Ten After Closing

by Jessica Bayliss

  Becky’s engine roared to life, grew louder, then faded to nothing. They waited a full thirty seconds, just to be safe.

  “Holy shit!” Janey said. “That was close. Okay, you ready?”

  “Are you serious? How can you still think this is a good idea? Becky is our friend. And they just broke up. Like literally just broke up.”

  “Nothing’s changed. Come on.” Janey hopped out, circled the car, and attempted to drag Winny from her seat by her arm.

  “Stop it!”

  “Oh my God, you’re so frickin’ heavy!”

  “Okay, that’s just mean.”

  Nèg di san fè, Winny heard her mother say in her head. Always her mother’s voice. Always criticizing. People talk and don’t act, she reminded Winny now. Though she doubted her mom would ever use that saying when it came to boys. Or any other topic or decision she didn’t personally endorse. And the one time Winny did act, it blew up in her face and got her grounded.

  “Come on,” Janey grunted. “Aren’t you ever going to take a risk?”

  “Uh, I’ve taken quite a few risks today, don’t you think?”

  “Be careful over there, rebel.”

  “Hey!”

  “So, prove it. Prove the new Winny is out to play. You march your hot self in there—”

  Winny snorted. “Let’s not go overboard here.”

  “—and get the guy. What would you rather be doing tonight? Moaning about how you and Scott will never hook up, or finding out what kind of gum he likes best?” Janey grinned and wiggled her eyebrows.

  “Eww! Definitely not that.” But Winny stopped resisting all the same. “Do you really think he likes me?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Janey finally tugged Winny from the car. “Holy crap, I feel like I just birthed a horse.”

  “Janey!”

  “What? I love horses. Now come on. We are so going in there.”

  Laughing, they half-ran to the café, Winny’s heart skip-beating in time with their steps. Janey froze with one hand on the door. “Crap! I left my purse. Hold on.”

  “No. Let’s just get this over with. I’ll buy your stupid gum.”

  “I’ve got it. I’ll just be a sec.”

  No way was Winny going in alone. She leaned against the building, arms crossed, as Janey scooted into the driver’s seat.

  And didn’t come back out.

  Janey’s party playlist filled the night as brake lights illuminated the street and sidewalk. She had started the engine. “See you at Brian’s!” Waving from the open driver’s window, she nudged the car into traffic.

  “Janey!” Winny raced after her a few yards, before watching the lights streak away. This had to be a joke. Any second now, Janey’s car would come back around the corner. Or maybe she’d trick Winny by coming from behind. But the street remained dark no matter what direction she searched. “I am so going to kill her.”

  I am SO going to kill you, she keyed into her phone.

  No response.

  As if she were still here, Winny heard Janey speak in her mind: It’s not safe to text and drive.

  Just like it’s not safe to abandon your friend by the side of the road at ten at night. . . . What was she going to do?

  A car zoomed by, blaring its horn.

  “Okay, getting out of the street is a good start.”

  Winny knew she wasn’t really stranded. She had her phone. But calling her parents was out of the question. Even if her mom’s work party wasn’t in the city tonight, there was still the little matter of her being grounded. And that’s exactly what Janey had been counting on. She expected Winny to go inside, talk to Scott—

  And have him drive her to Brian’s.

  She turned and stared at the rectangle of light on the ground in front of Café Flores.

  “Janey is a villainous mastermind,” Winny mumbled as she tugged open the door.

  Inside the small restaurant, Sylvie smiled at her. “Hey, Winny. Where’s your friend?”

  “Not here, that’s for sure.”

  Sylvie winced. “Alrighty. Not going there. What can I get you?”

  “Is Scott here?”

  “He sure is. Give me a minute to finish wrapping these muffins, and I’ll go find him.”

  When three men walked into the café a few minutes later, Winny was so focused on writing a scathing text to Janey and watching the doors for any sign of Scott that she almost didn’t see the gun tucked into one of their waistbands.

  She stared at it for at least fifteen seconds before her brain turned back on.

  Should she tell Oscar or Sylvie? Guns weren’t illegal in Connecticut or anything . . . and who was she to butt in on someone else’s business?

