A little experiment, maybe a little slower than usual but I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy it!

Rest Stop

"I'll die here, I already know." Claire watched for the umpteenth time outside the window of the rest stop where she worked. A road lost through New Mexico, with little traffic. And she was stuck there, at 19 years of live, with no place to go beyond that. In the kitchen, she could see from the window Arnold sleeping in his chair. 60 years old, bald, about three times heavier than her. He had worked there for thirty years, he was the cook of that place. Claire looked at him with terror, not because he was a bad person, in fact he was a man as good as bread, but because she could see herself sitting there in forty years, fat and spoiled. She tried not to think about it but on such days it was difficult. Auburn hair tied in a ponytail, big dreamy brown eyes and some freckles, Claire dreamed of seeing the world, of wearing elegant clothes, of having great adventures, like everyone at that age. All she had instead was a 10-hour shift and a uniform consisting of black trousers, a green baseball hat and a red uniform with the restaurant’s logo printed on it, a stylized white hamburger with two smiling eyes. The only view she could enjoy, if she was lucky, was an occasional truck with an original advertisement on its side

Of the eight tables, only two had customers. It was probably rush hour. The usual two old ladies sat in the table closest to the bathrooms. They had been there since the morning and ordered green tea for each person. They came there just for the air conditioning and stayed all day, watching the few customers coming and going. When they came out they didn't even leave a tip. Claire had long been resisting the temptation to dress their tea with something more than a bag of sugar but she was too good a girl to do such a thing.

At the other table there was a father with his ten-year-old daughter, they had almost finished eating. Both seemed happy, it was a scene that would once have warmed Claire's heart. Except that this identical scene happened exactly every two weeks, the man did not have the faith on his finger and went every day at the same time with the man who tried to hide from his daughter the pain he felt in having to separate from her. At least from him with a few smiles she was able to get decent tips.

It was a past three when three people entered the door. They were two men and a woman,
Claire had never seen them in there. The youngest of the two men will have been about twenty-five, blond, short hair, a light beard. Contemptuous smile and attentive look, he wore baggy jeans, a black shirt and a gray hoodie.

The other man was older, probably almost fifty years old, taller but thinner than his friend, wearing a black pork pie hat that covered a completely bald head. His face was worn, as he had lost weight lately. With black glasses and a goatee, Claire remembered one of those carnival costumes with fake glasses and nose. Black velvet trousers and a dark blue shirt completed the character.

The woman was very beautiful, twenty-five, maximum thirty years, dressed in an elegant white blouse and a yellow overcoat, a skirt came just below the knee, the shoes were white with a not too high heel. Yellow handbag, light and delicate skin, under the wide hat, also yellow, concealed jet-black hair smooth shoulders length.

The woman's blue eyes looked around entering the room and met Claire's eyes. Her red lips seemed about to whisper something when the younger man put a hand on her shoulder and gently led her to the corner table of the room. The elderly man gave her a gallant nod inviting her to sit down first and then sit down immediately after her, on her right. Instead, the young man chose the place to the left of the woman.

Claire couldn't hear what they were saying but she gave them time to consult the menus fervently waiting to break the monotony of that day. The radio played an old and melancholy country song. As always, after all, she had never been able to get the best of the radio, Arnold was claiming his seniority.

The two men took a quick look at the menus and close them almost immediately, the woman continued to watch it carefully, undecided. Claire pawed with a pen and notebook already in her hand. The old man was drumming his fingers and watching the woman. After a few minutes the young man touched her shoulder telling her something, she closed the menu and looked at Claire.

The girl ran off, with the impulse of a midfielder. With her best girlish smile she turned to the three.

"Good morning, what am I bringing you?"

"For me, bacon and eggs" the man said without taking his eyes off the woman in yellow.

"For me a cheeseburger and a coke, thank you," the boy said, smiling at the waitress.

"Water for me," the man added.

Claire wrote everything, waiting for the woman's ordination. She waited a few seconds then looked up from the notebook and noticed that the woman was looking at her.

"What do you take instead?"

Looking down, the woman said flatly "Just a long coffee, thank you"

"Perfect, get it right away."

