I'd like to thank Kenjisato for great editing and my friend Anaya for input.
I dedicate this story to a friend who has endured domestic violence and her journey from it.
The Waitress and the Teacher.
Who I am
My name is Dave Paterson, I am 51 years old. Because of a fall on some stairs a year ago, I tore up my knee, and I am now considered disabled. I retired because I could not get around my classroom-workshop or the rest of the school as well as I wanted to. And, it was what the 'powers to be' wanted me to do. I had been divorced and widowed. I raised my son by myself after my second wife, Nova, passed away from cancer, when Bobby was four.
I had taught woodworking, metalworking, drafting, electronics, and construction for twenty-four years, and was also the dean for the last five (ie. school disciplinarian). To tell the truth, I was tired. Because I was supposed to be the temporary dean for a year, I never had to sign an administrative contract. The school district kind of forgot about me, so I continued to have a teaching contract for the last five years, which helped me get to my eighty points.
I had taught for twenty-nine years, and my age was 51. I had reached the eighty points needed for early retirement. Now, with my pension, Social Security Disability, and the invested life insurance from Nova, I was doing okay. When Bobby was under 18, we got Nova's Social Security death benefits; it helped.
With retirement, I had fallen into a routine-- wake up, go out for breakfast at my local cafe, return home, watch CNN and FOX NEWS, and cuss at the politicians on TV.
Then, I would write about education and romantic fiction. Fix lunch and-or dinner, and write some more. Some of my stories would be akin to those Hallmark movies, and some could be published on adult story websites.
The Café
Every day at breakfast, there was the same cast of characters:
Robert, another retired teacher, 60, married, and happy to get out of the house so he and the wife wouldn't get on each other's nerves;
Joanne, a local insurance agency owner, 50, very business driven, single, she keeps us neanderthal men in line;
Susie, the cook, 49, sweetest woman to ever flip a pancake and very married;
Jack, the owner, 60-something, a gruff old man with a soft side;
George, the car salesman around 40 or so, married with two kids and an
extremely
dedicated,
extremely
beautiful trophy wife, he could make more empty promises than the whole Congress, but still was a good guy;
Mike, the construction company owner, he is on the short side of 40, basically a self-made man and just able to keep his company in the black, and still be a single, widowed dad to his two grade-school kids with the help of his mom and a great girlfriend-slash-fiancée. He lost his wife in a car accident six years before.
And the current flavor-of-the-month waitress, usually somewhere from 19 to 25 years old and a high school-diploma holder.
Mike couldn't afford a real foreman, so once in a while, when he had a couple of job sites, he would pay me under-the-table to be his eyes at a second job site. I would show up with a clipboard and some fake forms like I was making an inspection. Most of his employees were great workers, but once in a while, I would catch a goldbricker and the next 'inspection', they'd be gone.
One morning, we had a new waitress, a Michelle Ambrosia, or Shelly; she was older than Jack's usual hire. I'd thought she was late 30s early 40s. She was well received. And we all liked her. Myself, I'd think, if I was ten to fifteen years younger..."
I chatted with her every morning. She had a 14-year-old son Samuel, Sam, to whom she had been a single mother his whole life. She lived with a boyfriend. I could read her face. When talking about her son, she was all smiles, but talking about the boyfriend, Lee, she frowned.
Trouble for a hard working lady.
After about six months, Shelly was missing one morning. Jack and Susie were doing double duty. When we asked about her, Jack said, "She'll be in late, that's all she said." It kind of soothed our worries.
Shelly came in late, but had the start of a black eye and we could see bruises on her arms; whenever she stopped, she would hold her side like she was hurting. When it was time for Shelly's break, I asked her to sit with me. She hesitantly sat down in my booth.
"Glad to see you here." I offered her a cup of coffee, "I'm buying."
"Dave, I get it free, silly."
"But when do you get it poured for you free?" I poured her a cup of coffee.
She smiled, but winced because her bruises hurt to move or flex.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded slowly.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She said, "Maybe..."
Just then, the front door flew open and a furious possibly drunk man walked in, yelling and screaming, "Where is the bitch!"
Shelly dove under the table, huddling next to my legs, shaking.
Robert, Mike, George and Jack all rose. I became the gatekeeper. He was fast for a possibly drunk dude, he was on us in the first moment. I had just enough time to grab my cane and crosscheck him in the throat. He fell back on a table breaking it. I lost my balance and basically sat down on the floor.
