The Light at the End of the Tunnel by James W. Nelson Read Free Book Online

he had received during his
five earlier years—before the prison job—as an army chaplain. It
wasn’t a lot, but even that small amount gave him a bit of
confidence, “Don’t worry about those boys,” he finished.
    Ms. Waters increased her smile by at least
ninety percent, “I won’t. Thank you. Now, what can I get for
ya?”
    ****
    A half hour later the chaplain was still
enjoying his meal. Several times he had heard the chef yell ‘Waters! Order up!’ It seemed to him that the chef could
have shown a little more class, maybe could have installed a bell
to ring, or at least could shout a little softer. Strange, he had
been hearing very close to the same thing all during his search at
the mom and pop restaurants, and never before had it bothered him.
And of course he wouldn’t let it bother him now, either.
    “Waitress!” The new shout came from the table
with the three young men. The chaplain jerked his attention in that
direction just in time to see the mouth raise his hand and snap his
fingers. This irked him but he remained quiet, and continued with
his meal, and suddenly noticed the restaurant was empty but for his
table and the one with the three young men.
    Ms. Waters walked hurriedly to the table,
“What can I do for you boys?”
    “Don’t call us ‘boys’ for one thing,”
the main mouth said.
    “All right. Sorry.”
    “No prob, babe, we’ll forgive ya if you join
us for a drink after. You must be gettin’ off soon cause the dang
place is empty.” The mouth glanced toward the chaplain, “I guess
except for the old dude over there.”
    Ms. Waters glanced at the chaplain too, then
answered, “I’m sorry. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.”
    “What the hell! We’re on a construction
project right down the street and we’ve been comin’ here all week!”
The mouth pushed his chair back. He appeared to intentionally cause
it to make a loud noise, “You should know us by now!”
    Ms. Waters stepped back, then glanced toward
the kitchen. The chef, obviously, was busy elsewhere, or simply not
interested. The mouth stood, at least six feet and likely 200
pounds. His friends were not lightweights either, but they remained
seated.
    “Ms. Waters…,” the chaplain called out.
    “Yes, sir.” Ms. Waters glanced, stared for a
second or two, evidently made a decision, then walked quickly to
his table, “What can I help you with, sir?” She smiled that same
wondrous smile as earlier.
    “Don’t worry about those boys,” he said, “I
won’t let them hurt you, or even bother you.” With the announcement
he stood, then walked forward and placed himself between Ms. Waters
and the three young men. His heart was pounding more than he had
ever experienced, yet he was completely calm otherwise.
    The two young men still seated exchanged
glances with each other, then they both looked up at the main
mouth. Anyone watching—but there was nobody—could see the two
seated men were all set to grin, yet were holding it in. The mouth
glanced at his buddies, then back at the chaplain. His eyes got
extra big, then moderated, “Well, looks like Waitress Waters has a
knight in shining armor, but with white hair.” He laughed, then
glanced at his buddies. Then they laughed too, apparently glad to
finally release their humor.
    “Fuck it, man,” one of them said, “We don’t
need her. Let’s get the hell out’a here.” They both pushed their
chairs back and stood.
    “Yeah,” the mouth said, and threw one last
glance, “We’ll meet again, ol’ geezer.”
    The three left the restaurant, and all became
quiet.
    Ms. Waters let out a breath, pulled out a
chair and sat down at the chaplain’s table, “Thank you, sir. Those
three have been bugging me all week.”
    The chaplain returned to his chair and sat
too, “Maybe they’ll quit now.”
    “No. They won’t. It happens wherever I work,
so I have to keep quitting and moving to the next town and I’m
getting sick of it.”
    The chaplain