Along the way to the counter, Claire thought back to the woman's gaze, she was worried, certainly not at ease. After waking up Arnold and calling orders, she returned to the bar to make coffee. The three were talking, apparently in a calm manner, perhaps she had imagined everything. She brought the coffee first.

"Here it is"

"Thanks"

The woman took the cup without looking away from Claire. She was right, something was wrong. She walked away from the table again, feeling three pairs of eyes on her. She went back into the kitchen.

"Arnold, something's happening out there"

"What do you mean?"

"There are two men and a woman, she keeps looking at me, as if she wanted to ask me for help"

"Did they order anything?"

"Fuck, Arnold, are you listening to me?"

"Claire, I heard you very well. Do your own business, it's the best way to get by here. Besides, if you have to worry every time a woman isn't comfortable with a man …"

"Fuck Arnold" the girl turned, crossing her arms.

"Come on, you're exaggerated. Maybe she has a crush on you, who knows. Brings these up there or they get cold"

Grumbling, Claire left the kitchen and brought the food to the three customers. The waitress could not help noticing that the woman was drinking from the cup with her hands trembling slightly. The old man still didn't look at her as the boy at least thanked Claire for bringing him the dishes.

She went back to the counter trying not to see what was happening. It was none of her business, Arnold was right. They kept talking but she couldn't hear what they were saying. The woman was probably just nervous, there was nothing to worry about. Yet there was something inside her that wanted to run to the aid of that unknown woman.

The minutes passed without major events, the two men finished their meal while the woman occasionally brought the cup to her lips, drinking small sips. None of the three had ever stood up, not even to go to the bathroom. Claire could well see how the woman was practically a prisoner in the corner.

"Calm down Claire, breathe. Nothing strange is happening, it's all autosuggestion"

A familiar noise sounded in the girl's ears, a cup that spilled over. The woman at the corner table had overturned her coffee, Claire joined them with a roll of paper.

"Leave it here, we'll take care of it. Our friend is a little careless," the man said.

"No problem, it happens" she began to clean, bending over the table. She could feel the tension around her but she was determined not to flinch, the longer she stayed there, the longer the woman would be safe. She carefully cleaned the whole table looking around, then when she could no longer linger she took the empty cup with her and left.

Shit, she was almost pissed in, there in the middle. She couldn't believe she had the courage. When she returned to the kitchen she was as pale as a sheet.

"Fuck Arnold, they have guns!"

He frowned "One more reason to stay away. Places like this are the favorite hangout of serial killers, better not provoke them."

"Shit Arnold, they have guns drawn in here!"

"Then lower that little voice"

Claire jumped. She continued to speak in a low but agitated tone.

"They have guns, I went there to clean and I saw one, the boy tried to hide it but I saw it! I fear they can hurt that woman!"

"Do you know her?"

Claire gave a start.

"Arnold, you really are …"

"Listen, Claire. Do you have a gun? No. Do I have a gun? No. Who has a gun in this place? Those two. The police are at least twenty minutes from here. How do you think it would end if we intervene?" "

With his forefinger he touched Claire's chest to the left, then to the right, then he hit his forehead.

"Dead. Flowers and tears. And that woman would die all the same. I also remember a father with his daughter in the room, why not take them out too? Of those two old women, I don't care of them anyway, tell them, maybe it's time good that we get rid of them. "

Claire looked at him with wide eyes. She turned and, without saying a word, returned to the restaurant room.

"Don't fuck up, girl!"

She placed herself behind the cash desk leaning against the counter and breathing deeply. Had Arnold really decided to let that poor woman die? She couldn't believe it. He was such a kind man. She looked toward the table, the woman was talking to the old man when she turned terrified to the young man, looking down. Claire thought she was looking at the gun but she couldn't be sure from there. The man continued to carry on the conversation, the boy said only a few words from time to time.

The scene was interrupted by the couple father daughter who arrived at the cashier to pay. Claire, distracted, took the money, then whispered to the man "Help me, please" and nodded to the corner table. He turned for a moment, then looked back at Claire and nodded his head, pointing to his daughter beside him who was playing with a toy car. Head down he turned and, at a brisk pace, left the room carrying the child with him.

She certainly could not blame him. But now she was alone, with no one to help her. She kept following the scene out of the corner of her eye, sometimes she noticed that the woman was glancing in her direction but didn't have the courage to reciprocate. She kept her eyes fixed on the menu, reading it in a low voice, trying not to see what was happening.

