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// Filed under: Verbiage on Monday October 31st 2005, 8:10 pm Gary’s Grill looms out of the smog of Backdrop City and, following the smell of refried grease, my nose leads me in. The smog was thick today, but that’s not unusual in this town and besides, there’s nothing I haven’t seen in a million detective novels. I push the door open and, rubbing my freshly-shaved chin, slide inside. The diner is just as I remember it. The wallpaper is yellow with years of nicotine-stains, and peeling from the moisture that permeates everything in this goddamn town. Lit by dim, dusty bulbs, the place is mostly empty, except for a few sketchy characters, whose details don’t seem to have been filled out properly. They’re probably not important to the story, so I ignore them and with a bit of effort, lift myself onto a stool at the counter. “Just the usual, this morning?” says Gary, nodding to me as one professional does to another. Gary is an interesting man. He’s interesting, you might say, because he’s so absolutely bland, which, in this city, makes him the perfect man for the job. He looks at me carefully, waiting for an answer. “Just the usual, thanks Gary.” “One burger with the lot, hold the salad, coming up,” he says, a faint smile dancing across his face for the briefest instant. “Wait a second,” I say suddenly. “Leave the salad in there. And, uh, throw some onion on the burger as well.” “Onion?” he says, confused. “Yes, please.” A quizzical eyebrow is arched. “I thought you hated onion,” he says. “Damn it, Gary! Just gimme some damn onion, alright?” The words burst from my lips before I can stop myself, and I regret it instantly. Gary looks up at me, his expression a mixture of concern and surprise. “…I’m sorry,” I say, after a brief pause. “I’m not having a good day.” “Don’t worry about it.” He puts a coffee cup down on the counter, brimming with thick, black coffee. “On the house.” I take a long, deep drink of the coffee. It’s steaming, oily and absolutely revolting. “Fantastic coffee, Gary,” I mutter as I reach into my coat, and place the manila folder onto the counter. “Take a look at those for me.” He picks one up, holds it carefully between thumb and greasy forefinger. His wife trundles out from the kitchen, a short, depressed woman moving with jiggling purpose, and takes my order from his other hand. “Onion?” she says, confused. “…yes.” She shrugs, spreading ripples outwards across her body, and returns to the kitchen. Gary takes out a dirty but serviceable rag, and starts to polish an old coffee mug absentmindedly, eyes still on the photographs which he has spread out across the counter. “His name is—“ “Tim. I know.” “You know him?” “Yeah. He used to come in here and eat a few times. He was in here just yesterday, in fact. Quiet fellow, kept to himself a bit. Told a great story, though. Used to sit over there, as I recall.” He gestures towards the far corner of the diner. “Go on,” I say, grimacing as I take another slug of Gary’s coffee. I can feel my stomach complaining, but it’s nothing that the heartburn can’t handle. “Well, that’s about it. He just showed up out of the blue one day, ordered a milkshake and sat in the corner, scribbling in a notebook he was carrying, and reading through the paper. I tried to talk to him a few times, but I could never manage to make any sense out of what he said. Always muttering about setting and exposition.” He is silent for a moment. “Why do you need to find this guy?” Gary says, his eyes suddenly very intense. I pull out the wad of cash from earlier. It makes a delicious thump as it hits the counter. “I gotta tell you, Gary, I don’t really know. But for that amount of… motivation, I guess I don’t really care.” He eyes the wad of cash warily, and then puts the mug he was polishing down on the counter. Leaning on his elbows, he looks at me carefully. “Who gave you this money?” “Some dame.” “Some dame?” “Yeah, she was, uh… she was about. Uh.” I trail off, trying to remember. Gary’s expression doesn’t change. “Shit. You know, I can’t remember what she looked like.” “Listen,” he says. “Just be careful, alright? I’ve been around a little while, you know. I may not have much depth of character, and I may not be much in the way of physical descriptions, but I know a cliche when I smell it.” Gary’s wife returns with my burger on a plate, and sets it down on the counter, interrupting the conversation. “I remember this one time he came in. He had this woman with him,” she says, “I’ve never seen anyone like her.” “A woman?” I say, instantly intrigued. “What did she look like?” “…I can’t remember,” she says after a while, slightly sheepishly. “Sorry. She was very plain. Could have been anyone, really.” She smiles again, sheepishly, and walks back into the kitchen. “Thanks, Gary.” I say, more than a little unnerved. I pick up my plate and move over to the far corner of the diner, where he had pointed. A rumpled copy of the newspaper lies on the table, open at the comics section. I push it to one side and sit down in the seat, placing my burger down in front of me. I thumb idly through the newspaper, thinking, as I eat my burger. The onion is piquant and delicious, and I wonder why I’ve never had it before. As I turn the pages, a scrap of paper flies out, skimming across the table and floating down to the floor. I bend down to pick it up. It looks like it’s been torn from a notebook, and in a patently neat hand that I just know is Tim’s, I read:
Good God. I haven’t got much time. (…to be continued…) // 3 Comments
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Edminster says:
November 1, 2005 at 3:35 am
Tim says:
November 1, 2005 at 7:30 pm
Edminster says:
November 2, 2005 at 1:43 am