Frank Goes For Breakfast

“Know what you want, yet?” The waitress pulled her pencil from behind her ear, licking the lead tip. She raised her eyebrows, beehive hairdo perched precariously, cracking her gum at him while she waited.

“Coffee. Black.” Frank glanced at her nametag. “Toast, and a paper, Irma.”

Irma winked, and slipped him a napkin with his mug. She poured, then worked her way farther down the busy counter. Frank looked down, into his mug, and watched the gnat struggling to escape the oily liquid slow, then stop. When he picked up the napkin to scoop it out, he noticed small printing. Neat, in the corner. Help me. I’m in back. He looked up, eyeing those around him for a telltale smirk. Nothing.

Frank slipped off the stool, and made his way to the back hallway, pausing at the door to the kitchen. He heard murmuring; sounded like one person. Nobody was coming. He eased the door open, and stopped cold.

Soaked with suds and sweat, a bone-thin girl washed dishes at a furious pace. She felt her way from basin to basin, handling knives and skillets with equal care, skillfully avoiding sharp edges but maintaining speed. She sang quietly to herself.

“Hey, you worthless piece of shit.” Disgust echoed down the narrow hallway, followed by a hulking greasebag of a man. “Tell me you’re not done yet, so I can kick yer ass some more.”

The girl hunched a bit, but kept her rhythm, resolute.

Good for her. Frank picked up an iron skillet and settled just inside the door.

PRANG! The greasebag fell with a dumbfounded thud, eyes wide with dull surprise. Natalie stopped washing dishes.

“Hi, I’m Frank.” He held out his hand.

“Hi, Frank. I’m Natalie.” She smiled, crinkling the bandage on her cheek.

word count: 297