The Bartender's Guide To The Galaxy

20 - Changes of Attitude

My heart raced like a seagull diving for a bag of chips. Like so many other moments in my life, my dad had the worst timing, if it really was my dad. I had been ready to tell Jeffrey thanks for the waffles but he can go screw himself when everything changed.

"How do you know it's him?" I asked.

"He fits the description given by our source. Tall, receding blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, overgrown mustache, often seen wearing a blue and white windbreaker."

My gut protested. I didn't want to believe it was true, especially the part about the long hair and overgrown mustache. Dad never let his hair get long. Maybe he'd let it grow out to disguise his face. "Can you see his eyes? Are they blue, like mine?"

"He's wearing sunglasses. Looks like he called in an order. He's standing at the register while the waitress bags it up."

"Can I look yet?"

"No. He's glancing around." Jeffrey chuckled lightly. "He's looking at me. I'm trying to make it seem like we're having a pleasant conversation."

I wasn't in the mood to laugh, so I didn't join him. My head felt like it might explode. Would my dad recognize the back of my head? I'd gotten my hair cut a couple of months ago. I hadn't worn it this short since high school. "How am I going to identify him if I can't look at him?"

"It's fine. We have someone in the parking lot who's got eyes on him. They'll follow him discretely and let us know where he ends up. Hopefully we can confront him without any witnesses."

"The detective is here?"

"Of course. Okay, June. He's putting cream in his coffee. You can look now."

The blood pumped loudly in my ears as my nerves ramped up. I rallied my courage and turned toward the register. The guy in the windbreaker hunched over the counter stirring his coffee. He looked at ease, yet aware of his surroundings. It was the stance of someone who never completely let their guard down. It was Dad.

"Fuck." I whispered my curse as I faced Jeffrey again.

"I take it we found your dad?"

"Yes. But I don't want to talk to him. I'm too freaked out."

"That's okay. You've identified him. That's all we need." He slid his phone under the table. "I'm texting our contact now. We can enjoy the rest of our breakfast and wait to hear back when the deed is done. Piece of cake."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't just identify your dad who you thought was imprisoned or dead."

His overly tanned forehead creased. "I'm sorry. That was a dumb thing to say. I just wanted to reassure you that you don't have to worry anymore. And you know he's not either of those things, so that's good, right?"

"Yeah." I looked down at my half-eaten plate of waffles, wondering what the hell I was doing here. "I shouldn't have come. I'm putting my dad in danger. He seems comfortable here, and I'm fucking that up."

"How do you know he's comfortable here? You only looked at him for a second."

"I know my dad, okay?" I glanced out the diner window, looking for the detective. Were they sitting in a car?

"What do you want to do, June? I can tell our contact to stand down."

I turned to stare at him. "I thought this was something you wanted? You and the Franklin's could make a lot of money if my dad signs away his rights to the bar."

"It's not my bar, nor my decision. This is your life. Your family." He pursed his lips. "I figure you've made up your mind about me. You think I'm an asshole who only cares about making a buck. That's most people's opinion because people tend to use stereotypes to help them navigate unfamiliar terrain. But I don't make deals with clients who are not happy with the terms. If they're questioning a contract or feeling apprehensive, I'm not going to push them just to make a sale."