When in Boston
Flash fiction, 800 words. For Iron Age's Oct. 11 prompt, "The Companion." Continuing the spooky trend leading up to Halloween!
“When I have a craving and I’m in Boston, I come here, Cruz.”
The patron said Maricruz’s first name like it was her last. He – it? – wore a dinner jacket, cufflinks, and a white leather mask bearing the visage of a toothily grinning skull. He had an open bottle of something expensive on the table, and a little in his glass, but she didn’t see how he could drink it.
“We’re delighted to have you join us, sir.”
“I shall have a companion tonight, Cruz. Bring another glass.”
She was glad to flee. His patient voice struck her as predatory. This lounge was the city’s most exclusive, for several reasons, and she’d joined the waitstaff just yesterday. How did he know her name, to butcher it? To call her that – that – with irony. She wondered what his game was.
Ducking beyond the kitchen doors, she gave Shawna a look. “Who. Is. That.”
Shawna was a beautiful girl with a perfect smile. She’d be a patron someday. “Comes in once in a while. Always alone. Someone always joins … him.” She didn’t seem sure either. “Never the same person. Never who you’d think. They leave together. The companion never visits again. But he does. It’s creepy.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Bring him what he wants! He never eats or drinks, but they always do. Like it’s their last night on Earth.” Shawna gave a throaty laugh. “Hey, he’s a nice tipper. Polite. Always knows our names.”
Maricruz returned with a glass just as a middle-aged man with sunken eyes and a nice suit approached the maître d’.
“He’ll want a menu,” said the patron to Maricruz. “Here, Robert,” he said in a voice no louder. But the suit turned and, haunted eyes gladdening, seated himself.
“Try the steak?” chuckled the patron.
Robert gave him a half-amused grimace before promptly ordering ribs.
The patron poured him a drink. He complimented the vintage and Maricruz left them to it.
“Yeah, not who I’d think,” whispered Maricruz while they plated orders. Groans and cries from the kitchen gave cover to her suspirations. Sharp, tangy smells made her mouth water. Too bad even the sides started at $30. Maybe someday.
“Not buxom enough,” guessed Shawna with a grin. “I wonder what they talk about.” She glanced at a check and whistled low. “I don’t wonder why they never return.”
Maricruz brought Robert his ribs with a complimentary side of eavesdropping.
“It’s a kind offer,” Robert was saying. “I can’t think of a better way to close the deal.”
“I’m glad you agree,” said the patron. “Your colleague called me a devil and …” He paused with silent interest as Maricruz placed the meal before Robert.
‘Another bottle of the same, please, Cruz,” said the patron before she could ask. She retrieved it, wishing, as she examined the label (1995, Sonoma, organic, vegan, hints of chocolate and tobacco), that she could have a taste.
Robert relished it. The patron, Maricruz realized after a while, wasn’t drinking at all.
They lingered for hours, talking in low voices and sipping (or ignoring) the vintage. Robert was flushed and grinning when Maricruz brought the check.
She remembered his happiness well the next evening when, walking to work, she was startled by a crowd, a police cordon, and the sight of death.
“How?” Shawna was already gaping. “Doesn’t look like he walked into daylight.”
Robert was lying on the grass in deep shade in a parklet across the street from the restaurant. His haunted eyes were closed, a small smile on his pale lips. He could have been asleep, but Maricruz noticed what Shawna had not: the hole in his chest. The police may have removed the weapon to puzzle over the bloodlessness, but Maricruz knew the truth. There was no waking up from that.
“Peacefully,” murmured Maricruz. “I guess they closed the deal.”
Robert hadn’t struggled. He’d wanted this. A last supper and an end to untold years. She’d heard rumors. Most ancients who grew tired of the game would walk into the sun. But some held beliefs about suicide. And so they would call upon an old enemy to do the job.
Well, it was none of the restaurant’s business. The masked vampire hunter didn’t seem interested in what was going on in the kitchen. Not so long as he got to stake the occasional ancient, whenever he happened to be in Boston.
All the same, Maricruz handed in her immediate notice and disappeared back into the night. She had a lot to live for, and a lot of vintages to try.
Though she preferred them locally sourced.
Just as the guests were always unexpected, so to was that twist at the end. Well done.