Ten After Closing

by Jessica Bayliss

  I forget what number comes after thirty.

  They’re talking about what to do with us. Their hostages.

  The witnesses.

  Shaking his head, Ryan backs away from Toto a step, but Toto sticks tight to him. “You know I’m telling the truth,” Toto nearly shouts, which gets Twitch muttering again.

  Thirty-three.

  Oscar angles his head my way. “Scott, ease down.”

  “What?”

  “Chill, dude.” Oscar points at my hands. “They’ll know something’s up.”

  He’s right. I relax my fisted fingers and focus on the counting and the breathing. It helps me let go of a little of the anger surging through me. Anger at Becky, my parents, these maniacs. Releasing a huge breath, I let my shoulders sag and roll my head. Better, but only for a second.

  Forty.

  I can’t stop checking the friggin’ vestibule. Ryan and Toto haven’t stopped arguing. Toto throws glances at Twitch every couple seconds.

  “Will you just shut up?” Toto asks when Twitch’s mumbles turn into whining moans.

  “Toto, man,” he says. “You got a little shard? I need one. Or else the ether will get in.”

  Forty-three.

  Toto’s brow wrinkles in disgust and he sucks his teeth. “Fuck, man. If you’re gonna bug me all day. Here, have yourself a party.” He hands the skinny guy a baggie. Without missing a beat, Twitch pulls a glass apparatus out of his pocket along with a lighter.

  Drugs. He’s going to do drugs right here. First Maggie, dead, and now this.

  “Twitch, you asshole. Don’t be doing that by me.” Toto shoos him to a table in the far corner.

  “Oh dear,” Pavan whispers as he watches Twitch select his party spot.

  “Holy shit,” Oscar adds.

  Forty-five.

  I exhale the last breath and though the numbers continue to climb in my head, I forget to inhale again until the floor tilts under my feet. Ryan and Toto are still in the perfect spot for Winny to keep her cover, but where Twitch has parked to enjoy his fix gives him the only direct sightline into the vestibule and ladies’ room door.

  And Winny’s not back yet.

  Anger may be a liability, but it’s better than the fear. I stop resisting and let the anger flow. Oscar will just have to suck it up.

  “What are we going to do?” I whisper to him.

  “Shh.” He winces and clutches his leg above the tear the bullet made in his flesh.

  Fifty-one.

  “We need to warn her,” I whisper. “Stop her from opening that door.” I tilt my head toward Twitch. “He’ll see.”

  “I know,” Oscar says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It’s the how I’m stuck on right now, okay? And don’t blame me. This was your idea, remember.”

  God, how I remember.

  Sylvie tosses a blood-soaked towel to the floor. “What did you guys do? What’s going on?”

  Throwing a fast glance at Toto and Ryan, Pavan leans in close to her. “The girl went downstairs to get Scott’s cellphone.”

  “Are you crazy?” Her glare catches all of us, but lingers longest on me. “If this gets her hurt . . .”

  Oscar bites his lip against the pain as Sylvie increases the pressure on his wound. “Ow, Silv.”

  “Well, dear husband, I don’t want you bleeding to death, do I?”

  “I’m sorry, but it was worth the risk,” he says. “We need help.”

  “Worth the risk? This isn’t Fallujah, Oscar. These kids aren’t your soldiers to command.”

  “I’m a marine, not a soldier.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Baby.” He runs a hand up and down her arm. “Think. We are witnesses to murder. We have to figure a way out of this.”

  I swear, she’s about to smack him with one of the bloody towels. “Look.” I stand between them. “Someone needs to warn her. Sneak back there. Intercept her.”

  Seventy.

  “If she can’t get out because that goon has a direct sightline to the door,” Oscar says, “how the hell are you getting out?”

  Hands in my pockets, I kick a jelly packet someone dropped under the counter. “I don’t know, but we need to do something. Those guys aren’t going to stay in that corner arguing forever.”

  “No,” Sylvie says. “It’s bad enough we put one kid’s life in danger.”

