This one's from a writing challenge, and the subject was "Food."
THE VALUE OF PIE
The roadhouse was nearly empty.
Three business types – two men and a woman, classic suits – were crowded around one laptop, while on the far side of the restaurant area a heavily-built trucker, almost a parody of the type, was on his second hamburger, and Melissa didn’t like the way he looked at her, or the way he had tried to pat her on the ass when she brought him his food.
A black Humvee drew up and slotted neatly into a parking spot. Melissa hurried to turn up the coffee urn as the occupants got out; a woman and a girl, and for an instant, she found herself wondering what the odds were on a fashion model walking into the roadhouse.
The woman was maybe thirty at most, slender and athletic, with blonde hair in a neat ponytail and fine-cut features half shrouded by big-frame sunglasses; but she was dressed down, in faded denim jacket and cargo pants and what looked like hiking boots. The girl was perhaps ten or eleven, but otherwise almost a carbon copy, with the same clothing – except for runners instead of boots. The trucker gave a loud wolf whistle as the pair came to the counter, but they did not react.
“Hi there. What’ll it be?” Melissa asked.
The woman scanned the menu board and said, “Steak sandwich for me – plain – and coffee, please. Black, no sugar. And a bowl of chocolate ice cream. Tanya?”
“Toasted ham and cheese sandwich and coffee, like mama’s, and apple pie and cream, please,” the girl replied promptly.
“Coming right up,” said Melissa, pouring two cups of coffee as the pair sat at the counter. They both had strong accents, like Russians in the movies. Melissa headed for the kitchen to give Billy the order, wondering as she did if she could get a discreet snap, maybe post it on Instagram. Those two were heading west, for Las Vegas or Los Angeles, there could be a story behind that…
But she couldn’t find her cell phone.
The business trio paid up and left. The trucker had slowed right down with his hamburger, and kept leering at the woman. The pair ate almost primly, with small precise bites of their sandwiches, and saying nothing.
Melissa had not found her cell, and curiosity finally won out. “You folks going far?”
“Los Angeles,” the woman replied. “Opportunities… you understand.” She finished her sandwich and wiped her hands delicately with the serviette. “You can’t let them pass you by.”
“Right…”
Tanya said, “I’m done, mama. Can I have my pie?”
“Surely,” the woman replied. “I have to use the restroom. I’ll be back soon.”
But when Melissa returned with the pie, Tanya had gone to the magazine rack. She had ignored the teen mags and was looking at, of all things, Guns and Ammo.
The phone rang.
“Hi mom. Sure… yeah, six should be fine if Bella’s on time, and she’s usually good for that…” She glanced around and saw the trucker sitting down at the counter. With a smirk he began to eat Tanya’s pie.
“Uh, sorry, I’ll have to call you back.” She hung up and called out, “Sir, what are you doing?”
Tanya turned round from the rack. She carefully replaced the magazine and walked back to the counter. “That’s my pie, mister.”
The trucker took another spoonful and said, “Didn’t see you eatin’ it, kiddo. It’s mine now. What you gonna do?”
Melissa stayed by the phone. It wouldn’t be the first time she had dialled 911.
“I’ll tell my mama.” Tanya’s voice was oddly calm. “And then you’ll be sorry.”
He laughed out loud. “What can she do? Catwalk me to death?”
He was still laughing when the woman returned.
“Chto proiskhodit?” she said almost immediately.
“Etot chelovek ukral moy pir,” Tanya replied without looking round.
“Eto tak?” The woman walked up to the trucker. “Stoyat' yasno.”
Tanya backed away.
“You are taking food from a child.” The woman’s voice was flat, as if stating a fact, not making an accusation.
“She weren’t eatin’ it.” The trucker looked her up and down. “Kid thinks a lot of you, honey. Says I’ll be sorry.”
“You have a choice,” she said, as if he had not responded. “Apologise to my daughter, and walk away, or crawl from here on your belly. Choose wisely.”
The trucker bellowed with laughter. “Well, I ain’t doin’ either, missy! Huh? What you gonna do?”
There was a pause, no more than a second.
“This.”
She hooked one foot around one leg of the stool and wrenched it away.
There was a crack as his forehead hit the counter, and he sprawled on the floor as the stool rattled away into a corner.
Melissa froze. The woman’s expression had not shifted, and Tanya was smiling.
“Uh, uh, uh,” the trucker gasped. Blood was seeping from his nose. “Uh, you…” He swore a string of pungent obscenities.
“Don’t try to stand!” the woman snapped, and kicked him in the knee. He cried out and dropped down flat. “Get out.”
Melissa watched as the trucker forced his way towards the door. Thoughts of movies she had binge-watched with Brett last week filled her mind – ones with tough heroines, like Atomic Blonde and that one with J-Law, Red Sparrow. Deadly Russian blondes didn’t walk into truck stops and casually beat up people…
The woman walked back to the counter. “I’ll have my ice-cream now, and another pie for Tanya, please.”
Melissa saw the trucker clumsily stand up and then lurch across the forecourt to his rig.
“Yes ma’am.”
Sonja peeled off the notes, and then looked at the display on the register. “That’s not enough. There should be two pies.”
The girl looked startled. “You only had one.”
“I won’t leave you out of pocket.”
With seeming reluctance, the girl added a second pie, and reached for change.
“Don’t worry about it.”
As they walked back to the Humvee, Tanya said, “His truck is still there, mama.”
“I know.”
“He’s angry. He might come after us.”
Sonja opened the passenger door.
“Then he’ll find out he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”
