https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-two
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-part-two
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-three
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-four
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-five
https://steemit.com/writing/@medusaeffect/the-medusa-effect-chapter-six
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHEF
Hardy sat down and ordered the Big Boy Breakfast. It was better than he might have expected from the small restaurant with its unimpressive trappings. At the entrance there was one thin piece of driftwood used for a rail, other than that, it was pine planks and black tile. There were white tablecloths under the round cut glass. The fake rose and vase with plastic water was stuck in the middle of the empty table.
He could hardly have expected the sirloin the waitress brought to him, cooked to perfection dotted with blue cheese and two perky eggs placed symmetrically next to it. He might almost have forgotten why he was there in the first place when he placed the last bite in his mouth.
It wasn’t until he looked up and caught the cook staring at him through the small window on the kitchen door that he knew he had to get to the bottom of Sylvia’s frequent trips to the diner, however great the food was.
Hardy gestured lifting his hand and nodding. “Give my compliments to the chef.” He said loudly.
The metal door opened revealing the menacing cook in a half-apron standing there toying with a tooth pick. Hardy looked down slurping his coffee all the while keeping an eye on the door. It occurred to him that he was the lone patron, even the waitress was MIA. Well, if this was my last meal it was a hell-of-a-one, he said to himself. He pushed back from the table and felt for the snap on his gun belt. His heart dropped until he remembered it was still in his jacket pocket. He drew it carefully from there and slipped it inside his bulging belt-line.
The waitress finally reappeared. He left her a good tip and headed for the cruiser taking the flower pot from the table with him. It occurred to him that he was in a dangerous spot, the chef didn’t want him there meddling any more than the manager from the grocery. He knew he was in deep, even if the man did make him the best breakfast he’d ever had. He pulled around back and found the service door. His fingers fumbled on the icy handle when he pushed against it, but once inside the back entrance he easily found the kitchen. The giant’s back was to him, still standing at the grill. Hardy stuck his fingers into his ribs.
"I got a message for you. You need to do a little better making your customers feel at home. In spite of that damn delicious steak, I felt a little...intimidated out there. You don’t want to do that to an officer of the law who is just trying to do his duty."
The low gurgling laughter spooked Hardy, "Look," he turned his glass eye toward him "Maybe I'll take that in to consideration if you’re ever dumb enough to come back here."
Hardy left without asking him about Sylvia, there was no point. He was lucky to get out of there in one piece and he was smart enough to promise himself he wouldn't come back there alone. He got the idea that everyone in the two block area knew her. It was confirmation, at least. He was more intrigued than ever by the insignificant little village. He could imagine Sylvia, in her rabbit fur boots, sitting there in the restaurant taking tiny sips at her glass of bottled water. He still didn’t get it, what she would want with the tacky establishment?
He drove back to Marquette. When he got to his office he put the vase on his desk. It wasn’t enough just to be there where she visited every month. He could still taste the black pepper grinding in his back teeth. He couldn't get the diner off his mind.
