Fiction Piece: Novel Fragment 1

Dishes clinked together in an unintentional rhythmic pattern. The dishes clinked as they were deposited at the tables, while in use at the tables, while being collected from the tables, and while being washed for reuse. At a distance, the sound mingled with the conversations being held into a refreshing wash of noise. While on her break, Terry had often closed her eyes and listened, relaxing to the music they made. At the moment she was not on break; she was in the center of it all. From here, it was all just noise.

The bell in the kitchen dinged to signal the arrival of the next prepared order. As she hurried to collect it, she brushed a long lock of curly hair from her face. Truth be told, she needed a minute to redo her hair in her scrunchy for comfort and cleanliness purposes but she didn't have the minute so to do. Carol had called in sick at the last moment and they'd woken up Rachel when they'd called her to come in early. Rachel was on her way and would soon arrive to help out but, until then, she was struggling with the lunch shift alone.

She carried the plates to table six, annoyed since her hands were full and that loose lock of hair was threatening to flop back into her face. “Now then, who had the hamburger?” One man paused from his drumming on the table to raise two fingers, signaling himself. “Then you must be the roast beef sandwich,” she checked with the other man. He smiled and nodded to confirm the statement.

Having successfully delivered the food, she smiled again. “Before I go, is there anything else I can get you?”

The Roast Beef man grinned wickedly. His hand darted out to take hold of hers. “Yeah, your phone number.”

Terry flushed. This was not a situation with which she was good at dealing. Thankfully the bell dinged the arrival of another order. “I'm sorry but I have to go now.” She scurried away to collect the spaghetti for table seven. Oh no, she was going right back past that creep! The diner wasn't large enough to provide another path to table seven so she'd have to pass by. How to derail the man at table six?

As Roast Beef sandwich at table six was bent over his plate, she increased her pace to slip past him to get to table seven. The scruffy young man there was staring out the window. “You had the spaghetti, right?” This drew the young man from his thoughts. He turned to her, smiled and nodded. She slid the plate in front of him, glanced back to the empty pick-up window and then she slid into the booth across from him, receiving a raised eyebrow of surprise from him for this action. He looked like a relatively innocent young man and she didn't recognize him, which implied he wasn't local, so she hoped she could trust him more than the creepy guy at table six. She lowered her voice. “Can I ask you a favor?” He nodded. She leaned forward. “One of the men in the booth behind you is hitting on me. At least for the next few minutes, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?”

He glanced behind her at the men in that booth. Then he took a moment to observe Terry properly. “I don't think that will be a problem.” He shook this off. “I take that back; I'd be pleased to do so.”

“Thank you.” She smiled warmly at him. “I'm Terry.”

“Just like the nametag,” he noted. “I'm Jim.”

The bell dinged again. She grinned at Jim and returned her voice to a normal level. “Sorry hun, I am at work. See you at home if nothing else?”

“If not sooner.”

She rose from the table, paused to kiss him on the forehead as she passed, and hurried back to work. Grinning, he tried to wipe the lipstick mark off while collecting his fork. Before he could raise the first forkfull of spaghetti to his mouth, a thick finger started jabbing him in the shoulder. Said finger belonged to the large man behind him. “Hey, you know her?”

“Yes I do,” Jim answered politely. He was curious to see where this would go next.

“How well do you know her?”

“Well enough.”

He gave Jim a 'yeah right' sort of look. “What's her name?”

“Terry.”

This answer received a wicked grin in response. “What about her last name?”

“I don't believe that's any of your business.”

“You dunno what it is, do ya?”

“Its Chesterfield. Are you happy now?” Jim turned back to his meal.

He was jabbed with the finger again. The large man smiled at him. “I don't believe you.”

Jim grunted in exasperation. He was hungry and these interruptions annoyed him. “Well, what is it then?” he snapped.

“I say her name is Kanfield.”

“Good for you. Say whatever you want.” Grumbling, Jim returned to his rapidly cooling dinner. Truthfully he had no idea what was Terry's last name. For all he knew, the large man had known Terry all her life and he'd just blown the whole story. Hopefully the man was a long haul trucker and was guessing in an attempt to see if he'd crack. Jim's bluster should cover the situation.

Before he could take a bite, Jim found his face in the spaghetti, a pressure holding him there. Once he was released, he returned to his upright position. Flinging sauce from his eyes, he was unable to prevent the man from grabbing him by the throat. “I wasn't done talking ta you yet!” he bellowed.

Jim struggled to free himself. He had never really thought of himself as scrawny but the man's hand was doing a really good job of surrounding his neck. A certain amount of panic also gripped him and he began pummeling the man's brawny arm, seeking freedom and an unrestricted airway. This pummeling apparently did nothing to free himself. He began to gasp for breath.

The chef burst from the kitchen, knife in hand, and rapidly approached the conflict. With all eyes in the diner upon the situation, the chef tapped the big man on the shoulder. “Hey! If you gotta beat him up, at least do it outside. If you bust up my diner any, you're paying for it!”

The man grunted. “Yeah, okay.” Grabbing Jim by the scruff of this neck, he dragged Jim from the diner to the blacktop parking lot. Once there, Jim was casually discarded.