Oh, there it was again—that same weird Mustang. That was the fifth time that it had driven by tonight. Hard to miss a greenish-yellow car. It almost looked sick. Why would anyone buy a car like that? Instead of tinted windows, the car had an almost mirrorlike quality. Of course, I could hear its engines roaring from inside.
Around ten o’clock, just on cue, Bob showed up. Bob was a veteran. He was also homeless, as far as I knew. He had served in the first Gulf War. We joked that we had served in the same sandpit just decades apart. Bob was in his late forties, with sandy-blond hair and deep-green eyes. In his younger days, he had probably been very handsome. Now he rarely smiled, and most of the time, he was paranoid. Bob was also the one person I called a friend. My war stories made sense to him.
I ran behind the bar to the big window between the dining area and the kitchen. “Abuelita, Bob is here. May I take my break now?”
“Of course, Isis. We’re still empty. Here’s Bob’s plate. At least I can count on Bob.” Abuelita handed me a large plate of carnitas with rice and beans for Bob. According to Abuelita, Bob was a creature of habit. For the last three years, he had been coming in at exactly ten o’clock. Bob ate the same pork meal every Friday night and said very little.
Bob did odd jobs around the restaurant for Abuelita. He had once stopped a few kids from robbing Abuelita. Ever since, Bob was the unofficial night guard of the place. He made sure Abuelita locked up in peace. In return Abuelita made sure he had a hot meal each night.
I took Bob his plate and brought quesadillas for myself. Unlike Bob, I would change my mind about dinner at least five times before ordering. Lucky for me, Abuelita’s quesadillas were the best in town. It was pretty hard to mess up tortillas and cheese. I loved Abuelita’s food, since she had a special menu for non-meat eaters.
“Hi, Bob. Are you ready for dinner?”
Bob was looking around the place with concern. I followed his gaze but couldn’t see anything wrong. I took a seat on the picnic bench Abuelita had outside. After several long minutes, Bob joined me.
“Isis, any trouble tonight?” Bob sounded worried.
“It’s been a cemetery around here all day,” I replied between mouthfuls of food. How could I be hungry? I hadn’t done a single thing all day.
“Don’t joke about those things. Death walks the night.” Bob was intense at times, but tonight it was even more dramatic. Death walks the night. Was Bob drunk? OK, according to Bob, he had quit drinking years ago. But that was just odd.
“Bob, it was just a figure of speech. Nobody came in all night, including death.” I was aiming for funny and clever.
Bob didn’t even blink. “Isis, make sure you go directly home tonight. It’s not right tonight.” Bob was staring at me with those piercing sea-green eyes.
“It’s going to be hard to clear my busy schedule, but for you, I’ll do it.”
I think he missed the sarcasm in my voice, because he visibly relaxed and started eating his food.
“Oh yeah, Angelito didn’t come in today.” Bob arched an eyebrow at me. I swallowed quickly and proceeded to explain before Bob decided to go full assault squad in search of Angelito. “Nothing major. Abuelita said he has a new girlfriend. He met her this week, I guess.”
“Have you ever wondered where he finds all those girls? Texarkana has fewer than a hundred thousand people when you combine the Texas and Arkansas sides. Most people are either related by blood or marriage. How is he not dead from messing with the wrong family?”
Wow. That was the longest speech Bob had ever given all at once. Angelito’s wild life must have really been puzzling Bob for him to say that much. I was nice and didn’t point out how he had used death to describe Angelito’s potential future. I didn’t need another lecture.
“According to him, he doesn’t lie, and he doesn’t make any promises he can’t keep, so nobody is ever mad at him. I’m twenty-five, and I haven’t met a twenty-one-year-old boy who didn’t lie about himself.” I didn’t have the best track record with men my age, so I was probably not a great judge of character.
“You sound a little jaded there.” Bob was very talkative today. I didn’t think Bob was that good at reading people. Or maybe I just needed to work on not being so transparent.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I added a glare for good measured.
“Anytime, Grasshopper.” Bob actually smiled at me. Maybe my dad was a little like Bob—focused but not taking himself too seriously. Bob was suffering from terrible spells of PTSD, so he couldn’t hold down a job. PTSD was the new term the government was using to describe what most returning vets were going through, post-traumatic stress disorder. According to Bob, it was hard to take yourself too seriously when you were struggling.
Bob finished his food and started to look around the place. At that same moment, the pale Mustang drove by. I was staring east on 82 after it when Bob turned to face me.
“What’s wrong?” He had that worried tone again.
“Oh, nothing. Just been seeing a car driving around here tonight.” I started yawning. Slow nights were painful. At the end of the day, you ended up tired and with nothing to show for it.
“Anything suspicious about it?” Now Bob was in full paranoid mode.
“Nothing really. Just an odd color. OK, we’re closing early, so I need to hurry.” I left with the empty plates before Bob could ask me more
