or dire things would happen. Slab didn’t have the money, but was willing to rob a bank to get it. And not just rob a bank. Rob another bank. And the FBI was apparently sniffing around.
If she had any sense, she would run, not walk, out of the Rainbow Rest-O-Rant. But she couldn’t help herself—she leaned in closer to the divider so she could make out more of their soft, tantalizing words. Slab mumbled something she couldn’t catch, but Tyler’s words came back fast and furious.
“Listen to me,” he whispered angrily, “don’t even think about any more bank jobs. You got caught the last two times, and that means you better retire already.”
Ooh, this was getting good. Slab had a criminal record but was none too bright and wanted to do it again, while the awesome Tyler was trying to keep him away from more criminal activity.
Maybe he was some kind of counselor, she mused, like for some ex-con twelve-step program.
“Do you know how much you’re already into me for?” Tyler went on. “I trusted you, Slab. I know—that makes me every bit as stupid as you, but I trusted you. And now you need to do right by me. You said you could come up with the money. Or we both know I’m out on the street.”
That made no sense for a counselor. A loan shark, maybe? She ventured another glance through the slats. World’s best-looking loan shark?
But Jozette, the world’s crankiest waitress, chose that moment to come back. After stopping to refill the coffee at Tyler’s table, trading chitchat and good-natured insults and making it very clear they were old pals, she finally sauntered around to Emily’s side of the booths. Quickly Emily pretended to be absorbed in her book so that Jozette didn’t shout, “Hey, I think we got your FBI snitch right here!” or something equally scary.
As quietly as she could manage, Emily ordered the banana split she’d completely forgotten. She waited impatiently for Jozette to vamoose so she could go back to listening. Meanwhile, the men in the next booth were still arguing in the same hushed, urgent tones.
“Look,” Slab said finally, half-rising in his seat. “There’s only one way. I’m gonna have to get out of town.”
“Are you nuts?” Tyler retorted.
She felt sure she heard something about Slab not being allowed to leave the jurisdiction—or maybe both of them—and then the name “Fat Mike,” which sounded very familiar. A local mobster? Emily quickly added these clues to the others she’d already amassed. Couldn’t leave the jurisdiction…if Slab were out on bail and unable to leave the area, would that make Tyler his bail bondsman?
“I gotta do it, Ty,” the big guy continued. “It’s the only way! I gotta go to Frisco.”
“Slab, keep it down, will you?”
No, no, Emily wanted to plead. Talk louder! But no one cared what she thought.
Slab mumbled something about “real loot, plenty to make us even,” and then “stashed in Frisco.” That was followed by a string of words that went right past her, and Emily leaned her whole head into the plastic plant to try to pick up more of it.
“Money…stashed,” Slab whispered, as something akin to a wistful smile crossed his blunt features. “Sweet Shanda. Best time I ever had was with Sweet Shanda.”
Emily started to get excited. This was kind of like charades. And she thought she had it! Slab had hidden his money in San Francisco with an ex-girlfriend named Shanda.
Tyler’s next words were very low, but the intent was unmistakable. “If you go to San Francisco,” he said, “Fat Mike will kill you. And maybe me, for good measure.”
Emily shivered. Had he really said “kill”? As in, dead? Nobody would really kill someone who looked like Tyler, would they? And waste all that potential?
But the gigantic man shook his head, his voice rising as he argued. “I owe you, man. And Fat Mike will get off both our backs if I come up with the dough. I’m going, and I’m gonna get it.”
“Forget it—”
“Damn it!” Slab bellowed, pounding a huge fist on the table and making the coffee cups bounce. “I’m going to get my stash!”
There was a long pause from their booth, as Tyler seemed to bide his time before speaking. “Sit down,” he said finally, in a dark, curt tone that didn’t brook objections. Slab sat. Emily could feel the reverberations all the way over on her side.
Angry words went back and forth, a “get a grip” followed by “I gotta do what I gotta do,” with Tyler getting colder and Slab becoming more and more agitated. Leaning across the table, the big guy distinctly brought up “Sweet Shanda” again and then something about the money had better be where he left it or he would “tear her apart with my bare hands.”
Emily felt chilled to the bone. Eavesdropping on criminals was one thing, but when they started contemplating taking women apart with their bare hands, it was going too far.
Finally the big guy raised his entire bulk from the booth, pushing himself to his feet with some effort. “I know what I gotta do,” he bellowed.
After mumbling a few more things Emily didn’t catch, he stomped his way out of the coffee shop, apparently determined to assault some poor woman named Shanda in San Francisco in order to recover ancient ill-gotten gains.
Tyler sent a wary glance around the place, clearly wondering whether anyone had overheard the outburst. Emily noted that, except for her, the diner’s few patrons appeared to be very good at minding their own business. And unless Tyler happened to lean forward and look in just the right place, he wasn’t going to see her, either. There were some benefits to being small.
Emily tucked herself even farther down into her bench seat, just to be sure, as she wondered what she should do next. Frankly, she was appalled. Had she just heard criminal activity being planned, and if so, as a lawyer and thereby an officer of the court, was she obligated to pull out her cell phone and report it to the police? Would they believe her if she did? And what would that mean for Tyler, the scowling, handsome ne’er-do-well who had done his best to dissuade the evil Slab from his crime spree?
Her head was spinning. Maybe she should at least call her mother the judge. But she was a bankruptcy judge. What would she remember about criminal law? Plus then Mom would know Emily was out eating banana splits in seedy dives and not at work. And then Dad would know, too, and she’d end up the first Chaplin in three generations to be fired from Chaplin, Chaplin & Chaplin.
Besides, she wasn’t absolutely sure there was anything wrong in what she’d heard. For all she knew, Slab had done his time, was completely reformed, and wasn’t allowed to leave the area because…well, there had to be some decent explanation. And if she started calling police and judges, she’d just make a fool of herself, making a mountain out of a molehill of stray words and overheard bits and pieces. Who knew anything for sure?
“Damn it.” Tyler interrupted her frantic thoughts as he, too, rose to his feet. He threw some money on the table, muttering under his breath. “I have to go after him.”
So maybe he was a bounty hunter? A bounty hunter with a heart?
Whatever he was, Emily gulped and hid behind her book as he crossed around the booths and passed right by her. She peeked over the cover,
