A Field of Red by Greg Enslen Read Free Book Online

off. When this was all over, they’d be together in a car, driving the open roads on their way to San Francisco. They’d be together, with no one bossing them around. Chastity could ride in the car with the window down and her bare feet sticking out, like she liked to do. And when they got to the ocean, spread out flat in front of them, he and Chastity would park the car and take a blanket out of the trunk and sit on the wide, sandy beach and count their money. Count the stacks and stacks of cash from this job. She would love the ocean. Chastity had never seen it. Neither had George, but it didn’t matter. They just needed to get away, a long way from here, where they could be together and happy.
    Or, at least as happy as she could get. It seemed like Chastity was always cross about one thing or another.
    The ransom money would come in soon. But he worried about the little girls. At one point, George had asked about what would happen to the girls after the ransom money came in, and the boss had said he’d “take care of it.” He didn’t even want to think about what his boss meant.
    Even George was smart enough to know that didn’t sound encouraging.
     

7
     
    Heading inside the Tip Top Diner, Frank was struck again by how the place was “decorated.” It literally looked like he’d stepped forty years back in time. The large restaurant was filled with wooden booths and square wooden tables, and the walls, and every other flat surface, were covered with old, faded wallpaper, broken up only by paneled, dark wood.
    To go along with the season, the walls and booths and the crane game next to the entrance were decorated with paper pumpkins, crepe paper spiders, and dozens of other Halloween decorations. Next to the door stood a mannequin decorated to look like a mummy. Behind the counter, near the cash register, was perched a sad, old-looking stuffed witch, her pointy hat sagging. And, while the servers and greeters were costumed as well, sadly, all the spider webs in the corners were 100% genuine.
    Nevertheless, the food was excellent and the wait staff friendly. They had Frank snugged away in his favorite booth with a mug of fresh coffee in no time. The coffee here wasn’t as good as the numerous cups he’d enjoyed at the Café Du Monde in the French Quarter—so far, he’d never found a better cup anywhere—but the coffee should, at least, chase away his hangover.
    Everywhere he went, it seemed he was attracted to these types of restaurants—quiet, family owned, the decor needing a massive update. Never a chain place, ever. And the crazy thing was, there were places like the Tip Top Diner all over the nation, little hole-in-the-wall greasy spoons where you could always get a great meal and a hot cup of good coffee. And it didn’t hurt that this particular restaurant was thirty feet from the front door of his hotel.
    In Birmingham, he had a half-dozen dives and family restaurants like this one that he frequented, much to the chagrin of his partners. They always wanted to eat somewhere a little more “upscale.” But places like this one were the backbone of the restaurant industry, and, to Frank, they just felt more real. You knew that when you ordered something off the menu it wasn’t just pulled out of a freezer somewhere and nuked. It was one of the reasons he never went out for Mexican food. He loved the cuisine, but it seemed like every Mexican restaurant’s food tasted exactly the same, like it all came on the same delivery truck. Maybe it did.
    The other thing he enjoyed about dives was that they left you alone. His wife had never understood his need for solitude and eventually had been happy to grant him a permanent supply, unfettered by her presence. He had always preferred going somewhere quiet to eat, usually bringing along a case file or something else to read.
     He sat in booth #3, which had already become his favorite. Over the last few days, he’d been in here so often that the waitresses