Night at the George Washington Diner by Davies A. D

Author:Davies, A. D. [Davies, A. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947099555
Amazon: 1947099558
Goodreads: 44588975
Publisher: Crater of the North Publishing
Published: 2017-06-02T07:00:00+00:00

12

Unlike most diners of this sort, the tables were not bolted to the floor, and in my absence the others had piled them up over the windows like some makeshift dam or the panicked reaction to a zombie hoard surrounding a church. The front door had also been sort-of sealed, with stools acting as a draw bar across the handles. As with the locks, the barricade wouldn’t prevent a breach entirely, but it would surely slow down anyone trying to get in.

I gripped the young biker by the throat. He was about twenty, so not really a kid, but he was fresh-faced and wide-eyed. Terrified. Not some hardened criminal.

Still, like Layla, he’d made his choice.

“Name.” I eased up enough for him to speak.

The kid croaked, closed his eyes.

I said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re going to help us get out of here.”

“Let go of him,” Ruth said.

“No. They’re animals. Mindless animals. You saw what they did to the police. Not one of ’em deserves to live.”

“I know this boy.” Ruth sat beside me, arms folded under her chest. “He was only a child when I dated with one of them. Mirko, if you need a name. Running messages, holding drugs because he is a minor. What else could he become?”

“He had a choice. He’s not a minor anymore. He’ll still be like them one day.”

“And what will you be in ten years? Beating more violent boyfriends? Bringing trouble?”

I stared at Mirko, who plainly understood little English. “He’s scum.”

“He is like Queen song, yeah? A boy from a poor family. He sees people respect Damir and Zdenko, and the others. Selling some weed to tourists. Where is the harm?”

When I first returned to England after my beating in Thailand, I didn’t just idly build up my strength, nor simply learn the hardest martial art I found in case I got mugged or picked on in a bar. I was ready for revenge, preparing to return to Bangkok, to hunt down and inflict as much hurt as possible on the men who assaulted me. I held nothing but hatred within me. But one man changed that. My mentor, Harry. He introduced me to the notion of working for the vulnerable, of helping those who needed it. For a small fee, of course. Then, later, Jess showed me how to be a good man, despite living in a world of death and violence. Yet I wanted to dispose of Mirko before he caused some innocent person pain from which they could never recover.

“What will he do that is so dangerous?” Ruth asked. “Here. They need help.”

She drew my attention to Cole and Grady. Grady, his head in his girlfriend’s lap, chest bleeding. Terry on the floor, Cole stemming the flow from his stomach with a dishtowel.

Christ.

I slackened my fingers one at a time, allowing Mirko to push away on his backside and lean against the counter, still low to the ground.

“I’m sorry.” I breathed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Ruth said. “Do not be sorry. Be strong.

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