  People talk and don’t act, Winny’s mother’s voice echoed in her head. But she shut that voice right up. She was done taking her mother’s orders. Whether this guy had a gun or not was none of Winny’s concern, and besides, it was probably fine. She had more important things to worry about, like how she was going to explain her predicament to Scott, the boy who took her out once, but wouldn’t let her into his house, then dated someone else for the next six months.

  Until tonight.

  5

  SCOTT

  FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER CLOSING

  Sylvie’s cell phone won’t stop ringing. At first, I think it’s the main café phone, which I expect to start up any second now. Why isn’t it ringing? What good is an alarm system if no one responds? Seconds tick by, but the white handset remains quiet, while Sylvie’s cell bleats from behind the counter where she keeps it plugged in under the register.

  “Shut that thing up right now,” Toto orders. “We’ve got to think. And kill the land line, if they’ve got one.”

  Ryan runs behind the counter and grabs the cell, cutting off the incoming call with barely a glance, and shoves it into his pocket. A second later, the crunch of smashing plastic makes me jump. Ryan goes on stomping the remnants of the cordless handset long after the main café phone is beyond saving.

  So much for that.

  My arm aches where that skinny guy, Twitch, grabbed me. For a little dude, he’s crazy strong. Then I see Oscar wince, and a bruised arm feels like less than nothing. He put a clumsy tourniquet on his leg, but he’s having a hard time keeping the leather belt in place, and the bloody spot only grows. As a Desert Storm veteran, Oscar was our best shot at fighting off these guys, and now he’s out of commission. We’re screwed. I should have escaped out the back door when everything started going down, but instead of running, I had to stay—like I’m any help in a situation like this—and here I am, a hostage, clustered together with my bosses and one of our regulars.

  “Hey, Scott,” the white-haired customer, Pavan, said to me earlier. “The weather in Gainesville, Florida, is perfect today.” He’s one of the few people who know I’ve been stalling on my college decision. He thinks tempting me with fun facts about the places I might go will sway me, and I’ll finally make up my mind. If I ever told him the why behind my delay, he’d know it’s way more complicated than cold feet.

  But college never felt so far away as it does right now, and poor Pavan is stuck here with the rest of us.

  And so is Winny.

  What’s she doing here?

  Wait, was she my special visitor? The one that got Sylvie all giggly before?

  My heart nearly stops.

  Of all the people who could drop in tonight, it had to be Winny. Not that her coming here is weird. She stops by the café all the time, just like most people from school. More, maybe. But never alone. Did she come here to see me? Maybe to talk about before?

  If that’s the case, it would have been better if I’d never offered to help and just left her stranded at the art gallery earlier.

  Her eyes are messed up, glazed over, and she’s got some serious shakes going on. Oscar has one hand on Winny’s arm even though he’s the one bleeding, and I don’t blame him. I’ve always thought Winny would be the perfect person to have around
in a crisis. She’s with me in the advanced classes, super smart, and she did that training course last fall—first aid or something like that—but she’s so freaked right now, she might do the wrong thing without thinking and get hurt.

  And if she gets hurt because she came here to see me . . . I can’t even handle that thought.

  Who the hell are these guys? I don’t know which one I need to worry about most. Twitch mutters to himself like he’s about to have a meltdown. That Toto guy is pacing, pausing only to check between the closed blinds, lost in thought, plotting his next step probably. And Ryan—when he worked here, it was always with too much attitude and too little actual effort, but still, he was one of us.

  None of that matters now, though. The hunch of his shoulders and the way his face hardens when his gaze settles on us tells me he won’t think twice about doing whatever he has to to protect his own interests.

  “Ry, search them,” Toto says, “in case they’ve got more phones on them.”

  “Right. Everyone, empty your pockets. Give me all your cell phones.” Ryan stops in front of Sylvie first. He won’t meet her gaze and his voice is weird, thick.

  “I don’t have any pockets.” Silent tears roll down her cheeks, and she speaks through clenched teeth. “Which is why my phone was up there.” As if on cue, it starts ringing again in Ryan’s pocket.

