It must have been a little after two in the morning.

  A chilly dampness was settling in over the city—a blanket of thin fog common on the northern California coast.

  I shivered as I dragged my sorry ass down the street, my face throbbing and my pride in tatters.

  The neon sign of a 24-hour diner beckoned like a lighthouse in a storm.

  A hot meal and a mug of coffee might not fix the ache in my jaw… but it couldn't hurt, either.

  I stumbled inside. The bell above the door jingling mockingly.

  The place was dead quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerators and the buzz of fluorescent lights. A bored-looking waitress leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone. Her battered nametag read: MATTIE.

  The rest of the diner was completely empty.

  Hoppin' place.

  I slid onto a stool at the counter, wincing as my bruised ribs protested. The waitress glanced up, her eyes widening slightly at my battered appearance.

  "Rough night?"

  "You could say that." I managed a weak smile. "Coffee, black as my mood. And whatever passes for food around here."

  She poured me a cup of what looked like liquid tar.

  "Chef's special is meatloaf. Though I use the term 'special' loosely."

  "Sold. I'll take my chances."

  "Potatoes fried or mashed?"

  "Mash 'em. Extra gravy."

  "You got it, hon."

  "Thanks, Mattie."

  As she shuffled off to place my order, I caught a glimpse of myself in the polished surface of the napkin dispenser and winced.

  I looked like hammered shit. My left eye was swelling shut, and dried blood caked the corner of my mouth.

  I let out a long sigh, replaying the night's events in my head.

  Some detective I am. Couldn't even handle a bunch of punk kids.

  I sipped the coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.

  It was hot, though, and that was something.

  The waitress returned, sliding a plate in front of me. The meatloaf looked like it had already been eaten once, but I was too hungry to care.

  "You want to talk about it?" she gestured at my poor, swollen face.

  "Just a occupational hazard. Nothing to write home about."

  She shrugged and moved away, leaving me to my misery and mystery meat.

  Somewhere, far off the coast, thunder rumbled. The rain had just started to patter against the windows when the bell jingled again.

  I glanced at the doorway. A frumpy shape loomed there, dripping rainwater all over the linoleum floor.

  I didn't mean to stare, but it was an odd looking thing. Whoever it was was all wrapped up in a clearly oversized trucker's jacket with the collar popped against the cold. Whatever face lurked within was hidden under down-turned brim of a dirty novelty baseball cap reading: HAWT SCHLITZ BREWING CO.

  The figure paused in the doorway, scanning the almost empty dining room.

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  I felt it's eyes pass over me and quickly averted my gaze. I stared down into my lumpy meatloaf and tried to look uninviting.

  But it was too late.

  It had caught me looking at it.

  Leaving a trail of smeared mud in it's wake, the thing shambled across the floor—straight toward me.

  I didn't look at it. I made a point of not looking at it, in fact. But that didn't seem to matter. I could feel it, looming up over my shoulder. I could hear its breath coming in shallow gasps like a dying fish.

  I stared into my plate, praying the thing would pass me by and shuffle off to its own business.

  But I don't have that kind of luck.

  With a wet cough and gurgle, the thing spoke:

  "Mind if I sit?"

  Shit.

  ***

  The voice got my attention.

  It was not the gruff, phlegmy trucker's voice I expected, but something light, even cheerful, and distinctively feminine.

  I allowed myself to look at the soggy thing again and, this time, I could see through some of the shadows hiding it's features.

  Well, her features.

  It was a girl, of course, buried somewhere in all that baggy clothing. I could see her deep green eyes peeking out from over the collar buttoned under her round little nose and tufts of unruly red hair poked out from under the edges of her dirty cap.

  I blinked at her, unsure of what to say.

  She made an annoyed sort of grunt and cleared her throat.

  "Do you mind if I sit?" She spoke slowly and over-emphasized the words, talking to me like I might be an idiot which… fair enough.

  "It's a free country."

