Layne Parrish stars in five thriller stories I wrote that all start with the same situation… he walks into a restaurant in a little mountain town. And then, each story branches off into its own thing. This is one of those short stories.
This is 1600 words, and story #4 of 5, also known as “Salt Shaker”
___________
Layne Parrish stood in the doorway of The Firehouse restaurant in South Fork. He shook snow from the shoulders of his jacket and then ran a hand to smooth the moisture out of his short blond hair. A shudder pulsed through him as some snow trickled down the back of his shirt. He didn’t normally let the cold bother him, but this winter, at eight thousand feet in southwest Colorado, had been brutal. Day after day of below-zero weather could wear on anyone, eventually.
Were it not for the abundance of fresh powder at nearby Wolf Creek Ski Area, he might have stayed closer to Denver. But, since his ski days were few and far between, he had to take his chances when he could.
Three-year-old Cameron wasn’t old enough to learn to ski yet. Next winter, though, he’d have that little one on the slopes, working the french fries and pizza. Only a matter of time until she was a better skier than him. Or, God forbid, a snowboarder.
A server marched up to him, a curvy woman with bright red lips and a smile that looked like someone had plastered it on her face for the duration of her dinner shift. “One?”
Layne nodded. “Table, please. No booth.”
She guided him toward a table in the middle of the room. The Firehouse was a barn-like country-cooking sort of establishment, with pizzas and burgers and a smattering of beers. A selection of flags of various college sports teams adorned the wood-panel walls. All the colors of the rainbow. An array of televisions broadcasted a bowl game, to the alternating cheers and jeers of everyone present. Layne didn’t care too much about college ball, but he would watch a game if it were the best thing on TV at the moment.
He sat and picked up a laminated menu from between the ketchup and mustard dispenser bottles. Stomach grumbling, his brain told him anything would be fine, but his stomach wanted it all. He’d nearly settled on a grilled chicken sandwich when the chicken fried steak jumped out at him.
“Bobby?” said a nearby male voice, interrupting his concentration. “Bobby Mayfield?”
Layne looked up to see a man, late thirties, brush-cut brown hair and light green eyes, standing a couple feet away from his table. Mouth open, slack-jawed, eyes intently studying Layne from above.
The man, with no invitation from Layne, approached, pulled out the chair opposite, and had a seat. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.
Bug eyes stared at Layne, pupils boring into him. “Holy shit. It is you, isn’t it?”
Layne hesitated before shaking his head. In a decade’s worth of service to Daphne Kurek’s espionage agency, he’d worn many faces. There were dozens—or maybe hundreds—of people around the globe who knew his face by a different name. But, as far as Layne could remember, he’d never gone by the moniker of Bobby Mayfield.
“Sorry,” Layne said. “Can’t help you. Name’s not Bobby.”
The man twisted his head in disbelief, raising an eyebrow at Layne. “Are you for real? You’re telling me you’re not Bobby.”
“Nope. Mistaken identity, man.”
The man’s look changed from one of incredulity to one of guilt. “Oh, wow, I am so, so sorry. I’ve barged in on you while you’re trying to eat dinner and disrupted your whole flow.” The man reached across the table and extended a hand. “Rennie James. Some people call me Jimmy, because of the last name, but I prefer Rennie, if I’m being honest. I have a cousin named Jimmy. Jimmy James. You can imagine how much he was harassed in school.”
Layne gawked at the hand for a moment, then shook it. “Layne Parrish.”
“You’ll have to forgive me. I’m just passing through on my way to Durango, and I stopped here for a bite to eat. You can imagine my surprise, thinking, of all the luck, running into Bobby M. right here in some tiny little gas-food-lodging stop on the highway, right? I thought I’d experienced a kind of divine intervention in the middle of this Podunk town.”
Layne breathed, taking in the man’s mannerisms and appearance. One knee bouncing underneath the table, hands fidgeting with the glass salt shaker on the table, passing it back and forth. Back and forth. Given his vibrating nature, Layne might have assumed meth-head or junkie in need of a fix. But, his eyes were bright and not bloodshot. No bags colored the space under his eyes. Layne concluded the guy probably had some sort of anxiety disorder. But, the intensity of his stare somehow relaxed Layne, which was the strangest part.
