Mr L: Can you come to town for a visit? I have a job for you, but I need to tell you face to face.
Me: I don’t work for you.
Me: Just message me the deets like a normal person.
Mr L: Pete’s Place. Tomorrow. 9 am. Don’t be late.
Me: No. Fuck off.
Me: Plus, you live in the back of beyond. Small town life’s not for me.
Mr L: I’ll remind you that you said that.
Mr L: Get your arse there. Unless you’re still sore because I cut off your stalking.
Me: You still sore from the right hook I gave you?
After a couple of minutes,I replied.
Me: Fine. I’ll be there.
Mr L: Excellent choice. See you then.
I yawned,my stupidly early start catching up with me. I had no idea why Thomas wanted to meet in person. Between the two of us, we probably had the most secure businesses in the world, so I wasn’t sure what was so important that he couldn’t just send me the information over the encrypted network we used all the time.
The waitress came over to the booth I was sitting in, and I ordered a coffee just as my phone buzzed in my hand with a message.
Mr L: Sorry, something’s come up. I can’t make it.
Rage tightened my jaw.
Me: WTF. I’ve got better things to be doing than getting stood up by you.
Mr L: Enjoy your coffee. And remember to say thank you.
I frowned at his cryptic message, about to reply, when the door to the diner opened, and a breeze brushed over my skin,making me shudder. I looked up just as my coffee cup was placed on the table. I twisted to say thank you, but something in my periphery made my head snap to the side.
There, standing at the counter with her back to me, was a woman dressed in high-waisted leather leggings and a white, cropped T-shirt, her long, poker straight, inky-black hair landing halfway down her back. She was talking to a man who laughed at something she was saying before holding out his arm and ushering her behind the counter, letting me catch a glimpse of her profile.
The curve of her button nose, her pillowy lips, the mole on her cheek: she was as familiar to me as my own reflection.
I couldn’t swallow as confusion clogged my throat, my hands shaking so hard I could barely press the keys as I typed the message.
Me: What the fuck did you do?
…
Mr L: You’re welcome.
“You ready to order?”
I looked up to see an older woman with short grey hair standing there. Her eyes widened as she took me in. I knew how I looked: six foot four, about as wide as I was tall, thick beard, my brown hair tapered to a buzz cut on the sides, and the tattoos that covered my body, stretching up my neck and covering the backs of my hands. Mean, scary, unapproachable. I wasn’t any of those things, but looking like this, people kept their distance, which was my intention.
“Sir?” My attention returned to the woman in front of me, who must be pushing seventy and looked like she was more than ready to retire.
I coughed, trying to shake the cobwebs from my vocal cords because, before today, I wasn’t sure when I last spoke. My life was online. Anonymous. I liked it like that.
“Who’s the woman behind the counter?” I asked, making her glance over her shoulder in the direction I was looking before she stared at me suspiciously.
