The Boy in the Box by Lee J. Nelson

Author:Lee J. Nelson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bridgeworks
Published: 2003-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

TEN

Outside the precinct station the sky was haze, and almost immediately Smith began to sweat. Compared with the iciness of the Community Room, the sticky air was pleasant, but by the time he walked a block and crossed a congested street, his temples throbbed and his breathing had grown labored.

Adopting a stony frown and realizing how hungry he had become, he marched into Wendy’s coffee shop. A lunchtime crowd was buzzing. All the booths were occupied. Wendy was busy and unable to talk. He took a stool at the counter, next to an elderly woman who sipped coffee from a cup she held in both hands. She wore a black dress and a pillbox hat with a lace veil turned up on the brim. Her face was heavily powdered, and her mouth gleamed with ruby-red lipstick. By her elbow lay a muffin, partially eaten, like a crumbling ruin.

Down onto the last available stool plopped a brawny construction worker wearing tattoos, work jeans, work boots, a five o’clock shadow. He had come in after Smith and yelled his order, calling the waiter “Joe.” The harried Joe, whom Smith had not seen working there before, had just rushed out to service a booth and responded to the call by hurrying back behind the counter and providing the loud customer a napkin, knife and fork.

“Hey!” Smith shouted. “Joe! That’s not fair! I was here first!”

The diners at the counter, clutching cups or utensils, stopped eating and looked at Smith.

“I want eggs, Joe!” Smith barked. He had gotten Joe’s attention. Others in the restaurant took note. Smith glanced at Wendy and saw that she, too, was watching.

“Scrambled eggs!” Smith shouted. “On the double!”

Joe nodded and turned toward the kitchen.

“And a napkin, knife and fork! Just like everybody else!”

Joe hastened back to Smith with a napkin, knife and fork, then poured Smith a glass of water.

“Coffee!” Smith ordered. “Why would I want water?”

Dishes had come out from the kitchen and sat steaming on the counter. Joe took two or three in each arm.

“Where’s that coffee?” Smith called peevishly.

“One moment,” Joe pleaded. He was pale and frail. His hair was thin and combed straight back. His hands gripped the dishes securely, with experience and confidence; they had long, strong fingers and enlarged veins that raised the skin, like the roots of a tree. Having taken a second to catch his breath, he rushed toward the booths to deliver the food.

“Relax, pal,” the construction worker called to Smith from down the counter. “There’s enough coffee for everybody.”

For an instant he and Smith locked stares. The worker’s face was blunt and blocky and the gaze unflinching. To show that he accepted the man’s comment without hard feelings, Smith raised his water in a salute, and the worker responded, lifting his fork.

The eggs came, and with a smile Smith thanked the waiter, apologizing for his impatience though noting how his loud, obtrusive style had gotten him what he wanted.

He turned to the elderly woman in the pillbox hat. She was staring ahead, as if lost in a thought.

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