  “Hey!” Ryan shouts as Toto shoves past him to glare at us around the beverage cooler. “What the hell do you all have to be talking about?”

  We all freeze.

  “That’s better.” He grabs Ryan by the collar and pulls him back to the corner where their own hushed conversation continues.

  “Sylvie, my dear,” Pavan whispers, “all our lives are in danger.”

  She glances at Maggie, still on the floor where she fell. Sylvie’s eyes fill with tears.

  How long since this messed-up circus started? I would have sworn it was a lifetime ago that these men intruded on my mundane haven, but the clock tells me it hasn’t been fifteen minutes. How is that even possible?

  “Maybe we can distract them, somehow,” Pavan whispers. “Make noise or something, so if she comes out, they won’t be focused in that direction?”

  “But what can we do?” Sylvie asks. “And who should do it?”

  Eighty-eight.

  “Whatever it is, we need to act fast,” I say. “She’s been gone a minute and a half. She’ll be coming out any second now.”

  We stand there, circled around Oscar, each exerting so much self-control to keep from looking at the vestibule that we collectively vibrate.

  We’re out of time. Any minute now, those guys are going to remember Winny is gone and wonder what the hell she’s doing.

  Should I just wait and see how it plays out? How can I even consider that when I’m the one who put her in this mess? I can’t let her down.

  Technically, I already did—that day after the football game.

  I don’t have time to be thinking about that. We’ve got enough on our plate without me dragging old regrets onto the menu. This indecision can just bite me. The plan was my idea—and if Winny hadn’t come here to see me tonight . . . If anyone’s getting hurt to help Winny, it’s going to be me.

  Maybe I even deserve it.

  “Scott,” Sylvie says, “whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.”

  “Screw that,” I whisper. Then at a normal volume I announce, “I’m going to check on Winny.”

  “Oh, you are?” Toto starts to come at me, but Ryan gets in his way.

  “Forget the goddamn kids! We’ve got some serious people waiting to hear from us tonight, or did you forget? The clock is ticking.”

  Toto glares at me, then checks his watch. “Fine. You’ve got five minutes. If you aren’t out here by then, we’re coming in. I don’t care if she’s puking, passed out, her panties all around her ankles, whatever. You drag her ass out here if you have to.”

  “You bet.” Five fast strides and I’m there. With my right hand pressed to push open the ladies’ room door, I catch the faintest flash of movement as the employee door cracks an inch.

  Even with just a strip of her showing, she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in person, and it nearly makes me freeze. But I don’t stop. In a smooth movement, I hold up one finger and mouth wait before I slip inside the bathroom. Back against the door, I bend over, head by my knees, and try to catch my breath.

  I made it all right. Only problem is, now we’re both trapped.

  Cracking the door, I peek out at the café. The one pro of this whole deal is that I have just as good a view of Twitch as he has of the door I’m standing behind. At least I have a view of the door shielding Winny, too. As I watch, she cracks it again and catches my eye. I smile at her, but of course, she probably can’t tell. I hold up one finger and see her nod from the shadows.

  We just need to wait for the right moment, then I can usher her in.

  Twitch is no longer messing with the b
aggie Toto gave him. His chair is angled in our direction, so if we move, it’s sure to catch his eye.

  I check my watch. Almost a minute down already. Crap, he might stay like that all night. The dude is talking to himself again, each sentence punctuated with a series of giggles. And then he tilts his head over his right shoulder, away from us, like he’s listening to someone. A smile spreads across his face, as though whatever his invisible pal just said makes him happy. Mouth full of words I can’t hear, he places his fingertips on the tabletop and taps them like he’s typing on a keyboard. God, he really must have been a computer programmer. The whole time he works on his nonexistent desktop, he cocks his head to catch the data being fed to him by his invisible friend.

  There’s a rhythm to it. Tap tap tap taptaptap, tap, followed by a word thrown over his shoulder. Tap tap tap taptaptap, followed by a giggle aimed at his hands. Tap tap tap taptaptap, tap. Another word for his imaginary friend.