“No divine intervention, Rennie. Just one of those freak coincidences, I guess.”
“Got a twin you might have been separated from at birth? Hospital mix-up, like in a soap opera? There’s got to be something more than coincidence going on here.”
“I don’t think so.”
Rennie scrunched his brow and sighed down at the salt shaker, sliding back and forth across the table, two inches in each direction as it passed from his left hand to his right. Back and forth, back and forth, always constant.
“Do you believe in destiny, Layne?”
Each time the salt shaker moved, the glass container made a small shuffling sound across the wood of the table. Over and over, once per second. The relentless sound faded into Layne’s ears like part of the ambient noise of the room.
Layne grew a little dizzy, and then a deep sense of calm came over him. The salt shaker moved back and forth, back and forth, each pass coming once every second.
“Hmm?” he said.
“Destiny. Layne, look up at me.”
Layne did as he was told, his eyes meeting Rennie’s. Green eyes like algae floating in a calm pond. His eyes appeared to be spinning slightly, in time with the salt shaker’s movement.
“Yes?” Layne said.
“Destiny. Do you believe in it?”
“Sure, if you say so.”
Rennie nodded. “Good, good. You do believe in destiny, Layne. There’s something outside in my car I’d like you to see. Do you think you could come with me? It will only take a couple minutes, and then I’ll have you right back here.”
The salt shaker passed back and forth. Layne took in a deep breath, feeling it cleanse him like hot springs. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Maintaining eye contact, Rennie stood and put a hand under Layne’s elbow to help him up from the table. He pointed toward the door as Layne found his body to be unnaturally heavy.
He let Rennie escort him out the front door. When they stepped outside, Layne realized he’d left his coat behind, because the winter chill seeped in through his shirt immediately. Biting cold, gripping the exposed flesh of his neck and hands. Still, it didn’t bother him as it had a few minutes before when he’d been outside.
“This way,” Rennie said, pulling on Layne’s elbow to turn him. “I parked around the back.”
The gravel of the parking lot crunched underneath their feet as Rennie pointed him toward the unlit back area behind the restaurant. Layne smelled the garbage bin full of discarded food and grease as they rounded the restaurant. The smell, while objectively foul, didn’t bother him.
“Right over here.” Rennie said. “It’s not much farther at all. A few more steps.”
When it happened, Layne knew it was coming.
He heard the dashing of feet behind him. Someone running across the gravel parking lot. Sprinting to come up behind them, little rocks crunching and shuffling.
Layne spun and launched a right hook at the attacker’s face at the exact moment he was reaching into his pocket to draw a knife. The man met Layne’s fist, and his inertia made him skitter in the gravel and then thump backward, his head smacking against a patch of ice. Eyes instantly shut from his violent descent to the ground.
Layne whirled on Rennie, who was trying to back up, with his hands raised. “We just wanted money, Layne. No big deal. Really, no big deal.”
Layne leaped forward and jabbed Rennie in the mouth with a closed fist. “You think you’re the first person to try to hypnotize me?”
Rennie staggered back from the punch, a dribble of blood coming from his mouth. He spat a tooth on the ground. Panting, hands up, ready to launch an attack.
The sneak attacker started to recover, so Layne shifted a step to the side, making the three of them form a triangle. The man on the ground did not try to stand. Instead, he massaged his jaw. Rennie leaned over, grunting, spitting more blood on the ground.
“Salt shaker,” Layne said, musing. “I’ve never seen that one before.”
Rennie burst into tears as he stood up and staggered back a step, looking woozy. “I’m so sorry. We saw you drive up. You have a nice car, so we figured you were an easy mark. It’s always worked before.”
“Maybe next time you’ll put a little more thought into it.” Layne pointed to a rusted truck parked underneath the busted streetlight at the side of the parking lot. “That your car?”
Rennie nodded.
“Then I suggest you both get in and leave South Fork. You’re not welcome here. If I see that car again, I’m going to call the sheriff and have you arrested. Do you understand?”
Rennie and his partner looked at each other but opted not to open their mouths.
And, with that, Layne turned and returned to the restaurant so he could order his dinner.
After you read this story, you should definitely join my Reader Group to get free stories, exclusive sneak peeks, and additional goodies on a regular basis!
If you know someone who would enjoy this story, tap one of the share buttons down below.