Page 37 of Hush (The Seaside Saga #25)

The bag sitting on his SUV’s front passenger seat.

No time, he thinks. No time.

His pulse is pounding now.

What to do.

Run back to his vehicle for his phone—or get inside and help Kyle.

No question.

Jason’s fingers find that rear-door key again. In the shadows, he feels for the door lock, inserts the key, turns it and opens that diner door to pure darkness.

***

Still in a headlock, Kyle doesn’t fight.

The diner entrance door closes behind them as the guy roughly shoves him inside. He keeps pushing Kyle—right into the shadows near the Specials board.

Out of sight of any passersby.

The cornstalk propped against that Specials board gets jostled in the struggle.

A bead of perspiration runs down Kyle’s face. He feels it .

But he won’t fight. Not with that gun still held to his neck.

This is it, he thinks instead. I’m going to die. Right here.

“I want the money,” the guy’s voice utters close. He’s fidgeting, shifting his feet over that fallen cornstalk. “From the register,” he orders. “From your wallet. A safe. Wherever else you got any.”

“Cash register’s behind the counter,” Kyle says. “But loosen up ,” he insists, pulling at the guy’s headlock hold. “I can’t move to get to it.”

“Shut up,” the guy’s low voice says as he releases his hold and instead twists an arm behind Kyle now. “I’m going with you. Now move it,” he orders with another shove.

As they stumble further into the diner, those dim recessed ceiling lights shine on the vintage lobster buoys strung from the ceiling.

The lights shine on the counter cleaned and polished to a sheen.

Shine on sparkling silver napkin dispensers centered on every table. Every red-padded booth.

Kyle, along with this hooded guy holding his twisted arm behind him, haltingly scuffles past those tables toward the register. When the day’s grease-spattered apron draped over Kyle’s arm falls to the floor, they nearly trip on the bulky fabric.

“Keep going ,” the hooded guy says, kicking the apron aside. When he does, his foot hooks on a metal leg of one of the retro chairs at the tables. The chair clatters to the floor as they trip around it. “Hurry up already,” his voice harshly whispers while pushing Kyle along.

** *

From the back, Jason hears tense voices.

Then he hears a chair crash to the floor.

Shit.

The chaotic noise scares the hell out of him.

And he knows what he has to do.

He can almost hear his father’s voice in his ear.

Hears the man say that in ’Nam, when he felt debilitating fear, he had to get mad —to push through it.

So just get mad, real mad, his father’s low voice, laced with anger then, would say when Jason feared something. Feared learning to walk again. Feared giving up pain meds. Hell, feared waking up some mornings.

When you’re mad, he hears his father now, you’ll do what fear holds back.

So Jason gets mad.

Gets mad at this stranger threatening Kyle. No doubt robbing him.

Gets mad at the falling chair he hears.

Gets mad at a low, insidious voice he can barely make out.

Gets mad at the violence of it all.

Actually, Jason gets enraged.

He flips on a light in the rear of the diner. Goes into Kyle’s office, turns on the light there, wrenches off his denim jacket, shoves up his tee’s black shirtsleeves—and does it.

He starts making a God damn ruckus.

Bangs the office door against the wall.

Opens and closes a desk drawer.

“All right, Kyle!” he calls out without emerging into the shadowed diner.

“Guys are all rolling in,” Jason lies. “ Pulling into the parking lot.” Now he heads to the dark kitchen.

There, he intentionally knocks over a big pot.

Gets it crashing to the floor. “Sorry about that, dude,” he sort of yells. “Getting the grub ready for everyone.”

Hell, if the low-life crook thinks a crowd is arriving, the guy can figure it’ll be one against five. Or eight. Hopefully, he’ll just book it outta here. Fast .

“Shit,” Jason says, his voice raised some as he rights the pot onto a counter. He tries to sound impatient. Unruly, even. “Where’s the lights, man?”

***

“Who the hell’s that?” the guy demands at the sound of Jason making noise.

Kyle’s black T-shirt is soaked through.

At the cash register, the guy backed off so Kyle could get the drawer open. But he stands right beside him now; his pistol keeps Kyle always in its sights.

Standing close, Kyle’s quiet for a long moment. He blinks dripping sweat out of his eyes. It’s hard to get a breath. And he knows damn well who’s in the dark kitchen right now.

Jason—who must’ve come in the back door with his spare key.

And Jason—somehow onto what’s going down—is up to something.

As Kyle gets the cash drawer open just then, his hands shake.

“I said , who is that?” the guy repeats through clenched teeth .

Kyle glances over at him. When they dodged that chair falling to the floor, the dude’s hood fell off. So Kyle gets a good, quick look at his pockmarked face. At his panicked eyes. His gaunt cheekbones. At a lock of greasy brown hair falling over his forehead. His black jeans and navy hoodie.

“Friend of mine. I tried to tell you,” Kyle says, thinking fast. “You shut me up. We… hell, we got shit going on here tonight.”

The guy waves that pistol at him. “You’re lying .”

Another sudden noise comes from Jason somewhere in Kyle’s office, maybe. A file cabinet drawer whipping open? “We’re setting up,” Jason semi-yells. A pause, then, “Where’s that card table, Bradford? Those poker chips, man. Nick can’t find them.”

“You were closing up, you fuckin’ liar,” the guy insists, all as he rapidly motions for Kyle to empty the cash drawer.

“No, man.” But Kyle goes with Jason’s lie as he lifts a few twenties. “I was closing up the front . Locking up there so no customers came in,” he bullshits. “Card game’s in the back room.”

They both freeze and look toward the kitchen as Jason makes some rummaging noise there. Grabbing flatware, maybe. Something clatters in his hands.

“Jesus, Bradford,” Jason’s voice says, annoyed. “Thought you’d be set up by now. Matt’s in the parking lot. He’s bringing in the brews.”

Hearing that, the thief grabs the bills from Kyle’s hand and pockets them. Waves his pistol at Kyle for more.

Hell. Kyle suddenly gets what Jason’s doing.

He knows Jason’s trying to fake a whole busy scene to get this guy bookin’ out the door .

So Kyle knows that Jason knows the real shit going down.

Kyle’s just not sure Jason’s doing the right thing.