Tangled Fury

3-1

3

Ray

That b***h is in here somewhere, he thought, looking around the diner anxiously. Hearing the twang of an old country song playing in the background brought a smile to his face. This entire situation reminded him of a Quentin Tarantino movie.

The tranquility before the s**t-storm.

He pictured himself taking out the .38 he had hidden under his jacket, and blasting away at all of the nosy customers eyeing him from their vinyl booths. He’d love to see the horror on their faces when they realized they wouldn’t be able to finish their turkey and gravy sandwiches. But, he needed to restrain himself. As much as that kind of crazy sounded strangely appealing, he needed to save his bullets and what little sanity he had left for his cunt of a wife. She was close; in fact, he could almost smell that f*****g perfume she used to wear. The perfume that now made his blood boil and his fists itchy. What he wouldn’t give for one minute alone with the cunt. To show her how he handled those who stole from him. Emma was his daughter. Sera had no right to take her from him. He’d even warned her.

She was definitely going to pay...

The restaurant smelled of fried onions and grease. Not a bad odor for someone who hadn’t eaten in the last twelve hours. Fortunately, the Coke and endless cups of coffee had kept his head clear and his focus on finding them. But now, he had to admit, a juicy burger sounded mighty nice. It would have to wait until he alleviated his taste for revenge, however, which he hoped would be soon.

“Order up, Doreen,” called the cook.

Ray looked around the diner, but didn’t see Doreen, who he already knew was Sera’s mother.

“Hello, there. Just one, today, or are you waiting for someone to join you?” asked a waitress with a blonde bob and heavily-shadowed eyes.

“Actually, I’m looking for someone who works here. Doreen?”

“I think she’s in the back room. She has an order up, too. I’ll go get her and help bring her customers their food.”

“Thanks, April,” he replied warmly, glancing at her nametag.

“You bet,” she said, walking away.

Smiling to himself, he brushed his hand against the g*n and waited in anticipation.

***