Free Soul Hostage by Jeffrey Littorno Page A

dirt.  I am not sure how successful we were, but hopefully it was not completely obvious we had spent the day hiking through the hills. 
         Once inside the restaurant, we stood at a dark wooden podium which had sign saying “Welcome, Friends.  We’re Sure Glad You’re Here!  Please Wait to be Seated.”  I wondered for a second about the sincerity of the sign. 
         As we waited for our new friends to come seat us, I glanced around the place to discover it was just as I had expected.  I saw lots of bright colors, an orange and green counter with a couple of old guys sitting together, the wall behind the cash register covered with children’s artwork, and large windows looking out at the empty highway. Everything about the place felt sort of familiar.  Even the tall, thin red-headed waitress who wandered over a minute later seemed like someone I had met before.
          “Welcome to Jack O’s, friends.  Let me show you to your table.”  Her voice had a thick Southern accent, and the words were delivered without energy as if they had been repeated at least a million times. 
        The waitress led us to an orange and green booth near a window.  Once we had slid around the table, she placed an orange and green menu in front of each of us. 
        “The special tonight is mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak.” She stated flatly, and I had a tough time stifling my laugh.  My laugh was brought on not only by the mention of chicken fried steak but also by the fact that I suddenly realized why the waitress seemed so familiar. She was the spitting image of a waitress on a sitcom in the seventies who used to say kiss my grits all the time. Anyway, she continued to recite in her weary voice,                                                                                                   
    “Our special comes with your choice of home fries or mashed potatoes. Can I get you anything while you’re deciding what you want?”
         Before anyone else had a chance to respond, Louis answered, “Coffee all around, please.”  He flashed a big smile at the waitress. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us and need to stay awake.”
         The waitress left without saying anything else. 
        “Alright, Lou, tell us exackly where we’re goin’ and what we’re gonna do there,” Joey demanded.
         Louis Stoaffer pulled himself up a bit straighter at the idea of being the center of attention.  “Well, I suppose I should continue my story to explain everything. So where was I?’” 
         “In the hospital and--” I started before being interrupted by Joey.
         “The detective mentioned a gun!”  Joey blurted out unable to hold back.
         Stoaffer chuckled a little as he said, “Right, thanks. Detective Colombus questioned me about what I remembered of my visit to Gary and Linda’s house for dinner.  His question about where I got a gun knocked me for a loop.   Having no recollection of a gun was just one of the holes in my memory which kept popping up.  The doctor had been right when he said, ‘The memory doesn’t react well to force’. The more I tried to force open my stronghold of memories the stronger it became.”
         The waitress brought our coffee and, since none of us had taken the time to look at the menu, we all ordered the chicken fried steak with fries.
          Louis continued, “Detective Columbus showed no signs of frustration at my failure to remember things. He simply asked about other things like business clients and vacations I had taken before returning to the topic of the gun.  I knew what the good detective had in mind.  Have you ever lost your car keys? Sometimes no matter how hard you try to remember where you left them, you get nothing.  Then as soon as you stop trying to remember and think about something else,