Finding You Bk 01 When Souls Collide

A beat up, half dead Datsun B210 raced down the highway, its engine whining like an old sewing machine with a brick on the foot pedal, leaving behind a blue smokescreen in its wake. The steering wheel shook so badly that the young woman in the driver's seat had to keep her fingers wrapped tightly around it, white knuckled and hanging on for dear life just to keep the car pointed in a somewhat straight line. She glanced at the clock display and grimaced, pushing the accelerator a little further to the floor in hopes of coaxing more speed out of the tired, four-cylinder engine. The little car gave a wheezy cough of protest then shot forward, startling its surprised driver.

The engine screamed, making sounds that Tabby knew in her gut probably weren't normal, but she wasn't about to question the much needed burst of speed. She had a funny thought that if her poor car could talk, it would have been chanting: "I think I can, I think I can..." as it chugged down the highway.

Tabitha swore when she saw the time, squinting at the display that was pulsing from barely legible to black, and with a sinking feeling, saw that she was going to be late getting to work...again.

"Fucking stupid car!" She slammed her palm in frustration against the centre of the steering wheel, not worried about sounding the horn. That particular option had given up the ghost months ago, along with the radio and the right turn signal.

The beater hadn't wanted to start tonight and it had taken her fifteen minutes of fighting with it before the engine had grudgingly turned over and stayed running. Unfortunately, judging by the fluctuating brightness level of the dash lights and the clock that kept fading in and out of view; it looked like her alternator was in the process of waving bye-bye to her too.

The engine coughed again and the car slowed noticeably, despite Tabby practically standing on the gas pedal. Apparently that little burst of speed was all the little car had in it tonight. The harder she pushed it, more likely it was becoming that she was going to need a miracle in order to get to work at all.

"Please don't stall! We're almost there! Just a little bit farther baby, you can do it!" She sent her fervent prayers and optimistic sentiments up into the stratosphere, hoping that some kindly god was looking down on her and might happen to hear and take pity on her.

She could seriously use a dose of good luck right now - something along the lines of a new job or maybe a Ferrari. A Ferrari would be really, really nice, at least she could get to her shit job in style. She grimaced, the pleasant daydream going up in a puff of smoke. Reality sucked - like really sucked. Tabby knew that the closest she would be getting to her daydream tonight, would come in the form of a tow truck and most likely getting her ass handed to her when she got fired for being late again. The way the car was behaving pretty much put paid to that daydream not happening any time soon.

The bar and grill where she worked as a short-order cook had recently been sold and the new owner was a colossal prick. She'd already been late five times in the past three weeks and he'd given her a warning that if it happened one more time, she'd be out of a job; a crappy, stupid, menial job that the jerk knew she desperately needed, and now her crappy, stupid, shit-box of a car was going to lose it for her.

"Fuck my life," she yelled, urging the car to keep moving and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the ominous tendrils of white smoke beginning to escape from under the hood.

The car limped the next few miles, sputtering and wheezing like a saturated accordion and making horrible noises that attracted strange looks from the occupants in other passing cars. Tabby shrunk down in embarrassment and hid behind her steering wheel, blowing out a relieved breath that she hadn't been aware that she'd been holding, when the sign for her exit finally appeared up ahead.

She sniffed, a suspiciously sweet odor was wafting into the car from the vents and she groaned in dismay. Going by the humid reek of hot metal that was getting stronger by the minute, exiting off the highway couldn't happen fast enough for the little car.

Sure enough, as soon as its bald tires skidded on to the exit ramp, the dash lit up like a Christmas tree as the engine temperature soared and the engine warning light blazed briefly into life then faded away, settling into pulsing, half-heartedly in an attempt to get her attention.

She didn't need the pathetically glowing light to tell her that she'd pushed the old car too hard this time. The cloud of white steam escaping from under her hood was doing that job just fine.

Well wasn't that just craptastic? She would have closed her eyes, if she hadn't been driving.

Oh come on, really? What next?

The wispy smoke dashed her hopes and told her that she and the car were running on borrowed time. Tabby mentally willed the car to just get her to work.

Please, pretty please, with high octane fuel on top?

