Free (2005) Wrapped in Rain by Charles Martin

up every subtle twitch, faint sound, and glimmer of color. For a man who should have been flat-footing through the woods and thumbing a ride to the nearest train depot, Mutt swam in sensory overload as did Charlie in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.

    Within thirty seconds, a stout male waiter-covered in flour residue, splattered with grease, and guilty of eating one too many employee dinners-arrived with an enormous red plastic cup brimming with tea and decorated with a quarter wedge of lemon. He set it down, sloshing it across the table. Before the waiter could speak, Mutt grabbed the cup with two hands and throated five gulps, spilling two more down his chest. His slurping noises turned the heads at the next table.
    "Hey, buddy," the waiter said, flipping through the night's orders to a clean sheet in his tablet and eyeing Mutt's wet clothes, "water looks warm. You know what you want?"
    Mutt sized the man, swallowed loudly, wiped the tea dribble off his chin, and said, "I'd like two orders of fried shrimp, one order of catfish, three orders of grits, some French fries, and"-Mutt pointed at his glass-"some more tea."
    "You got it." The waiter folded his tablet, tucked it behind his belt at the small of his back, and walked off. Two tables away, he turned and asked, "You eating alone or waiting on your girlfriend?"
    The truth required too much explanation, so Mutt decided to keep it simple and pointed to himself. `Just what you see."
    The waiter smiled and patted the tablet at the base of his back. "This is a lot of food. You sure you can eat all this?" Mutt nodded and the guy shrugged. "Okay, get ready. It's coming."

    Neither the mosquitoes nor the no-see-ums were out tonight. As long as the breeze kept up, it would stay that way. But first falter of the breeze and the deck would vacate quickly. Mutt sipped his tea and let his eyes absorb the activity. A redheaded female waitress, with a bronze tan, no need for makeup, and sunglasses resting atop her head, was seating two tourists at the table next to him. The woman's short, high-heeled steps, tight lips, high chin, backward shoulders, "ILUV2SHOP" T-shirt accentuating fifteen-thousand-dollar breasts, and tanning-booth bronzed skin told Mutt this was the man's choice of restaurant. Poodles didn't eat here. She looked at the seat, turned up her nose, grabbed two napkins off an adjacent table, wiped off her seat, and then opened another napkin and sat on it-careful not to let her white shorts touch the wood. The waitress returned with two glasses of tea and then disappeared again, responding to a call from the kitchen.
    The woman, caked with lipstick, squeezed her lemon carefully and properly-using the tip of her fork and two fingers. She extended her perfectly sculpted silicone lips to the cup, sipped with expectation, closed her lips then her eyes, hiccupped, and sprayed the tea over the edge of the deck. Looking as if she had just sipped sour milk, she unrolled her napkin, grabbed each end between thumb and index finger, and shoe-shined her tongue.
    Mutt started people-watching years ago. Being asocial meant he rarely engaged people, but that did not mean he didn't like watching them. This one promised to be a good one. Mutt rested his head on his hand and watched the shoe-shine woman buff and polish her tongue. The female waitress saw the woman's disgust and left her post at the silverware and napkin station where she was rolling one into the other. Mutt watched the soft frayed edges of her cutoff jeans flitter over her lightly freckled legs as she hurried to the table. The twentysomething waitress set a pile of napkins on the table, covering up a deep and delicately carved "Bobby loves Suzie 4-Ever." The waitress, who wore a wide leather belt with the name "Dixie" on the back, said, "What's wrong, honey?"

    The woman at the table barked, "Good Gawd! What did you put in this?" Elaborate cursive letters spelling "Missy," stamped out of thin gold and hanging from a small