Suddenly a muffled noise echoed in the room, along with a groan from the woman dressed in yellow. Arnold had probably not even heard it from the kitchen and the old ladies hadn't even made a start but the young Claire's ears could not have heard that shot, even if covered by a silencer. She buried her face in the menu so as not to see her terrified expression, she was trembling all over, her throat was dry. She had to sit on a stool to keep from falling.

A few seconds later, another shot. Arnold was right, she had no way to intervene and probably not even the courage to do so. The only thing she could do was watch the scene and maybe bring some justice to that woman. From where she was, she could see her confused and frightened expression. The woman, with her mouth half open, looked first to the right and then to the left while holding a hand on her stomach. The music partly covered her moans but they still came painfully to Claire's ears. The woman tried to escape trying awkwardly to climb over the older man but he held her back without difficulty. Claire managed to catch a glimpse of the pistol pressed against her stomach, she still heard that horrible noise three times. The woman fell back on the couch, panting.

It was increasingly difficult to pretend not to hear, Claire had tears in her eyes but could not intervene. She didn't want to die for nothing. Two more shots, she almost seemed to feel the pain of the woman. She could imagine her stomach torn to pieces by bullets, the blood trickling down her legs. For a moment she fainted, clinging to the cash desk to avoid falling off the stool. She felt like vomiting but resisted. She did not witness the last act but she heard the woman's feeble pleas, a shot and a sudden silence.

She bit her forefinger to keep from screaming, she realized only then that a yellowish pool had formed under the stool, her pants were wet. Had she pissed in fear? She saw the woman with her head resting on the table, the two men looked around with apparent calm. The two old women hadn't noticed anything. The older one looked in her direction. With one last puff they got up carrying their dirty dishes with them and put them on the counter. Claire opened her eyes to see them approaching, the terror was evident on her face, she was unable to hide it. She got up from her stool but like a deer in the middle of the road she was unable to escape.

The old man put his hand in his pocket, Claire stopped breathing. He took out two 100-dollar bills and placed them on the counter.

"For lunch. And your … discretion "

Without another word, the two men left the place. Claire saw them get in the car and ride away. The girl collapsed again, completely emptied, on the stool. She began to cry without brakes without even knowing the exact reason, if for fear, if for the joy of being still alive or if for the fact that she had remained to watch without intervening. She remained on the stool crying for at least ten minutes while the table on the corner was covering in blood.

Finally she decided she had to do something, at least pretend to notice the corpse in the room. And apologize to her. She stood up and trembling as she reached the woman's body. She was with her head on the table, bent toward her, her gaze lost in space, a cheek resting on her own blood. She noticed that she had a faith on her finger.

"Sorry," she murmured through her tears, before she closed the woman's eyes. She didn't want to die, she knew she had made the only sensible thing but the guilt gripped her. Suddenly something caught her eye. The woman's bag was open, inside there was a thick roll of paper. She put her hand inside and gently pulled the object out, her eyes widening. It was a roll of bills, $ 100 each, tens and tens. He had never seen so much money all together. They were her ticket to get out of there, to stop seeing such a scene. She put the money in her pocket and left the table.

In the distance she heard the sirens of the police, the father who had left had probably decided to send aid. Claire hid the notes in a safe place before welcoming the cops. Shetold them what she remembered, two men and a woman. She talked about how she reported her suspicions to Arnold and how she hadn't heard the shots. With the faces of the two killers etched in memory she said she did not remember their faces well, gave a vague and slightly distorted description of the two fugitives. "The cameras haven't worked for months!" She didn't say about the money they gave her, nor about the roll of bills. She said that only after they left she realized that the woman was dead.

The place remained closed all day. Policemen and forensics experts swarming like ants, some journalists. Claire passed through all this with skill, after all she was just the witness of a murder. She decided she would calm the waters for a couple of months before she quit, then she would decide where to start her new life.

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Surprise! Claire survived! I can't promise that we won't meet her again with her new life. Which probably won't turn out all roses but for now she has come out alive, it's a goal in the end. For now I don't have plans for her. If the scene reminded you of Breaking Bad I reached my goal.