  This might be our shot. I hold up three fingers for Winny and breathe the taps along with Twitch’s manic digits as I count down.

  10

  SCOTT

  TWO HOURS AND THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING

  The run had been a major mistake.

  Gut burning, Scott kicked off his running shoes and shoved them as far back in his closet as possible, although that would do little to prevent their stench from infiltrating his room in a matter of minutes. Another reason he should have just stayed put. He needed an airtight container, or better yet, he should burn the sneakers and just get a new pair. He scoffed and wiped sweat off his face with the tee he’d just removed. Yeah, like that would happen. His paycheck was sucked up as fast as he could collect it. He’d probably develop quite the case of arthritis in his knees if he kept running with this old pair, but he needed the exercise to keep him going. To deal with the stress.

  On his way to the bathroom for a shower, he ran into his mom in the hallway. She moved past him like a ghost, one finger held up to her lips, a gesture that could only mean one thing: his dad was out cold.

  For now.

  Scott passed the living room doorway and paused to study the sleeping man’s face. He still didn’t get how this new-and-not-improved version was the same person he’d idolized as a kid, the epitome of safety and of know-how. Everyone changed—no surprise there—but he’d always assumed when people did change, it was for the better. Who knew how little it would take to totally derail a life?

  “Scott!” his mom whispered at his back.

  He jumped. “Shit, Ma.”

  “Don’t wake him. Please. I finally got Evie down and I need this quiet time.”

  Scott felt an urge to laugh, because he knew what she really meant. Safe time was more like it. But when his mother eyed his dad like he was some kind of sleeping predator, the urge died away. How the fuck did a normal, working-class man turn into someone his family tiptoed around out of fear? In his dad’s case, all it had taken was losing his job of twenty years and the inability to find another one. That, and all the liquor he could drink. As the weeks and weeks ticked by, turning into years, his dad had grown increasingly helpless, demoralized, and outright depressed.

  “We’ll help him, right, Scotty?” his mom had said when the telltale signs of a man on the edge had started to show up for breakfast.

  That had been two years ago, and Scott still didn’t know if he’d ever see his real dad again.

  When that guy finally showed up, the version of the son he’d left behind might be gone for good.

  “Scott, come on.” His mom tugged his arm, urging him out of the living room doorway.

  *

  As he got dressed after his shower, his phone went off and he snatched it up. The chance his cell could be heard in here from the living room were slim, but his mom’s pleading expression—her dull eyes and limp hair—haunted him. Scott would be getting out of here in a little while, and probably wouldn’t be back until morning, knowing the way Brian’s parties usually went, but she’d be stuck here all night. With him. No matter how pissed Scott still was, he couldn’t risk her getting hurt because of something he did. So far, that was a line his dad hadn’t crossed. Scott wanted to keep it that way.

  He brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”

  “Scott, hey man. Glad I caught you.”

  “Josh, what’s up?”

  “Listen, I’m here at Flores, but I just got a call. My buddy is over at this bar in New Haven. Turns out their band just canceled, like totally left them in the lurch. So my friend, he’s like, hey man, I know some guys who could bail you out.”

  “He got you a gig?”

  “I’d have to head over there right now. No time to even change out of my Flores shirt.” Josh laughed. “I’ll tell Sylvie her place will be getting free advertising.”

  “You need me to cover?”

  “You’re the best!”

  “Hold up. I didn’t say yes. I’m picking Becky up in less than an hour—”

  “Don’t make me beg. This could be huge for us. If the owner likes us, he’ll book us outright. Come on, Scott. It’s only for like two hours.”

  Scott checked the clock and sighed.

  “I’ll give you my pay for the entire shift—”

  “Josh—”

  “And give you first dibs on next month’s schedule.”

