Smokey thrummed his fingers on the dashboard as he waited for a minivan to back out of a parking space. Normally, he didn’t go to Ruthie’s this early, especially on a Sunday when the diner was packed with families. Screaming kids and arguing parents didn’t make the best combination for a relaxing meal, but he was already there, so he clenched his teeth and waited as the driver of the vehicle took his damn sweet time exiting the space.
When Smokey walked inside, several people hovered around the cash register and many more milled in the small waiting area. Children squirmed and cried on parents’ laps while the older ones sulked and stared out the window at the falling snow.
“Fuck,” Smokey muttered under his breath as he stomped his wet boots on the mat just inside the door. He glanced around and saw Maddie carrying a tray piled high with plates and drinks as she maneuvered around and through the crowd.
As if sensing someone was watching her, the curly-haired waitress, clad in a pink jumper and white apron, glanced over and locked eyes with him, and a large grin spread across her full face. She nodded and mouthed, “Hang on,” then stopped at a booth with six people crammed into it and set down the tray on a stand.
Smokey scanned the restaurant: all the tables were full and the counter as well. He rocked back on his heels and peeled off his gloves as he looked over at a table with four little boys and two frazzled parents. Two of the kids were constantly on the verge of knocking over their glasses of milk, and the mom and dad took turns grabbing the precarious beverages and pushing them back toward the middle of the table.
Watching the family’s interaction reminded Smokey of his own when they’d gone out to eat on the rare occasion. His parents would sit in the middle of the booth, and he and his four brothers would be divided on either side of them. As boys tended to do, they would act up sometimes—nothing serious. His father would give them a cold stare, and in a steady voice would tell them to settle down. His mother never said a word, but that had been par for the course for most of Smokey’s childhood.
“I told you boys to stop it,” the father with a beaklike nose and small eyes said to his sons. Smokey wondered if the kids would get a beating when they got home, just like he and his brothers always had afterwards.
“You solo?” Maddie’s voice yanked Smokey out of recollections.
“Yeah—I forgot about it being so damn crowded in here on Sundays,” Smokey replied.
“In three hours, this place will be so nice and calm.” Maddie glanced around, shaking her head. “That’s what gets me through this crap.”
Smokey laughed, then nodded toward the back of the eatery. “Is our booth free?” Ruthie’s was a favorite Insurgents’ hangout, and the last booth in the back of the diner was normally reserved for them.
“Sorry, it’s taken. You guys hardly ever come in this early on Sundays. I can get you a place at the counter.” She took a step closer to him and whispered, “The guy with the T-shirt pulled tightly over his big belly is just finishing up a slice of banana cream pie. Will that work? It’s the last seat and your back will be to the wall.” Maddie knew the bikers required seating that enabled them to have a full view of the restaurant.
Smokey nodded. “That’ll work.”
“I’ll get it fixed up for you,” she said in a low voice before rushing away.
In less than five minutes, the pot-bellied customer was at the register paying his bill, and Maddie was motioning for Smokey to come over.
“Why do you get preferential treatment?” someone behind him said.
Smokey’s jaw tightened as he turned around and squinted at a shaggy-haired guy in baggy pants and a loose-fitting hoodie. “You talking to me?” he said, slightly leaning forward.
The people standing near the young man quickly scattered away to the corners of the small waiting area. The dude darted his eyes from the dispersing patrons to Smokey then back to the customers.
“I didn’t hear your answer,” Smokey said in a voice as sharp as a razor blade.
The early-twentysomething-year-old looked down at the floor and shuffled in place. “I … uh … was here … uh … first.”
“So?” he growled.
The guy shrugged. “So nothing.”
“If you got a problem—tell me and we can deal with it.”