Mike, George and Jack were on him in the second moment. Susie grabbed the duct tape that was under the counter. Mike and George had him hogtied while Jack called 9-1-1, and Robert kept the other patrons back. Joanne who had her iPhone out was basically just taking a video and pictures.
This whole time, Shelly remained in a fetal position, still under the table, shaking. Since I was still on the floor after my crosscheck, I pulled her to me and started to stroke her hair telling her she was safe, "We are here."
At that time, good ol' Lee came to, and started to struggle with his taped wrists and ankles. I leaned down and told Lee, "Unless you want knees in your fucking face and groin, you will lie still." The guys helped me up and I helped Shelly up.
Lee was yelling, "Don't fuck'n come back to my place, bitch. I'll kick your little fucking ass and have you thrown in jail." This just made Shelly shake more and her tears began flowing down her face.
Three police cruisers pulled up in front and a firetruck and ambulance pulled into the lot. The cops separated all of us to get statements, while the EMTs looked after Lee and took Shelly to another part of the café.
The cop that hooked up Lee, and cut our duct tape off him, he asked, "Eleven layers of tape!? You didn't want him to get away, did you?"
We looked back and Mike said, "We only had eleven layers because we ran out of tape."
We were all interviewed.
An unmarked car parked in front of the café, and a detective walked in.
Jack told the detective, he had surveillance cameras and would show him the recording. The detective disappeared into Jack's back office, and came out about twenty minutes later, holding a DVD and then viewed Joanne's iPhone video. He was telling Jack to figure how much business he had lost and the damage to his café during this 'menacing incident', giving us an idea that more charges might be brought against Lee.
"Mr. Paterson, I don't see that you did anything wrong, you were defending Ms. Ambrosia."
He turned to Michelle, "Ms. Ambrosia, is Sam Ambrosia your son?"
Shelly's head shot up.
"We were called to his school today and I was on my way to talk to you. Where did you get those bruises and that black eye?"
Shelly hung her head and spoke in a hurting mumble, "Lee."
"Did you report it?"
"He would throw Sam and me out in the street if I did. I have nowhere to go."
I asked the detective if she could go to his house to get her things.
"Well, we are considering it a crime scene right now.
"I'll be talking to the DA about charges against Lee. From my interview with Sam, I will charge him with child abuse, domestic violence, and assault on a minor. I can charge him with more if you will press charges, Ms. Ambrosia."
"Oh, he will get out of it, his family has money," Shelly lamented.
"Well, right now I think bail will be quite a lot," the detective replied.
The Rescue.
I asked, "Could there be a Civil Standby, so she can get her son's and her things?"
The detective said, "Let me call the DA's office and ask."
After ten minutes, the detective said, "The police photo crew have left and the Incident Investigators are collecting evidence but are almost done."
I asked, "Could I take her over there and get hers and her son's stuff?"
He put up one finger to hold our attention. "Sure."
He called out to a patrolman, "Hey Tony, take Ms. Ambrosia and pick up her son at the school, and go to the lab to get their injuries photographed, and take them to her residence so they can get their stuff. Mr. Paterson will be helping her and you, just to do a Civil Standby with video, while she gets her stuff out."
The Plan?
As I started to my truck, Mike called out, "I am coming, too."
"Okay, here is the address I'll meet you there."
I pulled up to a shitty looking house. It needed painting badly, some siding was loose and it had significant roof damage, the yard dead or overgrown, and where there was lawn, it hadn't seen a mower for months.
Mike pulled up with some of his workers and some boxes in his truck.
Mike said to me, "I told the guys I'd pay them overtime, but when I told them why, they said, 'No nos paga regular no hay necesidad de horas extras.' No, pay us regular no need for overtime."
There was still yellow crime-scene tape keeping us from getting started.
Mike asked, "Where will we take her stuff"?
I got lost in thought and then said, "Hell, my place. I have extra bedrooms and a triple garage with two bays open."
We waited twenty minutes, and Officer Tony drove up with Sam and Shelly. Tony removed the crime-scene tape enough so we could move stuff out. Tony got out a video camera and started to document what was being removed. Shelly showed us what was hers and Sam's.
I looked at Sam and saw a bruise on the side of his face. When I was able to get him alone, I asked how he got it.
He said, "It's nothing."
I said, "Sam, you got that defending your mom, didn't you?"
Sam looked at me and said, "I tried to stop him. But he was just too strong for me," as tears formed in his eyes.
