, kisses him above his yellow eyes. He suddenly turns into a prince. She turns into a princess for her kindness. Sylvester slinks away.

  “Shit, Sylvester. You loser.”

  Tyler shut down his computer.

  Ran down the steps to the garage.

  Dragging out his Harley, he took off, hoping the rain cleansing the night air would cleanse his mind of her.

  Fat chance.

  He yelled into the wind. “Just wait, stupid. It hurts too much to be close to her now. You have to pull back.”

  Returning home, parking the Harley, he raced up the stairs, three at a time. He turned on the computer, pulled up the dark cartoon of Ash, hit the delete button. Then deleted the Kewpie doll throwing him a kiss … no … not throwing him a kiss, throwing a kiss at Ash.

  “You wait, Tyler.

  “How long?

  “Maybe forever ...

  “But wait … be there for her. Pick up the pieces when he leaves her.”

  Tyler’s body ached to be with her, to be by her side for eternity.

  God help him, he had fallen in love with the Kewpie doll.

  Chapter 24

  ────

  STREET LIGHTS WERE RESTORED, but lightning continued to strike sending thundering shock waves overhead. Star peered through the windshield looking for downed power lines as Charlie sped along International Speedway. Leaning forward, she glanced at the clock on the dash—ten o’clock. An hour ago she had waved to Ash sitting at the counter waiting for her.

  “We didn’t ask which Halifax Hospital they were taking Ash to,” she said wadding up her wet apron. It was drenched by the rain when she ran out of the diner to the van.

  “I’m sure it will be the main hospital on Clyde Morris.” Charlie glanced out at the rain, at other cars creeping along the flooded street. “Did you see that move Ash made on the robber? Like a street fighter, like he instinctively went for the kill. How did he do that?”

  Star didn’t answer. She was praying that Ash would be okay. His head was bleeding and he was still unconscious when the EMT’s left. “I think he hit his head on the counter as he fell. The way he was struck, with the guys fist holding the gun … it was terrifying.”

  Charlie glanced sideways at Star. “Hey, he’s going to be okay … I think. That creep could have shot him … could have shot you.”

  Charlie flipped his turn signal, turned onto Clyde Morris, then turned into the hospital’s circular driveway. “I’ll let you off at the emergency entrance, park the van. I’ll find you.”

  Star nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt as Charlie pulled to a stop. Without a backward glance, she sprang from the van and darted through the emergency entrance, her eyes trained on the woman behind a window labeled Information.

  “Hello, I’m looking for a man, just brought in by ambulance, unconscious, head bleeding. Where can I find him?” Star’s breathing was erratic, tears forming as she spoke.

  “Are you family?”

  “No, I’m a friend. He has no family … here.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ash …”

  The woman looked up. “Last name?”

  “I … I don’t know … he comes into the diner … a regular … we talk … but…”

  “Just a minute, let me check.” The woman glanced at the telephone console, hit a button, then looked back at the young woman nervously rocking back and forth on the other side of the window. “Hi, Pete. Did you just admit a man with a head injury? May be unconscious, and—”

  The woman paused, her eyes never leaving Star’s face. “Yes. There’s a woman here. Says she’s a friend but doesn’t know his last name ... sure. I’ll send her down.” She disconnected the call, cocked her head as she gave directions, pointing to a hall. Star turned, ran in the direction the woman had pointed.

  A nurse stopped her in the hallway, led her into a brightly lit room with several beds. All were empty except two. A little girl was crying, a nurse cleaning blood from her arm, a man and woman hovering at the foot of her bed.

  Star spotted Ash lying on his side three beds down. A doctor was examining the back of his head, a nurse standing beside him. Star quickly walked to the bed, to the doctor just as Ash moaned, regaining consciousness.

  “Young man, you have a nasty gash on your head. Do you remember what happened?”

  Ash looked around, only his eyes moving, trying to figure out where he was. Star moved to the head of his bed, slowly picked up his hand.

  The doctor glanced over at her, finished his examination of the patient’s head, easing the man onto his back.

  “Hey, it’s me, Star.”

  “S-S-Star. You okay? He … ohhh.”

  She could barely hear him, barely understand what he was trying to say.

  “What’s your name, son?” The doctor flashed a penlight into one eye then the other, back and forth several times. “Pupils are dilated,” the doctor reported to the nurse. “Get an X-ray of his head wound, stat.”

