Valentine grimaces. They can't know. They are just making jokes about his reaction. When the waitress brings his coffee, he speaks quietly but loud enough to be heard by others. "I am sorry for my reaction. It's a bit embarrassing. You see, my ex-wife had custody of our daughter, and she went missing…" He wipes his eye and looks down. "Sorry. It's just… There was this whole thing. It's hard to talk about."
"'Sokay," the waitress says. "You don't need to explain."
"You are an angel." He touches her shoulder. "Thanks for the coffee."
Martina, wearing a similar but different colored suit, returns from the restroom and sits near Ace and Betty. "I am famished. Do you have anything on the menu that isn't fried?"
The server says, "The soup–"
"Ugh," Martina replies. "Probably from a can."
"Actually–"
With a dismissive wave, Martina says, "A grilled fish sandwich is fine. No sauce on it. And no bread. I'll have a bottle of water, in the bottle, glass on the side. And a lemon."
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Comic Talk and General Discussion *
Role Play: Late night cafe
"Good move." Betty says to Martina.
At her confused look she continues "Avoiding the soup and keeping your water in a bottle. You can't have too many changes of clothes left." Betty smiles blandly . "Nice suit by the way. Stylish! You think I can get one in my size?"
Betty pats her stomach and flexes a bicep.
"Quit showing off you oaf!" Ace teases her.
Searsha and Larya picked up their shopping bag and made for the exit.
"Hotel and massage, here we come," Larya grinned and nodded to Martina. "Have a good morning Ms. Russo. Pleasure to meet you. Maybe one day we can speak again when you're more willing to listen."
Once out into the early morning air, Searsha sighed. "Badge bearers, tabloid reporters, serial killers. Quite an interesting group."
"Which one was the serial killer?"
"The guy I blew up at. All women are sluts – profile for a killer of women." In answer to Larya's worried expression , "I notified the Sisterhood. If regular law enforcement don't get him, they will."
"We're going to walk it? It's quite a distance, Central Park " Larya pointed to a street sign.
"Just want a bath and my massage." Searsha extended one gloved hand and arced her arm down opening a seam in space. She stepped through the glowing rent in space, "Coming?"
"Better camouflage it better than last time, that drunk– "
"All anyone will see are the headlights of a delivery truck."
Larya stepped through the seam which closed behind them and they were gone.
"Ah," Martina replies to Betty. "Well, yes. Poor clumsy thing. Don't want to set her up for failure." She doesn't mention that this is how she often orders so she doesn't get ripped off by canned soup and tap water. "As to the outfit, I have all my clothes professionally-tailored. That off-the-rack stuff makes ghastly shapes. Would they make a standard cut to fit you? Of course not, dear. But they don't fit ANYONE. Throw a little cash the right way, and you can have whatever you like."
Valentine, becoming more uneasy with his situation and less sure the various stories he's told and names given all fit together, makes a phone call. "Hello, I was there earlier and you said you had some customers who might be checking out. Do you have any rooms available now? I have got to get a couple hours… Oh? That's fantastic. The name is Bennett." What was that name he gave Martina? It was a "D" name, one of his regular ones… "Dale Bennett." Was it Dale? Eh. She seems ditsy and flighty. She'll never remember. "I don't have a card. Afraid it was stolen. I'll be using cash."
He calls the waitress over. "Hey, Cutie. A hotel room finally opened up. You've done such a good job taking care of me." He hands her another 50. Be sure you stay sweet. Okay?"
"I can't accept–" she starts.
"I won't let you refuse." Valentine smiles broadly. "You earned it. And I'm sure enough people have stiffed you for tips." Then he whispers. "The ice queen over there with her breadless fish sandwich will definitely under-tip you. Mark my words. Women like that are entitled monsters. She probably never had a boyfriend and is going to die alone on luxurious satin sheets."
The waitress doesn't know how to respond, so she smiles uncomfortably as Valentine taps her on the nose and heads outside to his vehicle.
"Soon as I save up a bit from the shipyards I MIGHT just get me a tailor-made suit!" Betty says
"Hey, what do you think about that guy that just left? Gots the crazy eyes? Full of crap? C'mon, tell us! Dying to hear what your reporter's instincts are tellin' you." Says Betty with a grin.