  “Fuck.” He pulls it out and jabs the screen, and after a second the shrill sound dies.

  “Are you going to frisk me now, brother?”

  Ryan flinches. “What? No. Don’t be dramatic.”

  “Dramatic? Are you crazy?”

  He leans in close to her and whispers, but his voice is intense. “Listen, you want this to go smooth? Then do what we say. It’s on you how this ends.”

  I wait for her to argue, for a patented Sylvie-Ryan showdown, but instead she nods. Just a tiny bow of the head, but it’s something. Pavan puts his arm around her and whispers into her ear. The old guy is here every day for a cup of tea and to read, sometimes a paper, sometimes a book like the one lying on the table where he was sitting. I wonder what book it is. I wonder if that will be the last one he ever reads. If he dies, he’ll never know how it ends.

  Ryan is in front of me now.

  “I don’t have a phone,” I say.

  Oscar gives me a puzzled look. Crap. He knows I had my cell here earlier, charging on the very same cord Sylvie’s was plugged into before Ryan grabbed it.

  But these guys can’t know that.

  Ryan squints at me. “Prove it.”

  I turn out my pockets, then take off my busboy apron and lift my shirt to show him there’s nothing underneath. “I left it in the car.” If Oscar or Sylvie give me away I’m screwed. But with the other phones confiscated or busted—though mine might not be much better than the shattered mess on the floor—this may be our one shot.

  “If I find out you’re lying . . .”

  I don’t go so far as to smirk in his face, but man do I want to. I’ve seen that same glint in my father’s eyes right before he hauls off on me. At least my dad only uses his fists; these guys are armed, and I suspect Ryan would have no problem shooting me.

  I curl my toes inside my shoes. It helps me keep my face calm. When Ryan nods and moves on, I force my breath to stay nice and smooth, rhythmic—as if I’m on the uphill stretch of my morning jog—instead of unloading my lungs in one whoosh like I want to.

  Oscar gives me a hopeful look, but I can’t summon any hope of my own. I may have won a little victory, may have fooled our captors, but that’s not important right now because Ryan is standing over Winny. As he squares off before her, she shudders.

  “Let me,” Oscar says, raising his eyebrow and waiting for Ryan’s approval.

  Ryan nods, and I give in and let my breath whoosh out after all.

  “Winsome, sweetie,” Oscar says. “Do you have anything in your purse?”

  She doesn’t answer, or maybe she can’t hear him.

  “Winsome?” Oscar reaches for her bag, but she jerks away with a sharp cry.

  Sylvie’s phone goes off again.

  Toto stops pacing and clutches his skull with both hands. “If everyone doesn’t shut up right now, I swear to God—” With that last word, he tugs off his sunglasses and flings them at the wall. More plastic debris litters the floor.

  Spinning, Ryan extends a hand, palm out, in Toto’s direction. “I’ve got this, okay?”

  But he doesn’t have anything.

  When Ryan demands her purse again, Winny just stands there, too shell-shocked to get what’s going on. Don’t these guys see it? Her blank eyes, tight muscles—she’s trembling with tension. She isn’t hearing a word they say.

  “Damn,” I mutter and push myself between Oscar and Winny, my body nearly touching hers so I can squeeze her hands in mine, hands that were warm only a few hours ago, but have since turned to ice. “Winny, it’s just me. Just Scott.” I massage her palms with my thumbs and her trembling lessens some. “Good. You’ve got this. I’m just going to check your purse, okay?”

  No response.

  This may be a huge mistake, but I let go of one hand and pluck the strap of her bag off her shoulder. “They just want to look inside for your phone.” When the bag is free, I pass it behind me to the first set of hands but keep my focus on Winny. I lean in to whisper in her ear, “We’re going to get out of this. I promise you. I’ll make sure of it.”

  When I pull back, her eyes focus on my face for the first time. They’re so full of trust, of confidence, that her whole body sags.

  But for me, it’s like stepping into the deep freezer out back. How can I know I can keep my promise? I suck in a breath and smile—the hardest smile I’ve ever had to pull off. A smile that feels like a lie.

