It had been a slow weekend on the night the man who would take her life met her for the first time. Shaniyah, her second favorite coworker after the senior waiter, had already written the newly discounted prices for bagels and garlic bread sticks on the window-sized chalkboard facing the main dining area.
Incidentally, the board was positioned right next to the bar, giving Trisha all the time she needed to casually gaze at “Shy” while she went about her tasks; bussing tables when needed and making small-talk with a rather persistent customer despite her giving all the usual signs that she wasn’t interested.
Trisha was getting ready to go over there and make some halfway-believable excuse for her to come back into the kitchen when he walked in.
He was certainly an unusual sight. Dark-grey mechanic coveralls underneath a slim black leather jacket to complete the strange-fitting ensemble. Put a cap on his head and he would’ve given off all the vibes of a road-savvy trucker with a hint of motorcycle junkie on the side, or so Trisha thought at the time.
He was white, with all the telltale signs of someone who rarely saw the light of day, and dark-brown hair complete with bangs parted over his right eye.
Straight outta the early aughts, she thought.
He looked older, though. Late thirties to early forties at most. Five o’clock shadow covering the whole underside of his features; from his chin all the way up to his lips and sideburns.
He looked like the kind of guy who’d seen some shit and lived to drink about it.
And it was just his luck that the bar served adult beverages from six pm to closing.
“So,” she said as she instinctively leaned forward onto the bar to accentuate her low-cut V-neck, “What’s your poison tonight, sir?”
His cheeky smile made her whole night thus far, like he knew the punchline to a particularly raunchy joke.
“Honestly, I’m just lookin’ to blow off some steam an’. . . Make some small-talk.” He bought himself his bar stool with a twenty from inside his jacket.
“Oh my, a man of mystery,” she took the dollar bill and placed it in the tip jar. “You’re not gonna spill your sorrows, are you? ‘Cause this job’s got enough of them as is.”
“Oh, I used to work dish at a Chili’s. Trust me, I know. Had to learn maintenance just to get the hell outta there.”
“Hence the suit.”
He smiled once again while taking off his jacket, revealing a “Murphy” name tag just under his left collar. “Hence the suit. That’s right. Old school.”
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“So. . . First name or last?” She pointed to his tag.
“Just Murphy for now. I like the whole ‘man of mystery’ angle.” He casually slipped another twenty onto the table, “Don’t suppose you have a bourbon chaser, d’you? Apple cider? Ginger beer?”
“Awfully lightweight choices for chasers. Not gonna lie, when you first walked in, I thought you were going to be, like, the hard-drinking type.”
He smiles, this time like he’s trying to contain his laughter. “Oh, I am the hard-drinking type, doll. This is just an appetizer. I’ve been abstaining for a while an’. . Well, I’ve really hit my limit on limits tonight.”
“Recovering alcoholic?” Her question raised an eyebrow in him; making her afraid she’d offended him for a moment before his expression changed again, almost like he was agreeing with her.
“Something like that,” he said with resignation. “Although I think remissive alcoholic is probably more accurate. I’m really not the kinda guy who recovers from things. Never have been.”
“Sounds like most of the ex-boyfriends I know. I’ll get yer drink, love. Now, we do have apple cider, but not ginger beer. That work?”
“Works just fine, doll,” he said with the reassuring smile of a cowboy just getting off his horse.
Trisha knew from firsthand experience - particularly with the aforementioned ex-boyfriends - that people with a drinking habit and a shady way about them were always the types who brought trouble with their baggage, no matter how much they tried to blend in with the crowd. The fact that she still hadn’t seen his ID definitely struck a cord in her mind that maybe this guy had something to hide, but then again it wasn’t against the law for someone to not show ID so long as they stayed off the hard drinks, and so far he hadn’t done anything untoward other than giving her a pet name.
And as far as names go, doll was hardly the worst thing she’d been called by a customer; either to her face or in some less-than-professional text messages from regulars whose numbers were now blocked. As much as she loved flirting with her ten digits to the biggest and cutest tippers, dick pics and hookups were out of the question for anyone she hadn’t known for at least a year and a half.
This Murphy guy had decent looks, albeit more on the greasy side given his profession, and he didn’t give off any bad vibes as of yet.
Another regular?, she thought while sifting through their limited selection of apple cider. Seems like the type who doesn’t like to stay in one place for long.
Finding some generic brand of cider, she poured it in a classical bourbon glass and served it with an ice ball and a lemon slice in the rim just to give off the impression he was sipping a hard drink.
“Mystery or not, you look like the kinda guy who appreciates the old fashioned glasses.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said; smiling while he took a drink. “Can’t say I’m too old, though. Thirty-four, though your mileage may vary.”
“Mine doesn’t,” she said with a wink and a tongue flick before leaning in closer. “Pay up good, and I may just go home with you tonight.”
It just rolled out of her mouth; like it was the most casual thing in the world to say aloud. Even the one or two customers sitting nearby gave her a stunned look, trying to wrap their heads around what was being said in front of them in public.
This was a coffee shop after all, not a strip bar. Surely a waitress making ends meet by the skin of her teeth had better standards than some pole dancer in a G-string.
Murphy, for his part, just gave the most sly smile she’d seen in a while. Like a coyote who just caught his prey and was silently congratulating himself for it; licking his two sets of fangs even as he took another swig of the apple cider.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said; casually placing two freshly minted C-notes into the folds of her cleavage.