She didn't know if begging would work but she was so badly out of opinions that it was the only thing left that she could actually do.

She merged on to the city street and immediately slowed down. Her car shuddered and groaned alarmingly as the stress on the engine abated, but the temperature light remained stubbornly on and steam was pouring out even thicker, warning Tabby that all was not copacetic under the hood.

She nursed the car for a few more blocks, immensely relieved when the garish, neon sign for Jack's Bar & Grill finally came into view around the last corner. Tabby pulled into the parking lot just as plumes of white smoke began billowing out from under the hood. As if it could sense the end of the line, the engine gave one last phlegmy belch and then stalled. She coasted it into a parking stall, thankful that the little car didn't need power steering and she could still guide the vehicle enough to park it out of the way. Barely able to see, she grabbed her purse and bailed out of the driver's side door in a rush, afraid that the car was going to blow up or catch fire. After sprinting a few yards away, Tabby stopped and glared back over her shoulder at the useless pile of metal that used to be her only form of transportation.

"Stupid, piece of shit car," she muttered sadly, shaking her head in utter dismay.

Nick, one of the bartenders on shift that evening, and a close friend of Tabby's, was loitering off to the side of the building and was watching the commotion with a raised eyebrow, while he puffed on a cigarette. He sauntered across the lot, curiosity and concern written all over his way too pretty face.

"Problems?" he drawled with his smoke dangling from the side of his mouth, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous sight.

"Nope, it's supposed to do that, asshole," she snapped back sarcastically. He lifted his hands up, warding her off and had the audacity to laugh.

"Really, Nick? Can't you see..." she pointed accusingly at her car that was in the process of steaming and hissing like a geyser. "...how incredibly fucked I am now?"

"Whoa! Easy there tiger, I was only trying to be friendly, Tabs." He took a long draw off his cigarette and blew the lungful of thick smoke straight into the air above his head, setting loose a series of smoke rings that Tabby would have found impressive had her life not been in the process of imploding.

"Sorry about the beast, BTW," he mumbled apologetically.

She sighed, "No. I'm sorry, Nick. You don't deserve having your head bitten off just because I'm fucking late again and Jerry's going to flip his shit when I get inside." A lock of her unruly, curly hair fell in front of her eyes and she pushed it away, suddenly overcome by the urge to just plop her butt down and start bawling. She stared hopelessly at her car, still belching gouts of white smoke. "Think it'll be okay? I mean, should I call the fire department or something?"

"Nah, white smoke's nothing to really freak out about, probably just popped a hose or something," he sniffed the air. "Smell that? Sweet, kinda smells like cake? That's just water and antifreeze. Nothing's on fire. Now black smoke, that would be bad, but this shit's nothing to panic over." He paused and the two of them stared helplessly at the dying, little car. He happened to glance down and noticed something that Tabby had not. "Uh oh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he shook his head, directing Tabby's attention to the growing puddle of oil spreading out from underneath the front of her car. "I think it might be something more tragic than a blown hose, honey. Me thinks your faithful steed has run its last race. Looks like you might have blown your engine."

Tabby just groaned, glaring daggers at the car and feeling hot tears pricking at her eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" she asked forlornly.

"Come on, darlin', we might as well go face the music inside. We'll figure it out later. There's no need to stand here and watch it go through its death throes." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugged her to him and led her around the back of the building to the kitchen's employee entrance

The minute she stepped inside, her boss, Jerry, pounced on her, red faced and puffing like an old steam engine.

"What the fuck time do you call this, Tabitha? Your shift started twenty minutes ago and we're swamped!" He was tapping the face of his wristwatch so hard that he reminded Tabby of a spastic woodpecker. Tap, tap, tap, tap- because everyone knows that that's how you make time rewind, don't you know?

"Hey Jerry, give the girl a break, man. Her car just beached itself in the lot and died. It's a miracle she got here at all." Thank god for Nick, ever the peacemaker! Tabby could have kissed her friend, grateful to have his support.

