More Coffee 1

"More coffee?"

I looked up at the smiling face of the waitress. "Sure, thanks."

As she poured, I checked her name tag, Maren. That's a different one, I thought, she's gotta be in her 40's,so it's not like she was named after a Disney Princess.

I took a shot and asked, "Is Maren a family name?"

"Sorta, after my Grandmother Marian, Mom decided to play with the spelling to 'give it a little pizzazz' as she put it."

I nodded at her grin.

Nice teeth, green eyes, 5'-4", 150, no distinguishing marks or tattoos, obviously not a real blonde, just highlights.

One of these days I'll be able to stop looking at things like a cop. A retired cop. A retired, twice divorced cop. A bored, retired, twice divorced cop.

"Anything else I can get ya?"

I shook my head and picked up the sugar packets on the table.

"Now you know my name, what do I call you?"

"First name is John, but most people call me JB."

"What's the B for?"

"We'd have to be much better acquainted for you to know that." I said with a smile.

"I look forward to it."

I blinked and watched her walk away.

Nice view from both front and rear. Especially the rear.

She stopped, looked back over her shoulder, catching me looking.

"Like?"

For the first time in years, I actually blushed. "Sorry." I mumbled.

"Don't be, it's a free country. Just remember, look but don't grab. I ain't no honky tonk bargirl."

She grinned "Leastwise not no more." She put a bit more hip action into her walk, as she went back to the kitchen.

Middle of the afternoon in the middle of bumfuck Florida.

Why did I move here, off all places? This place is like a steam room with bugs. And the people here just seem to scurry, like bugs, from AC in their trailer to AC in Walmart to a bar or diner with AC.

I looked around the diner, automatically finding the exits, checking for signs of threats and... not a cop anymore.

The internal monologue was driving me crazy, so I opened up the local paper again to check want ads. Again. Not that I needed a job, I needed something to occupy my hands.

Not the waitress, that would not end well. Why is she flirting with me anyway?

Ok, cop, what is my 'description'?

White male, late 40s, 6'0", 200 pounds, dark blond with a bit of silver, slightly receding hairline, glasses, blue eyes. 'Stupid' tattoo of a snarling tiger on left shoulder done during the drunken period after my first divorce.

Yeah, I'm a real catch.

I have gone to the gym. Well, I have walked by gyms. I once chased a perp into a gym.

I shook my head to stop the voices so I could get back to the paper. With glances at Maren.

Right, just work on getting a job.

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After a month of flirtation, peach pie and no work, I was getting stir crazy. My description of Maren had become far more detailed, especially when the AC was going full blast. She chose rather form fitting work outfits, which highlighted her... assets. Usually jeans, no yoga pants.

I really have to find a job. Or get laid. Just not...

Opening the paper, I spotted a bail agent notice, looking for runners.

Runners? Oh right, that's what they call bounty hunters down here. I don't have residency yet, but....

Muttering, I flipped pages until a plate with a piece of peach pie landed in the middle of an ad for an accident lawyer. Seems like every ad in Florida is either about accidents or a new drug.

"You look like you could use something sweet to wipe that scowl off your face."

I looked up into Maren's smile.

"Having a bad day, Bruce?"

I shook my head.

"Not Bruce. "

Each time I came in she guessed at the B. I had promised to be truthful.

She pulled out her pad to cross off another name.

Then, I saw her right eyebrow slowly raise and her smile almost drifted into a leer. "We got a few things around here that could help you cheer up, you know. Buford."

"Not Buford."

And with that, not exactly cryptic comment, she slowly walked back to the counter with a lot of hip action.

She noticed a napkin on the floor, and with a rather exaggerated motion, bent from the waist to pick it up. She glanced back at me, past her hip, straightening up slowly, maintaining eye contact.

A loud bell startled her.

"Maren! Table 12 is up. Shrimp and grits, burger and fries. Move it! I ain't payin' you to flirt."

"Ok, hold your horses, Sal. I got it!"

She scurried back to the kitchen.

Guess it was getting a little obvious. Probably should find another diner to go to. Last thing I need is to piss off the locals and make a bunch of her cousins come looking for me.

But, for the moment, I had coffee and peach pie to deal with.

