Then, everything went black.
Chapter Ninety-Six
Lex
I was sure I wasn’t falling in love, but I was definitely falling in something. Thoughts of Adam consumed me, and every memory my mind resurrected was enjoyable in one way or another.
“I’ll take the second special,” he said with a tooth revealing smile.
He looked like a Silicon Valley executive. Dressed in a gray suit that was undoubtedly custom-tailored – and expensive – he wore a slight beard and his hair was a perfect mess. He scooted his chair away from the table slightly and looked me up and down.
“The baked shrimp, scallops, and fish with the lobster sauce?” I asked, acting like I didn’t notice his eye-assault.
He shot me an apprehensive look. “Is it good?”
I smiled. “You know, I could say it’s lovely, then you’d order it, and you’d be wondering while you waited for it to arrive if you’d made the right decision. You’d also probably wonder if I’d even tried it, wouldn’t you?”
He flashed his teeth again. They were as perfect as his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “Probably.”
“Well, I have tried it. And although I won’t tell you everything on the menu is my favorite, I’ll tell you that one is one of my top three. It’s delicious, it really is. And, the scallops are huge.”
“I’m convinced,” he said.
“Today, it comes with the green beans. Are you okay with that, or would you like to substitute?”
“Are they--”
“If you like fresh green beans, you’ll love them.”
“I’ll stick with the green beans.”
“Anything else?”
“This is going to sound awful, but you’re simply gorgeous,” he said.
I forced a smile, and hoped it looked genuine. “Awe. Thank you.”
“There is one more thing,” he said. His gaze shifted to my left hand, and then met mine.
My number?
I cocked my head to the side. “Yes?”
“Your number. I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. I’d love an opportunity to see you away from work.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m in a serious relationship.”
He smiled and nodded. “He’s a lucky man.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But I’m a very lucky girl.”
He grinned a shallow grin and moved his chair closer to the table.
“I’ll bring some bread by. If you need more, just throw something at me to get my attention,” I said.
He chuckled and raised his butter knife. “I’ll do that.”
As I placed his order I thought of Adam, and what he might think if he knew the man asked me for my number. I decided he would think it was cute that it happened, and would appreciate my response. If the man asking had been disrespectful, I was sure his reaction would be otherwise.
For some reason, there was a line out the door and halfway around the building, which had never happened. I was appreciative of all the business, but for two of us to keep up with 15 tables each was twice as much as I was used to.
I scrambled to each of my tables, kept everyone feeling as important as I was able, and then took Silicon Valley his plate.
“Oh.” His eyes locked on the plate. “Wow. They are huge.”
I placed it in front of him. “There’s some extra lobster sauce on the side. Let me know if you need any more.”
He looked up. “I will.”
I glanced at his basket of bread. Although it was still over half-full, I asked nonetheless. “Are you okay on bread?”
“I am.”
I smiled. “Enjoy. And, feel free to throw the knife if you need anything.”
He smiled in return and reached for his napkin.
Being filled to capacity wasn’t terrible during lunch, because everyone seemed to come in at the same time. As a result, they finished their food at the same time, and left at roughly the same time.
After dropping off half of my customer’s bills, people began to filter out. Their tables were immediately bussed and filled with a new customer.
I scrambled to drop off menus, take drink orders, and then take food orders. After placing the orders for my newest customers, I glanced toward Silicon Valley.
He was wiping his mouth.
I printed his receipt and walked to his table.
“Well?”
“You were right,” he said. “It was marvelous.”
I glanced at his plate. The dish of lobster sauce I’d given him was empty, and his plate was spotless.
“I could drink that lobster sauce,” I said, although I knew never would. “Isn’t it good?”
He nodded toward his plate. “I used it all.”
“Ready for key lime pie?”
“I couldn’t take another bite if I were forced,” he said.
“Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Is there anything I can get you?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Thanks for not throwing the knife.” I placed his bill on the edge of the table. “Whenever you’re ready. Take your time.”
He checked his watch and then smiled. “Thank you.”
I smiled and turned away.
“There is one more thing,” he said.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Yes.”
“You are breathtaking. I just want you to know that. Treat your spouse well. If he’s worth the salt in his sweat, he’ll return the favor.”
I smiled. “Thank you. And, I will.”
The lunch rush continued for some time, and when I looked back at Silicon Valley’s table, he was gone.
I dropped off a drink order, and walked past his table to pick up his bill holder. Inside was a note written on the back of one of the receipts, and five $100 bills.
My jaw dropped. His bill was slightly less than $50.
I glanced over each shoulder, and then picked up the note. He’d written it in cursive, and the penmanship was perfect.
Once in a great while we encounter someone that has a particular presence about them that doesn’t allow us to dismiss them from memory any time soon. You’re one of those people.
Thank you for making my meal memorable.