"Not my fucking problem," Jerry bellowed, displaying a jack-o-lantern smile full of yellow stained teeth the size of piano keys. "The bar full of hungry patrons out there and the fact that my lazy ass cooks can't be bothered to fucking show up on time IS my problem though!" He grabbed an apron off the prep table and threw it angrily at Tabby. "Get your ass in front of that grill and start frying." He pivoted on his heel and began stalking away then stopped and threw a dirty look over his shoulder at Tabby. "We aren't finished here, Tabitha, see me after closing." He stormed across the kitchen and shoved through the swinging double doors that led into the bar area, barely managing to avoid smashing the doors into the face of a server returning with a tray full of dirty dish ware.

Tabby's heart sunk - like cannonballs tied to her ankles kind of sunk. The last thing she wanted to do was get stuck alone with her boss. When the abusive dick wasn't yelling at her, belittling her or trying to make a sleazy pass at her, his hands had a tendency to get a little too friendly for Tabby's comfort and it creeped her out. She shuddered at the memory of his overly friendly hugs and casual pats on her backside that he passed off as jokes; he always managed to find an excuse to infringe on her personal space, making her feel crowded and uncomfortable. Having to face Jerry on her own was a prospect that goaded something heavy and restless to begin squirming in her belly, making her feel slightly nauseous.

Jerry wasn't a handsome man. In fact, he was the type of guy that handsome sized up at birth, then took the zero and left town; except he didn't know it. The view through Jerry's rose-coloured glasses made him believe that he was the proverbial God's gift to women and that every female wet their panties just for the opportunity to spend time in his presence. Medium height, an inch or two shy of six foot, Jerry had the look of a man that had spent too much time chasing vices that took a heavy toll on a body. Deep lines covered his forehead and were etched into skin that resembled worn shoe leather, the result from being bathed in toxic tobacco smoke for decades. Unhealthy eating habits had expanded his middle-age spread into an unhealthy paunch that overhung his belt in a way that strained the limits of the buttons of his shirt to keep it under wraps. His greying hair had thinned to the point where he'd resorted to the dreaded "comb over" in a lame attempt at hiding a hairline that was in full retreat, as if that could hide the shiny scalp that lay beneath the sparse strands. His vanity blinded him to reality and he could frequently be found preening in front of a mirror in his office, combing and re-combing his hair like some 50's teen idol - he had the attitude, all he lacked was the hair...and the looks...and possibly the youth to pull it off successfully.

Of all his vices, Jerry's drinking habit was the one that affected everyone around him the most. It was also the one that worried Tabby the most. He drank way too much, on a frequent basis, and it showed in his permanently flushed cheeks and reddened nose. It was a habit that he didn't bother trying to hide, believing that it made him look more masculine and he was rarely found without a glass of bourbon in his hand or nearby.

Jerry's drinking wasn't a problem for him - it was a problem for everyone else. The more he drank the more aggressive and belligerent he became so that by the end of each night, the staff gave him a wide berth as he lumbered around the premises looking like a dyspeptic gorilla spoiling for a fight.

The florid glow already high on Jerry's cheeks was a warning to Tabby that her boss had begun his drinking early that night - a fact that didn't bode well for the shape he was going to be in by closing.

Maybe he'd just pass out and forget, Tabby hoped. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd done it and Tabby really prayed that history would repeat itself tonight. Let him drink himself into oblivion so that she could sneak out and avoid the confrontation after work.

Dealing with a sober Jerry was normally all sorts of unpleasantness. On a good day the guy was an abrasive, arrogant, chauvinistic pig, but drunk and pissed off? Tabby shivered as a finger of dread scraped its pointy nail up her spine. The drunker he got the more unpredictable and dangerous he would become. Dealing with him in that state would be like playing blind man's bluff with a cobra.

"Where's Mica?" she asked, suddenly noticing the conspicuous lack of the other cook that should have been on that evening. Nick took one last drag off his cigarette and then flicked the still glowing butt out the door, sending it hissing into a bucket of stagnant water that sat besides the building.

"He's at home. He called in sick, got the flu or something." He cocked a commiserating eyebrow at Tabby, "You picked the wrong day to be late, sugar-pie."

