The Everborn - Nicholas Grabowsky [162]
Nevertheless, Ralston, in this present state, was far more trustworthy than he ever was. What Ralston was a part of, Andrew was a part of. Bari was a part of it. Melony and her husband were a part of it. In the big picture...hell, everything, the whole damn world, might as well be a part of it.
Bari, who’d made herself as unseen as the molecules in the air throughout the ride, was no longer with them.
The two exchanged blank glances, then, gazed soberly upon the lone diner before them.
***
They proceeded along the diner’s car-less gravel lot welcome-mat. Obscurity christened the rooftop and what was apparently a dormant generic neon sign. The windowed front highlighted a patron here and there, in corrals of booths or nestled upon bar stools at the counter intercepting the front register.
A rectangular wooden sign stained to a deep brown oak dangled in the mellow breeze from links of chains. Displayed upon it in antique fashion was a burnt engraving of three words in quotations:
“We’re never close.”
Not far from it, a window posterboard heralded a cursive-penned message:
MIDNIGHT MEAL SPECIAL:
All-you-can-eat
deep-fried
pawns.
(see inside for details)
“Don’t they mean prawns?” Andrew commented.
“Hold it a second,” Ralston said, stricken to a halt by his own senses suddenly, and Andrew halted with him.
“What is it?”
“Be prepared for anything,” Ralston instructed, eyes scanning the area. He then proceeded forward.
“Wait,” Andrew said, and Ralston halted again, turned, looked at him. “What’s wrong with this picture? We’re not about to just waltz into a public place, are we? I mean, the cab driver we could handle, but...there’s people in there, and well...look at us!"
“Tell you what,” said Ralston. “I propose we step in to this fine establishment, ignorant to all of that and pretending we haven’t a clue as to how plainly exotic we appear.”
“Let’s say they freak out, as they all should. Wouldn’t we, normally?”
“What do you mean, we? You’ve been exposed to Bari all your life. You mean, and what the rest of us call, humanity. But if they freak out, that’s quite all right, because that would be a normal reaction. We’ll get the hell out and away from here and retreat to some quiet place where we can rethink our strategy. But if they react in a way short of this, that’ll be our cue that shit ain’t right, and we’ll know this trip wasn’t a waste of time.”
“Agreed.”
They entered the diner.
45.
The Diner Untold
The inside of the diner at first proved to be even less of a thrill than it was looking at it from the outside. Andrew and Ralston were greeted by yet another sign, a freestanding sign of cheap plastic with a metal base. It was the kind of “please wait to be seated” sign one would expect, except all it read was WAIT in bold lettering.
And so they waited for a short while at the sign. The wait gave them time enough to inspect the drab surroundings. It could have been perceived as odd or otherwise indifferent that a waitress did not eventually pop into sight to greet them, but there were no waitresses at all. In fact, noticeably, there were no employees that either one of them could see; none, either behind the front counter nor in what they could view of the kitchen.
A basket of fries awaited pick-up at a vacant chef’s station.
A curious couple each clad in thermal jackets so oversized they could have been mistaken for sleeping bags occupied the two far right corner bar stools, silently grubbing on finger foods.
A gentleman, elderly and frail and adorned in muscular twitches sat in a booth aligned against the front stretch of window glass to Ralston’s right; his frizzy hair was parted across the top of his head to a vacuous baldness in a Larry-of-The-Three-Stooges