Free The Nightcrawler by Mick Ridgewell

even smaller from inside. The front wall along the windows was lined with booths. The tabletops were all reddish brown Formica. A narrow aisle separated the booths from circular bar stools along the length of a bar with the same surface as the tables. The bar reminded him of the soda shop he used to go to when he was a kid. Behind the bar was a woman dressed in a sleeveless denim shirt. The lines on her face were deep but it was obvious that there was a time when she could take her pick of the boys. A time before life etched out its map on her features.  
    “Sit wherever you like, hon,” she said. Her voice had a deep sexy quality and her expression was warm and friendly.
    He sat at a booth beside the window. There were paper place mats on the tables with the menu printed on them. Scott picked one up and began to scan the selections.  
    How ya doin’?” He got a start as he turned to see the woman from behind the bar standing next to him. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. My name’s Grace.”
    Scott just smiled and said, “What’s good here?”
    “I saw ya talkin’ with Sam across the street. Now if you was to ask him he’d tell ya to get the chili.” She looked across the street at the Mobil station. “He comes in every Monday for the chili. It’s on special on Mondays. He sure is a sweet boy. Always smells like Aqua Velva. Just a sweet boy.”  
    “Sam. Sam standing at those pumps across the street?” Scott looked over to see a young man in blue overalls.  
    “Well the other Sam isn’t so sweet is he?”  
    “Other Sam?” Grace asked.  
    Scott could see confusion on her face.
    “The Sam who filled my tank wasn’t a kid. He was a lot older than you are. Scruffy and he smelled worse than the men’s locker room after a big game. And, I tell you something. There’s a guy panhandling in Detroit right now who has to be his brother.”
    “Ain’t anyone over there like that, mister.”
    “The name’s Scott.”
    “Like I said, Scott, ain’t but one Sam over there. There he is. Ya see ’im? Such a sweet boy.”
    Scott looked across the street. Even from this distance, he could tell that that wasn’t who he saw fill his tank. He was just a kid. His blond hair was shining in the sunlight. He stood in front of the store right where the old Sam had been when Scott drove away.  
    Scott started to feel something in the pit of his stomach. Sweat began to bead from his forehead. The lift his pep talk had given him minutes earlier had melted away, leaving a puddle of doubt. He looked up at Grace standing there. She was looking through the window at Sam. She had a look of adoration on her face. She looked like a mother watching her boy climb into the school bus for the first time. Turning her gaze to Scott, the look of fondness for Sam changed to concern. He was looking right through her, his hands still holding the paper placemat. They were trembling. The paper fluttered as though a stiff breeze were blowing across the room.
    “You feelin’ okay, mister?”
    “What? Oh, sorry I’m fine. Just a bit hungry.” He forced a smile onto his face. “Grace, I’m going to have a turkey club,” he said with a jovial tone, trying to put himself in a better mood.  
    “Good choice, mister,” Grace said jotting it down on her pad. “Anything to drink? Made a fresh jug of lemonade this morning, squeezed the lemons myself.”  
    “Lemonade sounds great. And please call me Scott.”
    “All righty, comin’ right up, Scott.”
    Scott watched her walk away. Her denim shirt was tucked neatly into tight jeans. He stared as she crossed the room to the kitchen. Her long ponytail hung to the middle of her back, shiny and dark. It was a stark contrast to the faded denim. His mood had brightened as he watched her ass until she disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen. Alone in the dining area, he stared across the street.  
    The Mobil station looked deserted. He saw no sign of any Sam, young or