"Yeah, because I planned it that way..." She hurriedly stashed her purse in her cubby, wrapped the apron around her waist and headed for the grill. The printer sat buried under a mountain of paper, happily grinding out more order tickets. Tabby swore under her breath and began tearing them off and putting them in order. She wrapped her long hair into a loose ponytail, covered it with an uber sexy hair net and scanned the waiting pile of orders to see what needed doing first. Thank god someone had had the forethought to get the grill and fryer turned on. At least everything was warmed up and ready to go.

Nick blew her a kiss and headed out of the double doors into the cacophony of the packed bar, giving her a quick salute before he disappeared. She laughed, then headed into the big walk-in cooler, retrieved a tray of burger patties that she'd made up the night before and a snagged bag of chicken wings on her way out the door. The patties hit the grill, sizzling happily on the hot metal, while Tabby dumped the wings into a huge, stainless steel bowl. Working from experience, she tossed them with spices and flour before dumping them, perfectly coated, into an empty fryer basket.

The next few hours passed in a blur as she settled into a rhythm, feverishly keeping up with the nonstop orders and sending plate after plate out to feed the hungry patrons. It would figure that they were actually busy tonight, something that was happening less and less lately. Without Mica to help, Tabby was a whirlwind of energy, doing the job of two people, dashing from the grill, to the fryer in a carefully orchestrated dance. Good at her job, she worked efficiently to get the orders filled before the complaints could start. Hopefully that would help sweeten Jerry's mood.

Thank god, Jack's only served up basic bar fare - burgers, wings, fries etc. Most were pre-made and frozen, saving her a ton of prep time. She'd tried to convince Jerry to return to the fresh, homemade fare that had made Jack's so popular with the locals, hating the institutional quality of the food now, but all Jerry cared about was his bottom line. He figured that the patrons would be too drunk and stupid to realize that they were paying good money for the same, low quality crap that they could have bought at the local Walmart for a fraction of the price.

Unfortunately, the customers weren't as dumb as Jerry believed, and it didn't take long for Tabby to notice the drop in the kitchen volume, and the increase in food coming back with complaints. So long as Jerry had bourbon in his glass, he didn't seem to care about much of anything else and ignored her suggestions entirely. His actual words were: "Don't worry that pretty little head of yours. Leave the running of the business to me and you just worry about the cooking, sweetheart." Tabby had wanted to slap the condescending smirk right off his face that day. If it wasn't for the fact she needed the job, she would've have been quite content to let the arrogant prick shoot himself in the foot with his own stupidity.

Oh well, at the rate they were losing business, Jack's would be closed in six months anyway. It was probably a good thing that she was going to be fired after working tonight, all things considered. A rush of dread caught her at the thought of being unemployed and she swallowed against the sour taste of panic that surged up her throat.

Don't think about it, Tabs, she coached herself. Focus on what's in front of you and worry about that when it happens. She threw herself into her job, refusing to think about anything else other than the task at hand. She didn't need the distraction when there was so much to do. Losing herself in the routine of her job, Tabby pushed her worries to the back of her mind, determined to just get through the next few hours.

The printer finally stopped vomiting out tickets at ten to midnight, giving her ten minutes to finish up the last orders before the kitchen shut down for the night. Last call was announced and half an hour later, Nick popped back into the kitchen, dragged her away from the heat of the grill and out into the cool night air for a break. She slumped tiredly against the cool brick of the building, wiping the sweat from her brow with a damp bar rag, wishing she could just melt into the wall and disappear.

Being busy had helped her temporarily forget about her conked out car and the imminent meeting with her mercurial boss. Outside, in the calm evening air, the wave of anxiety slammed into her, sapping the last shreds of energy she possessed.

Nick tapped out a smoke and offered one to her, she refused with an absent wave of her hand and pulled off the ugly hair net, shaking out her sweaty hair. It felt so good to be out of the stifling heat of the kitchen that Tabby closed her eyes for a minute, content to just enjoy the cool night breeze.

"You did good tonight, sugar-pie," he hugged her to him, kissing the top of her head. Nick was tall, blond and almost too beautiful for words. He reminded Tabby of a cowboy crossed with a supermodel, exuding sex and charisma with every move his perfectly formed body made. The man was built to fuck, she thought, and not for the first time.