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As usual, leaving the diner meant walking into the humid space between the door and my truck. My t shirt was completely soaked by the time I was able to get the AC on. Shifting in reverse, I looked up to see Maren at the window, smiling. Ok, kinda creepy. Definitely need to find a diner farther away.

On the road towards Jacksonville, I checked the GPS coordinates that should lead me to the bail bond office that was looking for a person to find bail jumpers for them.

Bounty hunter. Talk about sinking pretty low for a former NYPD homicide detective. But, at least I'm used to dealing with lowlifes. Just have to remember they have real alligators here, not the NYC sewer ones.

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Driving away from the interview, I considered my options.

Skip tracer works for now, until I have residency. I also need to get my headspace back before I go around taking down perps.

Luckily, most of my work as a detective was doing almost exactly what a skip tracer does. The bond agent was quite excited to have an expert who was willing to work for pennies.

On the way back to the trailer park, I pulled into a different diner, ordered dinner with no flirting, and got out with nobody watching me out the windows.

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The next month went by quickly. Learning the system and lingo down here, getting a feel for the personalities, and reestablishing relationships with the NYPD. Many of the bail jumpers had connections in NY it seems.

The computer security left a bit to be desired, the other tracer left her password on a post it next to the screen and the bail agent barely knew how to turn it on. I was suddenly upgraded to 'the IT guy' and given all the access I could ever want.

The office itself was spartan but cluttered. Papers in stacks on desks, old filing cabinets, a water cooler that was always empty and a coffee maker that was always brewing. Ceiling fans moved the air around, the air conditioners tried to cool things off and my computer sucked.

I was told that the regular person who fixed IT issues was 'not available at this time', so I was it. Or rather I was IT.

Three bounty hunters, two tracers, one receptionist and the bond agent.

The receptionist, Becky, gave me a list of do's and don't's on my first day.

Among the don'ts.

Don't give Manuel, the bond agent any more information than necessary. He just wants the facts, think Dragnet.

Don't irritate Stosh. Ever.

Don't mention Alicia in this office, ever.

Among the do's.

Do give all gossip and extraneous information to Antonio. He likes to 'know' things. He claims it gives him insight into the perp's thought process.

Do remember that Becky's favorite candy is butterscotch morsels.

Things like that.

First, I had to learn the names and faces, then put the pieces together.

Second, I had to learn how Florida worked.

Manuel, who owned the place, was a retired cop out of Miami. He never left the building, lived in an apartment on the second floor and had groceries delivered.

Stosh, one of the bounty hunters, actual name Stanislaus Manionus, was a former college football player who wasn't quite good enough for the pros. 35 years old, 6'6", about 325 pounds, bald and scary. Absolutely no sense of humor.

Antonio, number two bounty hunter, otherwise known as The Ant. He was a short, thin, 30 year old Puerto Rican. Always cracking jokes, gossiping and smoking.

Becky, the receptionist, was about as wide as she was tall. Indeterminate age or weight, I was afraid to ask. Friendly, talkative, knew everything and everyone.

The third bounty hunter was Alicia. Nothing. No one ever mentioned her, except to say don't mention her.

The other tracer was a heavyset woman, about 60, magenta hair, who smoked and hid a bottle in her desk.

Out of complete boredom and a prurient curiosity, I had found out what was available about Maren, the more than willing waitress. Easy to look up with that first name. Maren Annabelle Daughtry, 42 years old, divorced. Couple of speeding tickets, one domestic violence charge and a petty larceny.

Annabelle. Gotta keep that in my pocket. Busy little minx. Guess she has a temper to go along with that smile. But the dates put all these over a decade ago, so maybe she grew out of that phase.

Putting that file aside, time to look for the newest perp to run. Sebastian Delgado, Latino male, 26, 5 feet 10 inches, 175 pounds, black hair, brown eyes, tribal tattoo covering right shoulder, scar on left cheek, yada-yada. Out on bail for robbery and assault, two priors.

Unpleasant looking, but oddly familiar. Eh, looks like a thousand other suspects I've seen over the years. Kind of amazed that he actually got bail this time.

"You got Delgado? I remember him as a teenager, he's local. Shouldn't be difficult, used to hang over by the Spotlight, you know that diner by Route 1."

The other tracer, Lucille, offered as she peered over my shoulder.

I had smelled her coming, but I wasn't expecting her to chime in. She tried to cover the cigarettes and bourbon by dousing herself in lavender. The combo was... distinctive.