  “Your name, son?”

  “Ashar.”

  “Your full name? Do you remember your last name?”

  “Ashar Rais,” he whispered.

  “Can we contact your family … so they won’t worry?”

  Ashar, Ashar Rais? Star wondered at his name. Why hadn’t she ever asked him? They always just talked, using their first names, introductions with only first names. Crazy. She tried to think back—what had he told her? Actually, very little.

  “No family,” he mumbled. “Only Star.”

  A nurse entered the room, touched the doctor’s sleeve. “Doctor, can you step out for a minute. Officer Watson would like a word with you.”

  “Sure. You just rest, Ashar. After we get that X-ray we’ll know more about your injury. Your friend can stay with you.”

  The doctor quickly stepped away as Star leaned against the bed, Ash tightening his grip on her hand.

  Ash said nothing. Brows drawn together, his eyes moved to Star, a nervous look veiling his face.

  The doctor immediately returned with a uniformed officer by his side. “Seems you’re a hero, Ashar. Charlie Armstrong said you saved this woman’s life. This officer wants your take on what happened. I told him only two questions. I don’t want you to talk much until we get the results of your X-ray.”

  “N-N-No.” Ash squeezed Star’s hand.

  “It’s okay, Ashar. It’s okay.” The doctor turned, led the officer out the door. “He’s agitated. You’ll have to question him later … give us an hour ... after we know the extent of his head injury. He obviously didn’t want to talk, could cause further damage if we force him. He did tell us his name, Ashar Rais. The woman said he had no family in the area, only her, a friend.”

  “The blond woman by his bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Her name?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t ask,” the doctor said.

  “Okay, doc. Mr. Armstrong is her employer. He probably knows her name. I’ll get his statement. Then, when you give the go ahead, I’ll corroborate Armstrong’s take of the robbery with Mr. Rais.”

  • • •

  ASH CLOSED HIS EYES, his hand still gripping Star’s hand. His eyes fluttered open. Dropping her hand, his fingers groped around his neck. “My, my chain ... Star … my chain … where? My mother’s ring … d-d-did they … take it?”

  Star looked up at the nurse preparing to wheel the bed to X-ray. “Excuse me. Did you, or the EMTs, remove my friend’s gold chain? There’s a ring on it. I’ve seen it. Plain gold band?”

  “He didn’t have it on when we wheeled him in. Let me ask the medics. I’ll let you know when we bring him back
from X-ray.”

  Star walked alongside him, continuing to hold his hand as three nurses guided the bed into the hall. “Don’t worry, Ash. We’ll find it and if that bad person took it, the police will find him. And … I’ll call Liz. Her husband is a retired Police Captain. He’ll find out.”

  “N-N-No.”

  Star patted his hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll find it I’m sure.”

  Dropping his hand, the swinging door shut in front of her, blocking her from continuing to walk by his bed to X-ray.

  The bright hallway was empty.

  Star took a step, then leaned against the wall. A tremor running through her body—her arms clutched her chest, holding her together. Closing her eyes, her thoughts filled with the terror she had felt, the robber’s arm pressing on her throat.

  She lifted her hand, her fingers feeling her neck. The detective said Ash had saved her life. Her eyes shot open. She stared at the ceiling, stopping the re-enactment of the robbery—the fear, the gun.

  Ash was so alone. She was his only friend. At least as far as she knew, and what she knew she was beginning to realize was precious little. He never talked about anyone else. Well, his grandmother … she had joked that her Gran believed in her too. Something they had in common.

  He’s conscious. That’s a good thing. He knew who she was … that was good. The doctor, while concerned, didn’t seem to act as if his patient’s life was in danger. But Ash was afraid of something. What?

  Her head back against the wall, eyes closed, mouth open, her breathing eased.

  Well, whatever was bothering him, she was going to help.

  Chapter 25

  ────

  A ROUTINE REPORT was sent from the hospital to the Daytona Beach Police Department. Routine in the case of an assault—both the name of the victim and the perpetrator are included in the report. In the case of the diner robbery on Atlantic Avenue, the assailant was yet to be identified.

  The officer on duty routinely runs the names through the Florida State database--past felons on file, current persons of interest, as well as those listed as wanted. Hearing a beep, the second-shift officer put down his tuna fish sandwich, wiped mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth, and scanned his monitor.