What happened to you?

Entering the diner, the smell of crisp coffee and overly sweet maple syrup filled the elderly man’s nostrils. Pulling his beanie off his bald head and unzipping his winter coat and placing the two on the coat hanger, he rolled his shoulders, bones clicking, scanning the room.

It was a small diner, white marble top on the counter where guests sat on beige bar stools or a choice of black and beige booth with black marble tables. The place was clean, quiet and seemingly civilised and neatly busy. The cliental was business folk, suits and long black trench coats, reading on tablets and typing hurriedly on laptops. Yes, this was a diner made for those who wished to be in a good old-fashioned diner without actually going to a buzzy old-fashioned diner.

Realising he was the odd one out, the senior made his way down the far end and sat himself down in an empty booth.

A perky waitress with breaming blonde hair and a professionally whitened smile approached the table.

“Hi there Sir, what can I get on the way for you?”

“Just uh… just a coffee thank you,” he mumbled, voice gruff.

“What kind and what roast Sir?” The man paused and whilst scratching his greyed stubble and looked up at her.

“… Sorry?”

“What kind and what roast would you like Sir?” He sighed deeply; the type of sigh grandfathers give when they realise they aren’t young anymore.

“Coffee.”

“Americano, espresso, flat white, latte, Cappuccino, cortado, macchiato, mocha – we can do everything on ice – speaking of cold, we have a fresh batch of cold brew made.”

Shifting in his seat, trying not to become irritated at the direction of youth’s advancements, the elderly man scrambled his brain for a good answer.

“Black and uh hot.”

“Fantastic that sounds like an Americano to me. And for roast we have –”

“I,” he interrupted, with a soft smile, “will take your recommendation.”

“Well then, course Sir,” she replied, clearly surprised, but also flattered. Someone was used to being instructed on orders.

The waitress strode away, not before pointing out the small menu at the window end of the table. Skimming it briefly, the elder gentleman stopped when the title of each dish was longer than it needed be.

Not long did he have to wait before a black coffee was placed in front of him; he turned down food for the moment, informing the waitress he was waiting for one more.

Even after letting the coffee cool, the first sip was still too hot, but the flavour to the cup in front of him was a bliss worth a blister.

Watching the busy folk of the city come and go with their electronics and complicated coffee orders, he wondered if he’d have been the same if life long ago had been different for him. He noticed a silver haired gentleman leave from a corner stool, wrapping a Prada scarf his neck and leaving a ten dollor tip to the man behind the counter. Picking up his brief case and a ten-inch tablet he strolled out, shoving a younger lad on his exit – an accident with no apology.

Eventually, the door to the modernised diner opened and in walked the guest he had been patiently waiting on. The woman in her early thirties entered, long, velvet trench coat contrasting her bright blonde hair, a tidy pair of tiny blue heels on her feet, a colour deep enough to blend well against her black tights.

She spotted him instantly, the crimson lipstick not budging an inch to indicate an emotion. Strolling herself over and sliding into the booth; she didn’t remove her coat.

“Hi Harold – my name is Lucy.”

“Harold?”

“That’s what they told me your name was.”

“Huh.” He took a sip of his coffee. He mused it was probably the best coffee of his life.

“Is that not your name?”

“No,” he placed the cup down. “But it’ll do. Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“Hi!” The perky waitress beamed over. “What can I get for you?”

“Another coffee please. Same as before,” Harold asked with a small smile at her.

“Oh fantastic! That was a medium/dark from California. I’m glad you liked it,” she beamed, happy with her recommendation working out. “And for yourself Miss?”

“Almond milk latte, light roast – anywhere, but California on the beans,” Lucy instructed, not moving a muscle on her body to acknowledge the woman. Sensing the icy exterior, the waitress’s glow dispelled as she wondered off to get them their beverages.

Harold shifted in his seat, not taking kindly to rude people; he’d put up with her for now however.

Pulling out a CD from her pocket, she slid it across to him and paused for a reaction. Harold did nothing but blink at her.

“This is what was agreed. The witness statements, the case file, coordinates – nothing less, nothing more.”

The waitress returned, coffees in hand. Lucy ruined the inverted-tulip latte art with two sugars, and only continued talking once the waitress had left.

“My boss said that this – that you – was the best way to finding a beginning to the murders and therefore finding an end.” Harold blew on his coffee. “Nine bodies in under a year span; seven woman, one man and one boy. Nothing to tie them, but the scarring left on them. All different methods of death. Everything is on the CD.” Harold picked up the menu and thought if the coffee was this good, maybe he should give the oat milk waffles with vegan bacon and syrup a try. “Are you going to say anything?”

“You realise I do not own a computer.”

“Excuse?” The look of surprise that came from bulged eyes was probably the only emotion she’d shown all year.

“I’m kidding. I don’t own a laptop, but I have this hunk of junk from the 90s at home. You know what a desktop is?”

“Yes, my family had one when I was a child,” she scoffed, going for a sip of her latte. “That doesn’t have a CD port does it?”

“No, but my granddaughter bought me a portable external one. Has a USC end to plug it into the computer.”

“USB you mean. USC is a clothing company.”

“Huh,” Harold murmured into his coffee. Slapping the CD, he slid it off the table and into his pocket. The pair didn’t speak. He had nothing further to say and he waited for her to have the last word. The urge to say one more thing twinkled in her eyes.

Outside it began to rain; an unexpected moment of drizzle that would surely go as quickly as it arrived, nonetheless ruining a few people’s day. Harold personally liked the rain, but then again, he never had anything on his person that would be damaged by the water. He briefly wondered how all those around him with their phones and tablets and laptops would feel right now if they had left the diner two minuets earlier, getting caught out.

“What happened to you?”

The elderly gentlemen continued to look out the window.

“What’ll happen to you too eventually… Or considering how cold you are, what is happening to you too.” He looked back at her, clearly striking a nerve. “World’s a bit shit, isn’t it?” She looked down. “It’s okay kid; there are better days and better people out there. I promise.”

“How will I reach you to see if you have anything,” she deflected. Harold sighed.

“I’ll call your boss. It’ll be easier.”

“I must be on my way now. It was nice meeting you Harold.”

“Was it?”

“Really, what happened to you? You used to actually be something; your reputation was impeccable.”

“What happened to me? What happened to you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I disagree. I think you know exactly what I mean; that’s why you’re asking me, because you can’t bring to ask yourself.”

Lucy was done with the conversation, leaving the booth and already on her way out before Harold had even finished his conversation. Guess she didn’t have it in her to stick out for the last word.

Once she was gone, the blonde waitress emerged, hesitant if she should comment on what she’d briefly heard go down. Harold smiled as if nothing had happened.

“Tell me dear. Are these oat waffles and vegan bacon taste as good as they sound?”

“Oh absolutely! I’ll get one right on the way for you now... May I ask if you’re okay? That woman seemed a bit…”

“Bitchy?”

“Tense,” she laughed. “I’m Darla by the way.”

The elderly gentleman gave a soft smile. “I’m Harold. I think I might become a regular here.”