  The shrill cellphone ringtone makes her jump and erases whatever calm had settled over her.

  “Give me that thing.” Toto wrestles Sylvie’s cell from Ryan’s fingers and swipes it silent. His eyes go wide and he turns to face Ryan. “You didn’t look at this? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “What? Oh, shit,” Ryan says when he registers what’s flashing across the screen.

  Toto is vibrating with rage. “Which one of you set it off?”

  Oscar and Sylvie look at each other, then us. “Set off what?” Suddenly, Sylvie understands. She squints at the phone, which has started up again.

  Toto bellows and smashes the device to the ground, stomping on it with his high-top. He snatches the rest of the phones from Ryan and does the same to them. “Who the fuck pulled the alarm? Did you know about this?” he asks, turning to Ryan.

  Eyes wide, Ryan shakes his head. “Must be new.”

  Bullshit. We’ve had that setup as long as I’ve been here. If he hadn’t been such a suck-ass employee, maybe he would have remembered a little detail like an alarm system. But even when he showed up, he was barely here.

  “Who set it off?” Toto demands again.

  “I did.” I try to swallow, but there’s too much friction in my mouth, like I just chewed a handful of grape skins.

  “Turn it off. Now.” Toto’s lips quiver, spit-foam flying into my face when he shouts. “Do it!”

  Scrambling around Sylvie, I bolt for the counter and the alarm keypad hidden beneath it. I thought I was all slick hitting the panic button while I squatted on the ground during Twitch’s gunslinger moment, but a lot of good it did. My finger hovers over the keypad as the code surfaces in my mind, drilled into me by Oscar. There’s a sham code, too, one that keeps the alert active and silent. What is it? Zero, six, zero, nine, two, zero, zero, nine—their wedding anniversary? Or one, one, zero, five, one, nine, seven, six—Sylvie’s birthday? If I get it wrong, the main alarm will sound here in the café and tip Toto off.

  “Do it,” Toto growls.

  I’m out of time.

  I hit the disengage code, the signal that we don’t need help even though we’re in some deep shit.

  “What’s going to happen?” Ryan
asks Oscar.

  “The cops are coming.” His voice is a choked grunt as he struggles with the pain in his leg, but there’s a note of satisfaction there, too.

  It makes me smile.

  “Toto!” Twitch is by the blinds, and the light out there is brighter and shifting. “Someone’s here.” He lets the window treatment drop into place, but it doesn’t obscure the red and blue swirling lights. His next words are mumbles, but I catch something about the “ether.”

  “We gotta move the woman.” Ryan bends and grabs her feet, but Toto smacks him on the head.

  “Quit that, fool. There isn’t time. You,” he says to Sylvie, “get rid of them. Do not let them in here, you understand? Ryan, help her. If anyone can smooth-talk them, it’s you. You’re slimy as hell. Get out there. Now.” He turns to us. “The rest of you, we’ll be back there.” He angles his head to the EMPLOYEES ONLY door that leads to the back hall, office, and stairwell to the basement. Before passing through, he glares at Sylvie. “Just remember, if I hear anyone in this place but you two, I’m shooting every last one of them. Starting with this one here.” He shoves Oscar, who nearly falls over. “I may not get to them all before the cops stop me, but it’ll be close.”

  As we shuffle toward the door, Winny takes my hand and squeezes. “You did it,” she whispers. “They’re going to help us. I know it.”

  “I told you, didn’t I?”

  The hope lighting up her face does nothing to warm me, not one little bit. Until I see those guys shoved into a cop car, I won’t let down my guard. I may have sworn my life away, but I’m not breaking my word to Winny. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me, so I’ll make sure she gets out of here alive, no matter what it takes.

  6

  SCOTT

  TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING

  Stainless steel gleamed under the white rag, which Scott swept across the prep area in long, hypnotic circles. Maybe he should clean more often. He hit the end of the counter with another blast of cleaner, letting the faint lemony undertones soothe him further. Or maybe that was the fumes, making him high. Either way, it worked. In less than an hour, he’d be done and at Brian’s party, where he and Becky could chill.