5:09 p.m.
Brooklyn, New York
South of the Crown Heights and Brownsville neighborhoods, the small fifties-style diner bustled with activity. The dinner hour had begun, and people were coming in after work for a drink or a quick meal. A bell rang. Two women walked through the main door.
Amanda scribbled. “Okay, two burgers, two fries…” she pointed at a man seated in the red booth in front of her, “no salt on yours…and two sodas,” she swung a finger toward the woman across from him, “yours is a diet.” The couple nodded, and she took their menus. “I’ll get that started for you right away.”
“Thank you, dear,” said the woman.
Amanda rushed by the two women standing near the door and smiled. “I’ll be right with you.” She disappeared behind swinging double doors, emerged a minute later and approached the newcomers, grabbing menus on the way. “Just the two of you?”
“Yes. Do you have a booth available?”
Amanda looked beyond the couple, whose order she had just taken. “I got one left.” She faced her customers and tipped her head. “Follow me.” After placing menus in front of the women, she wrote her name on a napkin. “I’m Amanda and I’ll be taking care of you today. I’ll be back out with a couple waters, but can I get either of you a beverage or an appetizer?”
“Water’s good for me.”
“I’ll have a coffee with cream and sugar, please.”
Amanda flipped a page in a notepad. “Coffee,” she produced a pencil, “cream…and…sugar. I’ll be back to take your orders.” She hustled by the round, red-padded stools that butted up to the counter, slipped between a gap in the dining surface and passed through the double doors leading to the kitchen, hearing the doorbell announce additional patrons.
A minute later, carrying two sodas and a cup of coffee on a tray, she hurried toward the double doors. Three feet away, she spied a man through the window in the kitchen door and stopped. The drinks slid forward, the tray’s lip saving a mess. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her stomach wanted to empty its contents. Her knees wobbled. Behind her, the grill sizzled, utensils clanged and the cooks conversed in restaurant lingo.
“Out of the way,” said another female server, “coming through.” She sidestepped Amanda and pushed through the right door.
Amanda spun around before she was exposed to the three men, standing at the front door, facing the kitchen. She put the tray on the counter. This can’t be happening. Why are they here? I can’t go back out there. If they…
She looked over her shoulder and saw the men talking to the other server, Clara. Standing in front of the male trio, Clara looked at something in the lead man’s hand before pointing toward the kitchen. Amanda overheard her fellow employee: “She’s in the kitchen. Let me get rid of these drinks and I’ll get her for you.”
Amanda’s heart rate spiked. She inched down the walkway between the grills and the beverage machines, her back to the door window. Picking up her pace, she untied her apron and let it fall to the floor. At the other end of the kitchen, she grabbed her backpack and ducked out the back door after casting a glance toward the double doors.
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