I thought it might be polite to respond. "Oh, yeah. I remember that place. I stopped eating there when I got this job, too far to go for too little. "

"I liked their omelets, but had to lower my cholesterol." She shrugged and went back to her desk.

I'm not supposed to do stakeouts, but I guess I could stop by with his mugshot. Just in case.

Stop it, you just want to check out Maren, see if she's still interested. Keep your zipper closed and your mind on the job.

So, I looked up his known associates, previous jobs and living arrangements. It seems he had actually worked at that diner on and off.

Maybe it would be a good idea to stop by. But, if he's a local, they might tip him off. Is there a way to ask questions without explaining why I'm asking? I could feel out Maren... almost made a real Freudian slip there.

Have to play it by ear.

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Pulling into the Spotlight a couple days later, I saw Maren through the windows, bustling around with the ubiquitous coffee pot. I was still unsure if this was a good idea when she spotted me, put her fists on those hips and cocked her head to one side. Not really a smile, more of a puzzled look. I couldn't move. She shrugged and turned away.

I slowly got out and walked to the diner entrance. I was startled to find her waiting just to the side of the door with a menu in hand.

"Welcome back, stranger. Guess you decided you couldn't live without me? Or was it just the pie?"

I have never been speechless before in my life, but I had nothing.

I held up my hands. "Sorry, just got a new job." is all that came out.

"I know. You're working for that bail bondsman doing skip tracing. Not that far out of the way to stop by."

Again, speechless.

"How...?"

"Small towns, everybody knows everybody else's business. 'Sides Sal knew I liked you and the bondsman is his second cousin on his wife's side. You should close your mouth afore something flies in. Third booth down, take a seat and I'll get you coffee. Then we're gonna talk some during my break."

She pointed and made shooing motions.

I went, with my tail between my legs. What the fuck?

About 3 minutes later, she came back with two cups and a whole pot of coffee.

"So, you got Sebastian?"

"What? You mean Delgado? How do you know about that?"

"Again, for those in the cheap seats. Sal, second cousin, small town, everybody knows everything. Please try to keep up. "

She looked at me with disappointment.

"I thought you big city cops were smarter than us small town yokels. Anyway, I haven't seen Seb since last month after he got bail. I most likely won't tell you if I do see him, but I don't have to lie about it at the moment. Hope you understand, darlin', but I can't turn in my own sister's child."

"Nephew? Sebastian is your nephew?"

"They really do need to update your databases, don't they? My sister's first boyfriend, right outta high school got her knocked up. She stayed at home, real quiet until he was born. Me? I avoided all that, but, my family kept us both close to home anyway. Why I never got to go to college back then. I wanted to learn accounting or law and make something of myself."

I was struggling with information overload.

"He, his daddy that is, disappeared soon as he got told she was pregnant. Daddy said no more boys for her after that."

Another sip of coffee.

"She was matched up with a good guy that Daddy approved of. Married, two children. I decided to be careful and was finally set free."

She took in my stunned expression with a whimsical smile. Then she reached over and tapped my forehead.

"Too much too fast? I figured if I ever saw you again, I should be ready to lay it all out for you if you seemed interested. "

"Just give me a few minutes to digest this. Ok?"

"Shall I get you a spoon? Or a fork?"

"What? I don't..."

"Never mind, I think I've addled your mind a bit too much for coherent sentences to come out. By the way, do you know if you like me that way or not? I'd hate to go through all this for nothing. I figured we could go on a couple dates, maybe a movie. Do you like Thai food? I heard about this place..."

"Wait. Just stop for a second."

I held my head in my hands. She patted my head and sat back.

Waiting. Slowly sipping her coffee.

....

"Ok. Let me walk through this. Sebastian Delgado is your nephew. Correct?"

She smiled over the rim of her coffee and nodded.

"You never said whether you have been married? Have you?"

"Once. He was an asshole. Done and gone."

"You didn't go to college and you wanted to be an accountant? Or a lawyer?"

"Three for three. Not bad for a city boy."

"Ahem. Be nice. You want to go on a date? With me? "

"And they said you couldn't be taught."

That earned her a stern look that lasted about ten seconds until she started laughing. I tried for a mature response but joined her in a chuckle.

