She scowls. “Working, what does it look like I’m doing?”
The guys chuckle but I’m still in shock.
“Hey, Beth,” Tank says, while Slim nods at her.
“Loving the uniform, darlin’,” Pretty Boy says, not even hiding it as he lets his eyes roam up and down her body. I want to kick him under the table.
“Hey,” she smiles, and it annoys me that she seems genuinely happy to see them. “What can I get you all?”
Before any of them can answer, I interrupt, “What are you working here for?”
She’s rich, I’m sure she is. Her family must be loaded because Donovan told me they come from Radbury Heights, the most expensive district in Tynerston, we’re talking millionaire type rich. Why is she working the graveyard shift in a shitty diner… and out here. Where even are we? I glance out the window, we’re in a really sketchy area. What the fuck is she doing here?
“I work here because I have a fetish for old-style American diners,” she says.
“Really?” I ask.
“Obviously not,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I work here to earn money, why else do people work shitty jobs?” She turns her attention to Slim. “Now, what can I get you?”
The guy from the window hatch approaches us, he’s wearing a shirt and tie and walks like he genuinely believes he’s some big shot. His name badge shows he’s called Brian and that he’s the diner supervisor.
“Beth, that homeless guy is back again. You need to stop treating this place like a soup kitchen.”
She smiles, but this time I can tell it’s fake.
“It’s not a soup kitchen if you’re getting paid for the soup.”
“Yeah, but he’s not paying for it. I take the money out of your wages each month.”
“So? Why do you care where the money comes from, you get paid for the soup.”
Brian fumbles, trying to come up with a good response.
“He’s homeless, he’s going to scare away the other customers.”
She takes her time looking around the empty diner, before gesturing at us, “Oh, you mean these customers? You think some harmless old man is going to scare away the big scary biker gang?” She accentuates her description of us with mock fear in her voice and I have to stifle a laugh, enjoying seeing her give sass to someone else for a change.
He looks at us properly for the first time, realizing who we are. Even though we’re not into illegal shit anymore, our club still holds weight in the area and the majority of people steer clear of us. And we know our roles well, each of us giving him blank stares, as though no one and nothing matters to us.
“Well… I… uh…” Brian stutters.
“He’s not bothering us,” I say.
I’m not the most physically intimidating out of the four of us, but years of practice have made me able to intimidate most people using my voice and expressions.
“Yeah,” Tank says, “it’s fine with us if he’s here.”
Whether it’s my cold stare, or Tank’s size that does it, it works. Brian huffs at Elizabeth before storming off. She smiles at us and it’s genuine and open. She doesn’t usually smile at me like that, and I hate to admit it, but I like it.
“Beth?” The man Brian had been referring to approaches us.
“Hola, Señor Perez,” Elizabeth says, “¿Cómo estás?”
Well shit, I had no idea she spoke any Spanish; her pronunciation is actually pretty good.
“Estoy bien,” he says, “tengo dinero para ti.”
He holds out some crumpled dollar bills towards her.
