Return (Book 3, the Redemption Series)

Chapter 2

Jake was forced to register for his room with a credit card. Usually, a motel would accept a little extra cash to skip the formalities. But this clerk wouldn't budge— probably because it was Vegas and Jake looked rough from the road. After dropping his bag off in his second-floor room, Jake hit the streets to find a place to eat; the shower would have to come after he filled his belly. He didn't have to venture far. Around the corner, he found an all-night diner. It brought back memories of his mom; Nancy had worked in a place like this her whole life and still did, despite her bad knees.

Tonight was turning out to be his lucky night— first the ride, and now this pseudo-Coney Island. Jake was tempted to put his last hundred dollars on the roulette wheel.

A waist-high sign invited Jake to seat himself, so he took a booth near the kitchen. It wasn't his preference, but he sat with his back to the entrance, so he could watch the flat-screen TV anchored high in the corner. The wandering lifestyle kept him out of the news loop; therefore he liked to catch up on current events when he could. The volume was muted, so he focused on the scrolling ticker tape at the bottom of the news station.

While he waited on a server, his stomach growled louder than a lion. Jake hadn't eaten since breakfast. Fortunately, no one could hear his rumblings since the restaurant was practically empty. A family with grown kids sat in a booth along the wall, and a loner like himself nursed a steaming cup of coffee by the door. There was no waitress in sight. However a cook worked busily over a large flat grill, so Jake knew they were still serving food. He snatched a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser and debated on his selection. An omelet sounded great, but so did a bacon cheeseburger. He couldn't decide.

As his eyes bounced around the pictures of the dinner options, a short Korean waitress appeared at his side. With a quick smile, she asked, "Get you something to drink?"

"A pop."

She cocked her head to the side. "Pop?"

No matter how long he was away, Jake couldn't shake his Michigan vernacular. "A soda. A Coke Cola."

"We have Pepsi."

"That's fine."

"Know what you want to order?" Each word sounded like it was cut from her mouth with a knife.

Stupidly, Jake asked, "Are the burgers good?"

She nodded her head twice. Had he really expected her to say they were bad? His gaze returned to the menu. "I can't decide between the burger and the omelet."

"Both good. Can't go wrong. Me give you more time to decide."

He held up his hand. "No. I'll take the half-pound bacon burger with American cheese and a side of curly fries."

"Burgers. Fries. Got it. Be back with your drink." She hurried away, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the floor.

He closed the menu and returned it to its spot next to the salt, pepper, and ketchup dispensers. The place definitely reminded Jake of his mother. She'd supported the two of them single-handedly working in a diner just like this since the alimony payments from his dad were sporadic at best. Jake's mother had always been there for him, no matter how bad he screwed up.

And Jake was a terrible son. After Sam's death, he hadn't even called his mother, leaving her to find out via the news. Instead, he phoned her weeks later, making his daughter's death all the more real. There was no pretending that it was all a dream after he admitted what happened to his mother. Their call had lasted over an hour, which was a record for both of them. Nancy had done her best to comfort him from a thousand miles away, but there was no palliating him. Not then, and not now.

Nevertheless, he did try to call her once a month, and with every conversation, Nancy begged him to come back home. But he couldn't. His absence was better than disappointing the people who loved him.

For the last two years, Jake had survived on his cashed-out policemen's pension and the random odd job, but his funds were nearly gone. Jake figured there had to be tons of jobs in Vegas for someone with his experience. All the casinos required security staff, and if he needed to work his way up, he could start in the pot shops or strip clubs. He could do whatever it took to scrape by; lord knows he'd done it this long.

Dropping off his meal, the waitress woke him up from his reverie. The glass of Pepsi was already there. He hadn't noticed her place it in front of him. She asked, "Anything else."

The burger looked better than the picture in the menu, and the golden-brown curly fries spilled off the large oval plate and onto the tabletop. Jake shook his head. "I'm good. Thanks."

She nodded and left.

With two hands, he dug into his burger. It was excellent. Almost as good as a Mitch's burger from back home. His stomach rumbled in agreement. The bell above the door rang, and a gust of cool night air followed the sound. Jake assumed the family had finished their meal and exited the diner because the woman by the door appeared like she'd nurse her coffee until closing. He reached for the saltshaker with one eye still on the television and applied the seasoning liberally to his fries.

The leather seat groaned behind him. Jake felt pressure on his back as someone made themselves comfortable in the adjacent booth. A plastic menu cracked open audibly, and a man cleared his throat. Glancing around, Jake noticed both the cook and waitress were absent, and he turned back to the television.

"What do you recommend, Jake?" an eerily familiar voice asked.

No. It couldn't be.

But it was.

Every muscle in his body tensed as Jake fought the urge to run out the back door. He should have expected this visitor to catch up to him eventually, though Jake had tried hard to avoid it.

Accepting his fate, Jake said, "Hello Sonny."