"First, I don't care if you're divorced, so am I. Second,... We'll discuss the specifics of Sebastian later. Third, I... am... I do... find you attractive and keep thinking about you. Couldn't get you out of my mind, actually."

Maren's smile kept getting bigger.

"Fourth, I love Thai. How about tomorrow? When do you get off?"

She considered her answer.

"I'll tell Sal I need off. I have to take care of some... things before you pick me up. May need a day of two. You are staying around, right?"

I nodded.

"You are gonna pick me up, right? You at least know where I live? Had that in the database?"

I found myself at a loss again. "Umm, well, I have an address but I'm still figuring out how to find places down here. You yokels don't make it easy for us city folk."

We shared a look, kind of an excited and exasperated look, but it felt like a good place to start.

She stood and started towards the kitchen.

"I'll talk to Sal. Good thing nobody else is here. Shall I bring you some pie?" she asked.

"Pie would be fine. Thanks."

Just then, the door to the kitchen swung open. Out came Sal, hands behind his head.

Followed by Sebastian. Holding a gun.

"I need money. Tell Sal to open the register. Now!"

Maren froze for a second, then said, "Seb, what is going on? Don't you hurt anyone. I'll get the money!"

She then pulled Sal away from Delgado and sat him on one of the counter stools. "Don't go nowhere, Sal."

She turned to me, "Mister, please sit in the booth quietly. No need for this to involve you."

"You! Pull out your wallet and hand it over! Now, fuckhead!"

"Sebastian! I taught you better than to speak like that! Leave the gentleman alone."

Maren stood in front of him, fists on her hips and glared.

He took a step back and said, "Sorry, Mam... uh... Tía. Pero tengo que tener dinero en efectivo para llegar a Savannah mañana. "

She went over to the register, opened the cash drawer and pulled out all the bills.

"You should realize most people pay by card nowadays, the days of robbery for cash are numbered. Here's $324, that's enough to get you over the state line. "

She held out the money.

Delgado grabbed it and pointed the gun at me. "I still want his wallet."

Maren looked back and forth between us.

"I'll get it and bring his cash to you. Stay calm."

She walked over and held out her hand, her eyes changing from 'in charge' to 'terrified'.

She whispered, "Please don't do anything."

I stood, very slowly, reached with my left hand for the wallet, right hand on my head. Extended it to Maren, she took out the cash. "$147, that makes $471. Now, leave and don't hurt nobody."

Delgado backed to the kitchen door, "Don't follow and you won't get shot.", and he slipped through. A few seconds later, we heard the back door of the kitchen slam.

A moment of silence, then raised voices, a crash of garbage cans, and a loud thump.

We stood in shock. Then the back door creaked open and of all people, Ant walked through the kitchen door.

"Everyone okay in here? JB? What are you doing here? Good trace, we picked up his trail and followed the perp here, sorry he slipped past us, but we got him. Well, Stosh grabbed him. Kinda bounced the kid off the wall, but he ain't hurt really. Howdy, Sal. Maren." He tapped his hand to his forehead, almost like a salute. Sal returned the gesture.

Maren shuddered, took a deep breath and said, "Thanks Ant. We're fine. The little shit did rob the till and JB's wallet. Any chance of overlooking that and just getting the cash back?"

"Sure, I check his pockets." Ant went back out.

Maren suddenly turned and grabbed me in a fierce hug. "Thanks for not being stupid and trying to be a hero. I didn't want you, umm, anyone to get hurt."

My arms went around her, she was trembling.

Every five minutes tonight brought an unexpected revelation about her. She was smart, tough, and she felt really good against me. Spoke Spanish, too. Smelled nice, nothing but her. No lavender over smoke and booze, just... her.

Oh man, this is not good.

Ant came back in and we sprang apart. He just grinned.

"He had the money in his pocket. We can just forget he ever came in here. I write it up like we got him at the back door. Ok? The boss don't like complicated stories."

He glanced down with a sly grin.

That's when I realized we were holding hands. I turned to look at Maren's face. Her eyes were on mine, questioning. I glanced at Sal, who was smiling and he gave me a slight nod. Back to those green eyes, waiting for my response.

I gave her hand a squeeze and her face lit up, that grin came back, eyes crinkled. She squeezed back and turned to Ant. "What happens in the diner, stays in the diner. Ok?"