  Scott rubbed his brow, because Josh knew him and was totally using that knowledge to hook him. With first shot at the shifts, Scott could be sure to have off the night of Becky’s annual pool party. That would make her happy. “Fine. Give me a half hour.” He checked the battery, but only a sliver of charge had soaked in since he’d plugged his phone in before his run.

  The morning’s fiasco had fucked it up good.

  *

  A golden light showed beneath his parents’ bedroom door. Scott knocked lightly. His mom opened the door, book still in hand, and ushered Scott in. Evie slept in her portable crib next to the bed.

  “Can I take the car?” he asked.

  “What, you’re asking now? I don’t recall you getting our permission when you ran out of here before and then trashed it. As it is, you’re lucky it was me who went outside for the drill bits and not your dad. If he’d seen what you did to the interior—”

  “Mom, it was just a little tear in the trunk. Who cares about the trunk? It’s where you put your shit. Besides, this time I need the car for work. The bus will take too long, and Josh needs me there now. Besides, Becky’s going to have to go to Brian’s without me, and I’ll need a way to meet up with her.”

  His mom stared at the floor and chewed her lip. “Fine, but if you can get someone to follow you home to return it, that would be good.”

  “I’ll try.”

  On the way to Café Flores, he deliberated over whether he should call Becky. She’d be royally pissed about the change of plans, and he’d already pushed his luck with her with the whole prom thing. He’d never forget the look on her face the day he told her they couldn’t go as a couple. She’d come in after cheer practice, still in her uniform, and she’d pulled out a fabric swatch and laid it on the table next to the remnants of his late lunch.

  “This is my dress.”

  He’d eyed the square of gauzy peach material. “It’s a little small, but fine by me.”

  She shook her head. “Ha ha ha. No, silly, it’s the color of my dress. For prom. So you can match your tux and the flowers and stuff.”

  Playing with a fragment of straw paper, he’d stared at the tabletop so he wouldn’t have to meet her gaze. “Becky, I can’t go to prom.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I don’t have the . . . you know how it is for me.”

  A lava flow, starting in his gut, had burst through his chest into his throat. He’d avoided her gaze for as long as he could, but when the silence kept building, he had no choice but to look up. First, there had been only a flat stare, then she furrowed her brow, and finally, her eyes glassed over and melted into tears
that slipped down her cheeks.

  He’d tipped his head toward the ceiling and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay.”

  “There’s got to be a way,” she’d said. “What if . . . what if—”

  “There just isn’t.”

  “I’ll ask my dad.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “How can you not have anything saved up? Isn’t that why you’ve been wasting your free time in this frickin’ place?” She waved her hand in the air over her head.

  “Is that what you thought?”

  She knew it was bad at home, but not how bad. Was that because she couldn’t comprehend a world where wanting something means you don’t get to have it? Or was it because he hadn’t let her get close enough to him to actually see his world?

  Both, probably.

  What did it say about her that she could be so oblivious? What did it say about him that he let her stay in the dark?

  He’d toyed with his uneaten crusts. “No, I don’t have anything saved.” The lava flooded his skull, filling the space behind his eyeballs, burning into his brain.

  That’s when Becky’s savage temper had hit. “So, what? I’m supposed to miss my senior prom?”

  Scott was back to staring at the table again. “No. I can’t go, but that doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  “Alone? What about the pictures? What about having someone to dance with at the dance? You can not be serious.”

  “What? You want to go with someone else?”

  “Maybe I do.”

  He pushed back from the table, chair legs squealing against the floor, the skin-crawling sensation reverberating through him all the way to his gums. With one knuckle he massaged them through his lips as he picked his way between the tables. “Then that’s what you should do. Ask someone else.”

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Work.”

  “Seriously?” She’d gaped at him, one eyebrow raised, a hand on her cocked hip. When he didn’t return to the table, she slapped the top with an open palm. “Whatever. Go ahead. Have fun working all the time and still being broke.” Then she’d stormed out onto the street.

  It could have been worse. The café room had been empty except for Pavan with his cup of chai, and Sylvie, of course.