"What about the babe in spandex that just walked in?" said Ace
"Eh, I saw her outside, chain smoking or something. Obviously a hooker. You should go and chat her up Acey! Looks to be your type." Betty smirks.
"Hey hey hey! Come on. What would Cc say?" Ace protests.
Betty holds her nose and speaks in an imperious voice "'Why wasn't I invited?!'"
They both burst out laughing
"I might go and chat to her after all." Says Ace getting up.
Betty turns back to Martina. "So spill! That guy that left: Verdict?"
"Red?" Martina doesn't think much of people in general aside from profiling them enough to milk a story. Still, she gives it a miment's consideration. "He's not a rural guy. He was flirting rather shamelessly and effectively with the waitress. Rather charming, but definitely practiced, maybe a playboy. I'd let him buy me a drink, but I suspect he's a cradle-robber, if you get my drift."
She pours a glass of water and squeezes lemon into it. "He seemed edgy when I first saw him, so I thought he might have an alien abduction story. But I think maybe he's a CEO trying to go incognito with common folks for a while." She sips her water. "I didn't think he had crazy eyes. He seemed to be a self-important type, used to getting his way. So, CEO. Or maybe heir to a fortune. Playboy. Skeptic. Honestly, the last thing is all that matters as far as a I'm concerned. No sense wasting time with people like that."
"As for Spandex girl," she adds. "Cosplayer, obviously. She might have an alien story. Definitely more in the realm of space than of ghosts. Ghost story people have an entirely different look."
"I find most people have some sort of unexplained encounter. Even Mr. Playboy, although that type would never talk about it. How about you? Ever see something strange at work? Odd sounds? Unidentifiable animals?"
Victoria was waiting for her coffee for the past few minutes–however, this didn't bother her. What bothered her was the call she received from her boyfriend Richard, the son of the infamous mob boss, Big Tony. She sat in the table bored and frustrated.
She took out her Badge, the Badge of Kappa, a black and yellow badge she wore as a belt buckle and stared at it. She was pretty bored and pissed off.
She turned her head to the TV where she saw Samantha saving a few folks in a strip club someone recorded on a smartphone on the news.
"And today'sm bulletin, a strange, supernatural occurrence today at Five and Shine! Witnesses say that a 17-year-old girl literally flew in and stopped the would-be robbers. However local police officers are still on the lookout on the vigilante, The Stringy," said the anchorman.
She looked back at her badge and saw it glow. She tried to calm herself down. She put the badge down and continued to watch the news only for her to see a young man walking towards her. He looked friendly enough, she needed friendly company.
_______________________________________________________
"Is this seat taken?" Asked Ace. The lady inclined her head a fraction, Ace took it for ascent and sat down next to her.
"I noticed your outfit from across the room, it's very striking! I used to work with the ICN, Imperial Crimean Cavalry, they wore the same kind of getup… tight black and red combo. Are you a soldier?"
"Unidentifiable animals?" Betty seemed to consider. "Only this pink haired shrew I work with. Crazy, nasty woman! Wild mane of bright pink hair, terrible dress sense." She laughed. "There's a candidate for alien abduction if ever there was one!"
"Do you meet many crazies in your line of work?? What did you think of the accent ladies?"
Victoria shrugged. She had never heard of any woman with a wild mane but she had come across a couple of crazies in her line of work–especially in regards to the two teenagers, she would encounter.
"I have my fair share of crazies," she said in a Polish accent, "At this point, you could call me a soldier. And if you are talking about the pink woman, I guess I ran across her a few times. Funny girl, what was her name again? Cc? Yeah, she wanted to know where the next town was so I showed her the way. It's kind of strange the way of how she defined her work though? She said she worked for the ICN, I guess that's what she said, I don't remember though. She seems pretty badass. "
_______________________________________________________
"Oh, I try not to use the 'c' word. I have interviewed many colorful folks. Eyewitnesses in rural areas tend to be… salt-of-the-earth types. Although I am finding more interest in areas with universities as well. The 20-somethings love an urban legend. They are some of the best because their beliefs are born not of fear and ignorance but of sheer boredom. They like to find ghosts and look for monsters, want to feel like they are special." Martina picks at her fish. What kind of fish is anyone's guess.