Take your spouse out on me with a portion of this money. Without doubt, he recognizes your beauty no differently than I have.
Sorry if my honesty made you uncomfortable.
If your situation ever changes, or if you ever get in a legal jam, feel free to give me a ring.
Warm Regards,
Jay Parsons
239 336 4040
I looked around the restaurant.
He was nowhere to be found.
My heart swelled with pride. I realized he wasn’t anything but a man who was blatantly honest about what he felt.
In a sense, he was me.
A person with no filter.
I wondered what the legal jam part was about, but wasn’t about to call him and find out. I grinned and shoved the money, and the note, into my apron; knowing I’d cherish the note forever.
In an hour, the rush was over and Sandy and I were in the break room.
“That was insane,” Sandy said. “We’ve never been that busy. Did you see the line to get in?”
“I couldn’t help but see it. It was out the door, and in front of the window.”
“Good shift?” she asked.
Including the tip Silicon Valley left, I had made just shy of $1,100. “It was great, yeah.”
I picked up my phone and sent Adam a text, telling him about the tip, and that I wanted to take him to dinner.
At the end of the shift, he hadn’t replied.
I wasn’t concerned, he often didn’t reply when he was at work, and I expected he was immersed in his new project. The house in La Jolla was very important to him. He said it exposed him to an all new clientele, and the income from the jobs in that neighborhood would be four times wh
at he was accustomed to.
“Want to go get a drink somewhere?” Sandy asked.
“I think Adam and I are going to go out to eat tonight, but I can go for a little bit. Until he texts me back, anyway,” I said.
She looked at me funny. “Adam?”
I laughed. “Cholo.”
She stared at me, her face washed in disbelief. “His name’s Adam?”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“I like that.”
“Me, too.”
We went to the Crab Shack together, talked about work, and had a beer. And then, another. Before I knew it, three hours had passed, and it was after 7:00.
“I’m going to text you,” I said. “See if you get it.”
She grabbed her phone. “Okay.”
I sent her a smiley face. As soon as I pressed send, her phone pinged.
“Got it.”
“Send me one back,” I said.
My phone beeped. Hoping it was Adam, and not Sandy, I glanced at the screen. A poop with eyes emoji stared back at me.
I looked at her and sighed. “Nice.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “He’s got a big job in La Jolla, and it’s pretty important. I’m sure he’s just busy.”
“You want to get something to eat?”
“No. I’ll just wait for him. He’ll show up sooner or later.”
That night, I went to bed at 2:00 a.m. When I did, I still hadn’t heard from Adam.
Not one word.
He promised he wouldn’t hurt me. Ever.
But, as I tried to fall asleep, my heart didn’t agree with him.
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Cholo
It was like a scene from an old-school B rate thriller, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they got their ideas from some shitty low-budget film I had yet to see. If it was a movie that fueled their sickening procedures, I wished I had seen it.
At least I’d have a little more advance warning on what torturous task was next.
I’d been burnt with cigarettes until there were none left in the pack. That took an hour or so, and produced results that were far from satisfactory in the eyes of my new amigo.
A butane torch followed, and although he’d burnt my thigh until the stench of my own smoldering flesh filled my nostrils, I couldn’t give him any information.
I told myself I’d let him kill me. But, no differently than anyone else who was amongst the living, dying wasn’t my preference.
Not in the shitty little storage building they’d taken me to, anyway.
And not now.
In the soul searching I’d done since the torture began, I learned that there were things I wished I had taken the time to say or do. If I had all of my unresolved issues settled, I’d bite my lip – and my pride – and let them take my life, leaving the earth like the man that I knew I was.
As far as he knew, I spoke no Spanish. What little time I had to prepare for what they were going to do to me came between when he gave his instructions to his cronies, and when they began the procedure.
He waved his tattooed hand toward my face. “Dientes. Jale sus dientes.”
Oh fuck. Not my teeth. Fucking Jesus.
On my back on a table in the center of a storage building, I was duct-taped to a table. With my arms, legs, chest, and neck firmly bound in place, the only resistance I could provide was mental.
My eyes darted to the side as one of his underlings dug through the pile of tools. Upon his producing a rusty pair of pliers, I clenched my jaw as tight as my tired muscles would allow.
“Los morales primero,” the one with the 18 tattooed on his neck said.
The molars first.
I didn’t know if pulling the teeth in the back of my mouth first was a blessing or a curse. I guessed in a few minutes, I’d find out.
“My mahney,” Tattoo said. “Where is my mahney?”
“I don’t have it,” I said through my clenched teeth.
Upon hearing the words pass my lips, I’d realized in some respects, they’d broken me.
My previous responses had been along the lines of I don’t know what you’re talking about, or what money?
I don’t have it was indicative of someone else having it.
It didn’t take him long to recognize the subtle change in my response. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time he’d tortured someone.