  Why did you say that, you idiot?

  I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. I was tired, hungry, and grumpy. My face hurt. The last thing I wanted was company in my misery.

  But the rain-soaked girl took the words for the invitation they absolutely weren't.

  She took of her hat and a mess of fiery red hair sprouted off of her head in messy bobs. She took off her over-sized jacket and gave it a little shake, splashing drops across my plate. Then—of all the dozens of perfectly good and empty seats in the diner—settled into the one next to me.

  She looked a lot smaller without the jacket on. Slender, even petite, in form and dressed in a wrinkled flannel shirt frayed at the sleeves.

  She hunched over the counter and planted the heels of her mud-covered work boots on the footrest.

  I sighed and tried to ignore her.

  "Soooo, partner," she said in a faux drawl that must have sounded forced even to her, "What's good here?"

  "I dunno."

  I hoped a cold tone would dissuade her from any further attempts at conversation.

  It did not.

  "What're you eating? That looks… chunky."

  She actually licked her lips a little. Like a kid in a candy store. Which she might have been for all I knew.

  She didn't look particularly young, late teens to early twenties, if I had to guess, but she practically vibrated with a youthful energy that crackled through every expression and mannerism and the effect made her seem perpetually younger.

  Under other circumstances I would have called it endearing. Even cute. But mostly it just kind of annoyed me in my current state.

  "What? You never seen meatloaf before?"

  "That's meatloaf?"

  "Supposedly."

  "Hmmm."

  She stared at my plate just a bit too intently.

  "…."

  And a bit too long.

  "…."

  It started to creep me out.

  "Can I try some?" she asked suddenly.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Can I try some supposedly meatloaf?"

  "I don't think- Hey!"

  Before I could blink she snatched an errant bit of lumpy meat right off my plate. In a flash it had vanished into her mouth and down her gullet with a satisfied little gulp.

  What on Earth is wrong with this lady?

  "What on Earth is wrong with you, Lady!?"

  "I just wanted to try it!"

  "Then you can order your own- Hey!"

  She did it again, the brazen thing.

  "What's going on here?" asked Mattie as she stepped out of the kitchen.

  "You've got a damn hungry customer here, Mattie," I said.

  Mattie looked the redhaired girl up and down. She planted her hands on her fist and looked unimpressed.

  "What'll you have, hon?"

  "Hmmmm."

  The redhead rested her her chin in her palm and made a rather dramatic show of thinking.

  "I think I'll start with some supposedly meatloaf and then… one of everything else."

  "Uh-huh. And are you able to pay for all food that, missy?"

  "My name's not Missy. It's- it's-"

  Her eyes bounced around the room.

  "It's Hawt. Hawty Schlitz."

  She grinned, clearly very pleased with her clever deception.

  Mattie glanced at me. More bored and annoyed than surprised.

  Just another wayward teen tripping on party drugs.

  "You got any money, Miss Schlitz?"

  "Money? Oh! Right. Money."

  She stuffed her hand in her jeans pocket.

  "Money is how you pay for things!" she declared, still very pleased with herself.

  She flipped a few wrinkled bills onto the counter and started digging through the pockets of her jacket.

  "What'll that get me?"

  Mattie scanned the bills, mentally tallied up the total.

  "A side of toast," she said flatly.

  Then the redhead raised a triumphant fist and dumped a fistful of loose coins that couldn't have weighed less than six pounds onto the counter in a shower of ringing metal.

  Mattie blinked so heavily I could hear the sigh.

  "And an egg," she added.

  "Excellent. Prepare me your finest side of toast and your most succulent egg at once!"

  Mattie scraped the whole pile of cash off the counter inter her apron pocket and, with a click of her teeth, toddled off toward the kitchen.

  As soon as she'd disappeared, the redhead loomed back at me, beaming.

  "Can I try more of that-"

  I slid my plate across the counter to her.

  "Just take it, Lady."