"I interview paranormal experts sometimes, usually book authors or managers of those little roadside museums. Sometimes I talk to college professors. Talk long enough, and I can pick out a usable quote. Astro-physicists are fantastic because they are so imaginative. Evolutionary biologists can be good too. Their work falls so much into the hypothetical that they can make any monster plausible and find it a place on a diagram."
"My initial impression of the ladies in here earlier were some eccentric types. Spiritualists. Maybe even self-proclaimed mediums. But it seems they were probably foreign graduate students dicking around – or locals pretending to be foreign."
"As for you and your friend," she adds. "Armed forces? Ex-military? I hope you haven't got a touch of PTSD, although it certainly lends to the type of mindset for many people I talk to. Come to think of it…" She prods her drying-out notebook. "I wonder if I was mistaken about Red. His paranoia could be PTSD… No no. That doesn't wash. He was too well-dressed and with too much cash and confidence to be military. Even if he was, no one with money ever sees action."
"One thing I gotta say," one waitress said to another, "tonight has been the night of big tippers. That creepy guy handing out fifties and those two high class Europeans left a $300 tip even after paying for all food that teen ate."
"I could do with a whole parade of crazies if they all tip like that." She rubbed one of the 100s on a piece of paper. "And it's real, stray threads and all."
Martina checks her watch. "Is that the time?" She stands up. "I have to catch a flight. On my way to some little podunk town in West Virginia where some man was allegedly murdered by his Frankenstein-type creation."
She pays her bill via credit card. On the "tip" line, she writes "Practice your balance or get a new job."
Then she grabs her notebook and garment bag and heads out to her car.
Suddenly new memories flooded into Martina's head. The tray never tipped, the waitress never lost her balance, every glass had moved by itself. The drinks had tipped by themselves. The ice tea was far colder than any soft drink she had ever been served before, almost frozen.
And a flick, a wink and a low steady incantation in some gibberish that wasn't gibberish. It was that European woman.
"Maybe now you'll have some respect for things you don't understand. But I doubt it." Very clearly in her mind she saw Larya smile every so slightly, touch the side of her head next to her eye and then point directly at Martina.
A business card appeared out of the air and fluttered into her outstretched hand. "Glory Anne Lans. Sisterhood Investigation. Charleston W. Virgina. Licensed and bonded Private Investigator."
—
Searsha lay on her stomach with Larya rubbing in her bare back. "Think she'll act on it?"
"Of course not. But when in their time it's fun to tease." Larya jabbed at a knot in Searsha's back.
"Ow," Searsha grimaced. Larya had done that on purpose. "Tomorrow, we go visit Joe Nickel and James Randi."
"Right, that big expose on that psychic Chloe."
"Then home and back to swords and spells."
"Kind of fond of this time though, the clothes are nice and gotta love antibiotics."
"Central heat and air conditioning. Refrigeration."
"But everyone thinks we're prostitutes or silly grad students."
"Well we did both grow up in a brothel."
And the two sorceresses laughed.
——————–
Author aside****
I am in a quandary…
MegaRdaniels mistakenly replied to both Betty and Ace's dialogue even though only Ace was speaking to Victoria.
Betty was addressing all her words to Martina…
How do address this?
This story and the last are also completely unconnected.
Perhaps she has super hearing and mistakenly thought Betty was talking to her as well? I will approach it that way.
——————–
Back to the story****
Ace looks confused
"Pinky? I never mentioned her… Can you hear my friend from across the room? Wow! You've got a super set of ears on you miss! Beautiful AND talented. I like that in a lady."
With Martina gone, Betty is all alone now. She decides to get up and but in on Ace and Victoria.
Betty pulls up a chair and sits down with Ace and Victoria.
"So who's this lovely lady Ace? Introduce me!"
Ace frowns over at her and make a rude face.
"I was just about to find out!" he says to her tersely.
He turns back to Victoria.
"Sorry, I never introduced myself. The name's Ace and my oafish, uncouth friend here is Betty. What's your name ma'm, if I might be so bold?"
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