The Smoker

The waitress could tell that the man was a smoker as soon as he entered the diner. The overwhelming scent of ozone and nicotine hung all over him like the smell of death on a hospital patient. He paused after entering through the front door and looked around nervously before pulling up a chair at the counter. 

“What can I get you?” the waitress asked.

“Just a cup of coffee for now.” The man’s voice sounded like a rusty screen door.

She turned around to grab the coffee pot, but froze in mid motion. She stared deeply at the man; her eyes looking past the slicked back hair, the two days worth of beard, the expensive suit, and landing on the pink and puckered scar that ran from one side of the man’s neck to the other. It was a hideous river of knotted flesh. The waitress quickly turned around as soon as she noticed the man watching her in amusement.

The man never looked at the menu but when the waitress returned with the coffee he was ready to order.

“How’s your blackberry pie?” he asked.

“Best in five states.” she bluffed.

“I’ll have a slice of that. A fitting last meal.” The last part was mumbled under his breath just loud enough for the waitress to hear as she walked away.

She brought the slice of pie and laid it down in front of the man, but he no longer seemed interested in it.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Wendy,” the waitress lied and pointed to the bright white nametag adhered securely to her chest.

“Wendy,” the man said, testing the sound of the name with his own voice. “That’s a nice name.”

He pulled out a silver plated cigarette case and removed a cigarette. The lighter that he lit the smoke with was also silver. He leaned back in his chair and sighed a cloud of smoke.

“So what’s your story Wendy?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

“I mean…I come here pretty often and I’ve never seen you here before. So I want to hear your story.”

“Oh.” The waitress paused, as if thinking. “Today’s my first day and my story’s basically the same as a lot of people’s. Fell for the wrong guy and only ended up with his debt and his kids. I’m just trying to make ends meet.”

The man looked deeply at the waitress, searching for a lie, but when he encountered the lines painted all over her face, products of weariness, he believed her. He took a bite of his pie, seemingly satisfied by the waitress’ story.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said. “What’s your story?”

The man lets out a low chuckle that sounded like the shuffling of gravel.

“It’s long and twisted.”

“The best ones always are,” the waitress smiled.

The man realized that she could be downright pretty when she smiled. That may have been the reason why he decided to confide in her.

“I guess I can tell you,” he whispered harshly. “I saw you looking at my scar. Well, let’s just say that this didn’t kill me like it was supposed to.”

“Why would someone want to kill you?”

The man stared at the counter, trying to think of some way to explain.

“It’s not important…”

The waitress already knew though. She had seen enough guys like him to know the score. The thousand dollar suit, the Rolex shining on his wrist, the cautious eyes, she had seen it all before.

The man lit up another cigarette.

“I’ve been lying low, changed my name and everything…but lately something’s been off. I’ve noticed cars sitting outside my house that were never there before, people following me…I swear to god my phone is tapped. They found me, and it’s only a matter of time till they get what they came for.”

The waitress took a minute to absorb the story before she leaned against the table. “Look. You seem like a nice guy. Why don’t you just get out of town?”

The man heaves a smoky sigh full of melancholy fatigue. “I’m tired of running.”

“I’m sure your nerves are just shot. It’s probably nothing.”

“Maybe you’re right. Only time will tell.”

The waitress smiled another one of those smiles that made her seem young again and placed the check on the counter. Before she could withdraw her hand the man grabbed it in a steely grip. He pulled her close to his face. The thick choking smell of smoke almost made her pass out.

“I wanted to thank you for talking to me,” the man said. “You really made me feel better.”

The waitress smiled and nodded, unsure of what to say. The man released her and the waitress quickly turned away to check the level of the coffee pots. When she turned back around the man was gone. The waitress went to collect the bill and what she found on the table was a crisp stack of hundred dollar bills. She grabbed the money and reached for her purse, hidden under the counter.

She ran after the man who was already walking out the door. She reached the street a few moments after him.

“Vinny wait!” She yelled, causing the man to spin around.

“How do you…” he started to say, but was cut short when the waitress shot him twice in the chest with the gun she removed from her purse.

The man fell to his knees and then face first into the gutter, choking on his own blood. After a few twitches he lay motionless.

The woman threw the wad of hundred dollar bills on top of the lifeless body and walked off into the night. She didn’t need the money; she had just made five times as much with two bullets. She never would find out why she had been hired.