Steal You Away

Chapter Nine

Clapping as much dust off his jeans as possible, Chase entered Mandy's Diner and headed for his favorite booth in the back corner where he had a view of the whole restaurant and could enjoy the sight of the street from the window. Thankfully, because he arrived before the lunch rush, it was empty and he made a beeline for it. Plopping down in the red vinyl covered booth, he took off his cowboy hat and set it down next to him.

Vickie ambled over with a coffee pot in one hand, mug in the other and a menu tucked under her arm. Her bright pink Mandy's t-shirt, tucked into her overly tight jeans, was stained with what looked like the remains of the breakfast crowd and her normally piled high blond, beehive hairdo was tilted precariously to the left.

"Tough morning?" Chase asked with a grin as she set his mug down and sloshed coffee into it, slapping his menu in front of him. Chase liked Vickie Foster. She had been a waitress at Mandy's since before he was a twinkle in his daddies' eyes. She was a no-nonsense kind of gal who spoke her mind, but had a heart of gold despite life handing her a tough hand to play. Her no good husband had run off years ago, leaving her to raise their son Max by herself and she did a fantastic job of it. Chase and Trent had went to school with her son and became the Three Musketeers, causing mayhem and chaos where ever they went. They finally parted company when Max joined the Marines after high school. His going away party had put an end to their mischief, but he came back to Rapture from time to time and they all got together to rehash old time over a six pack...or two.

"You aren't whistling Dixie, honey," she said, rolling her tired eyes and snapping her ever present gum. "Two girls called in this morning and Frank is having one of those culinary meltdowns." Vickie looked over her shoulder briefly. "If I were you, I'd avoid the special," she whispered.

Chase winced. "What did he come up with today?"

Frank Bass was a Food Network fanatic and often thought of himself as being a Chopped Champion. He looked nervously over to the front counter where Frank's head and shoulders were silhouetted through the open window behind it. The big, gruff ex-Navy cook was whistling along with the country music playing from the restaurant jukebox and flipping something in the air off his spatula. The guy was aces when it came to typical diner fare of hamburgers and fries, but anything else...you took your digestive track into your own hands. He was well known for his unusual cuisine. There was no telling what concoction he had come up with, but there was an excellent possibility you wouldn't be keeping it down long.

"Duck confit poutine."

"Well...that's a mouth full," Chase chuckled. He had no idea what confit poutine was, but it didn't sound particularly appetizing and he didn't even want to know where Frank would have found a duck this time of year.

"It's disgusting is what it is. French fries shouldn't be smothered in anything other than ketchup." Vickie tugged one of the three pens sticking out of her hair and pulled her order pad out of her egg splattered apron. "What can I get you, sweetie."

"I'll have a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a slice of Frank's strawberry rhubarb pie if there's any available." He took a sip of the coffee which was strong, black and tasted like tar...just like he liked it. "Make sure Frank cooks that burger rare."

"Yeah, yeah...you and your brother. I'll tell Frank to knock the horns off, wipe its nasty ass and smack it on your plate," she muttered, tucking her pen back into her hive. Grabbing the untouched menu and picking up the coffee pot, she turned and headed for a set of new customers who had just sat down.

Chase drank his coffee, letting his eye roam outside the window. The backend of a familiar rundown, white Jeep with a broken taillight sat parked in the ally next to Pure Rapture. Mackenzie. A smile creeped across his lips at the thought of her.