He cracked his knuckles. “Who does?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured. “What money?”
“Los morales,” he said dryly.
I closed my eyes.
The rusty steel tasted bitter as he forced it into my mouth. Although Tattoo may have been experienced at torture, his accomplice wasn’t. He fumbled in my mouth for some time, and eventually attached the tip of the pliers to one of my rear teeth.
His first yank crushed the bottom portion of my tooth and sprinkled my tongue and cheeks with small particles of what I was sure would later be my first tooth to go.
“Firmemente,” Tattoo said, nodding toward my head. “Y, despacio.”
I’m sure his instructions of slow and firm was good advice, but I doubted I was prepared for anything slow or firm when it came to pulling my teeth one by one.
He shoved the pliers into my mouth again, clanking them against my teeth as he fought to find one in the rear. After gripping my tooth – and a good portion of my gums – in the jaw of the pliers, he planted his foot against the edge of the table and pulled slowly and held firmly.
The pain that shot from my jaw to my brain seemed to somehow be connected to the back side of my eye. It felt like he was pulling my left eye through the socket and into my sinus cavity.
I closed my eyes, but it didn’t help. As the gut-wrenching sound of my tooth being dislodged from my jaw was replaced by my growling, it snapped free.
As he held my bloody tooth in the air like a trophy, my mouth filled with the warm coppery taste of blood.
I choked in my effort to swallow as blood drained into my throat. While they were laughing, and admiring the length of my tooth’s roots, I spent my time gagging and spitting blood to the side of the table.
I realized if I didn’t spit it out, I’d soon drown in it. And, drowning in my own blood wasn’t something I wanted to do.
As I struggled to get past the pain, I wished he’d simply shoot me and get it over, but that thought eventually faded.
“Where’s my mahney?” Tattoo asked.
I turned my head to the side and spit a pool of blood at his feet. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Otro,” he said.
Another.
I spit again, plastering blood on the floor beside the pliers-wielding idiot. The throbbing pain in my jaw replaced the dull ache in my leg.
Tattoo nodded toward my head.
As his partner pushed the filthy steel tool deep into my throat, I closed my eyes and wondered just how much longer I could last.
He clenched the jaw of the pliers against a tooth on the other side of my mouth.
This is going to be a long fucking night.
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Lex
After waking the next morning and checking my phone, I decided to drive to Adam’s house and have a talk with him about his change of heart.
As much as I didn’t want to lose him, I also refused to be treated like I didn’t matter.
The short drive to his house wasn’t an easy one, and the closer I got, the more I wished I hadn’t decided to go. As I drove down the block toward his home, I considered driving past, and foregoing the departure speech I had planned.
I pulled in the drive nonetheless, got out of the car, and stepped onto the porch. After beating on the door for five minutes and getting no answer, I let out a sigh and turned toward my car.
It wasn’t early by Adam’s standards, but I knew it was still earlier than he typically went to work.
Frustrated, I stepped off the porch and into the drive. As I reached for my car’s door, I glanced at the garage. Curiosity eventually got the best of me, and I walked to the door, checking over my shoulder with each few steps.
I unlocked the lock and pushed the door up enough to see.
What the fuck?
His motorcycle was parked inside.
You’re an asshole.
I released the door and stomped to the porch.
I beat on the door with all my might. “Open this door, you son-of-a-bitch. I know you’re in there!”
I had visions of him being inside with someone else, and wondered who she might be.
After he opened the door, she’d be some bitch with a black eye.
I pounded harder. “You owe it to me to tell me what’s going on,” I shouted. “Open the door.”
I beat on it until my fist was sore, and then peered in through the window. None of the lights were on, and the home was dark.
I reached for the doorknob.
Locked.
I peered through the window again.
Nothing.
Frustrated, I stood on the porch and rubbed my hand. After a moment, I walked around the house, went to the back door, and grabbed the door handle.
Much to my surprise, it turned.
I pushed the door open a few inches. “Adam?”
Nothing.
“Adam?!”
I pushed it open a little more. “Adam?”
“I’m coming in!” I announced.
The home was eerily quiet, and I began to wonder if he had stayed home sick. For a moment I felt bad, but that would soon fade. I walked into the kitchen, then the living room, and upon seeing nothing, reluctantly walked toward his bedroom.
The bed was unmade. Beside it, in a wad, was a pair of jeans with a belt still through the loops. I picked them up, searched the pockets, and found his keys – and wallet.
Confused, I looked around the room.
Immediately in front of me was a nightstand with the drawer partially opened. I peered inside.
A pistol sat in the center of the drawer on top of a red rag.
What the…
My mind assembled the pieces and as silly as it later seemed, it took me a minute to realize that Adam was gone without his jeans, keys, shoes, wallet, motorcycle, or protection.
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