Coulter was at a diner called Lenny’s off Mission Street in San Francisco.
The lighting was fluorescent, the booths plastic, and the servers unmotivated.
But it was nearly two A.M., and the sign outside claimed the place served a steak and eggs breakfast all day. He was starving.
He’d spent most of the day wandering around the city and nearly freezing his ass off even though it was July. He’d avoided all the touristy places after being mowed down by a baby carriage…several baby carriages, in fact, wielded by parents who had the same crazy look in their eyes soldiers probably had as they drove a tank straight through enemy lines.
The enemy in this case being people who were fortunate enough not to have a brat swinging from their arm or drooling down their neck.
And sometimes—although he didn’t like to admit it—being in those places, alongside families in lame matching T-shirts eating anything fried on a stick, made him feel lonely.
He gazed around at the other people in the restaurant. There were only a few. In one of the booths a cadaverous-looking woman with long white hair and bloodred lipstick sat next to an overweight man wearing an eye patch and a black velvet skirt.
“Freaks,” he murmured.
Then again, he got his kicks spinning silverware around in the air when inclined, so maybe he shouldn’t go around labeling people.
He looked back at the couple and shook his head. Nah, anyway you looked at it, they were freaks.
Earlene, the blue-haired octogenarian who’d seated him, brought over his food. Before she could leave, he touched her arm and smiled. “Can I get a side of hash browns, love?”
Earlene beamed and patted his cheek. “Coming right up.”
Digging into his meal, he wolfed down his food and was almost halfway through when a shout made him look up.
At the counter, a short, stocky man with black hair, dressed in flashy but unflattering clothes, roughly pushed away his coffee cup, making it rattle in its plate. He glared at the pretty but nervous waitress. “I wanted my coffee black. There’s about an udder full of milk in here.”
“But you asked for—”
“I’m lactose intolerant. That means I can’t digest dairy, sweetheart.”
The waitress grabbed a clean cup and began filling it with coffee. “I’m sorry. I thought you asked for coffee with milk.”
“I asked for coffee and the bill. Do I look like the kind of man who’d mess around with his small intestine?” He cracked open his newspaper. “I’m not paying for this coffee. My gastroenterologist is already milking me for a fortune.”
Earlene returned with Coulter’s plate of hash browns. “On the house, darlin’.”
He took her hand and planted a kiss on the back. “Bless your heart.”
She chuckled and wagged her finger at him. “You’re full of charm, aren’t you—you blue-eyed devil.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Not like the character over there.”
She jerked her head toward the man at the counter.
“Does Cousin Vinnie come in regularly?” Coulter asked.
She nodded. “When he isn’t complaining about the food, he’s trying to cozy up to Rachel.”
Coulter assumed Rachel was the pretty waitress who’d served the coffee with milk.
Applying himself to his hash browns, he glanced back at the counter and caught Rachel watching him. She smiled shyly and turned away.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Well now.
Maybe his time in San Francisco wouldn’t be wasted after all.
He decided to hang around until the place closed. Maybe he’d walk Rachel home. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.
Since he was sticking around, he ordered a slice of apple pie.
From the corner of his eye he noticed Rachel watching him again. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, smoothed the skirt of her uniform, and edged around the counter, obviously coming toward him.
As she passed by Cousin Vinnie, he reached out and grabbed her arm, murmuring something in her ear. Her cheeks bloomed red and Rachel yanked her arm away. Then she turned and fled into the ladies’ room.
Coulter didn’t hesitate. Praying the coffee was still hot, he focused on the man’s cup. It teetered on the edge of the saucer before abruptly shooting across the counter and into the man’s lap.
With a howl he leaped off the stool, grabbing his crotch. “Christ!” He glared at Earlene, who stood watching the spectacle with obvious glee. “Don’t just stand there. Move your fat ass and get me a towel.”
Coulter focused again, and the buttons popped off the man’s blue polyester pants, causing them to slide down his hairy legs and pool around his ankles.
Several of the waitresses and customers broke into laughter.
Sputtering with fury, he yanked up his pants and pushed his way out of the restaurant.
Smiling, Coulter sat back and finished the rest of his pie.