Rushed(104)

The waitress came over, not recognizing me even though I'd been in the diner multiple times before. I was glad my disguise was decent enough, at least. "What can I getcha, hon?"

"Coffee and a slice of pecan pie," I said, pitching my voice higher and screechier than normal. Until Pietro came in, I didn't want anyone recognizing me. "That's three bucks, right?"

"With tax, it's about three fifty," the waitress said, waiting until I peeled out the crumpled and dirtied four singles from my pocket. It was that sort of diner, pay as you go unless you were a Bertoli man. "I'll get you your change with your pie."

"Thanks," I said, watching as Luisa sipped at what looked like an herbal tea. I reached inside my jacket and tapped the little device inside, activating the Bluetooth earpiece that I had in my ear underneath my disheveled hair. "Whatcha drinking?"

"Chamomile . . . and Everclear," Luisa mumbled softly before laughing, cutting her eyes over to me as she took another drink. "Okay, minus the Everclear."

"Good. We've got about three minutes before Jake gets here. You ready?"

She took another sip of her tea and nodded, seemingly to herself, if anyone was watching. "I'll be okay."

The waitress brought my coffee and pie, along with my change, which I left sitting as a tip. I tried the pie, enjoying the rich flavor, and reminded myself to order a slice again when I came here as myself next time. The reality was that the diner was mostly a greasy spoon-type joint, and I was glad to have at least one thing on the menu that wasn't going to give me indigestion.

The bell above the door jingled, and Jake came in. He was wearing not the more typical off-the-rack suit that I assumed he wore for work at the pizza offices, but instead, his tailored suit, the one that he probably wore when he was being a Bertoli man. A little slick, custom fit, and certainly one that said whoever wore it was in charge of himself. He barely glanced in my direction as I huddled over my coffee and pie, but instead, his attention was all on Luisa, who half stood up and waved. Then again, with her cleavage exposed and the smile on her face while she half bent over, I could understand.

"Jake, it's good to see you," Luisa purred, practically oozing sensuality as he sat down across from her. "Thank you for making the time to see me. I know you actually have a real job to do, and don’t sit around on your ass all day."

I heard Jake chuckle, and I had to admit, it was a good opening line. It went straight to the point, letting Jake think that not all was cool between Luisa and me, and it complimented him all at the same time. "Well, you can't blame the guy too much. Kinda hard to do pickups when you're on crutches. But he's okay overall. A bit soft, in my opinion, but he'll come along all right. So what did you want to ask me about?"

They launched into a discussion, pausing only when the waitress came over and got their orders. "So what weapons did you learn about?" Luisa asked after they'd already talked a bit about basic training. "My brother loves the pictures he's seen of the . . . what is it again? The machine guns, I forget the names."

"Well, I trained on the M60 when I was at Benning, but later on, I fired the M240," Jake said, "but I never was in the heavy weapons squad. I did get to be the SAW gunner for my squad—that's a machine gun that we have at the squad level. That baby rocked."

"Hmmm, which one was the one that is used in movies most? Matteus first saw it in one of the old Rambo movies, I'm not sure which you're talking about."

"Oh, that's the sixty," Jake said with a grin. "We called it the Hog, and yeah, it’s pretty cool to fire. Only time I ever got to do any time on it in Korea, though, was when I was on point defense along the DMZ. That's pretty freaky, really."

"Why's that?" Luisa asked, acting fascinated.

"Well, you're up on this reinforced guard tower, looking out over about a mile or so of totally untouched terrain. Seriously, since nineteen fifty-four, almost nobody's been in there at all except in very defined areas. Anyway, you're staring out at this mile of pretty much pristine land, knowing that a mile or two away someone is staring back at you, ready to blow your damn head off. Hell, he wouldn't even need to, because you know the North Koreans have had the coordinates for your outpost in their artillery since before you were born. They could probably hit that thing in their sleep, and you wouldn't even see it coming. Still, you’ve gotta be up there, doing your bit for God and country."

"That has to lead to a lot of stress," Luisa said, turning the conversation. "I've heard a lot of the soldiers find Korean girls who are willing to have fun with the soldiers and let them release some stress."

"Ah, the camp girls and Princesses," Jake chuckled. "Yeah, they're around."

"What's the difference?" Luisa asked, purring. "Looks?"

"No," he admitted, his eyes caught between looking at her lips as she sensuously ate every bit of her steak, or her cleavage that was still on display. "The camp girls are amateurs, just finding a boyfriend. Some of them were actually looking for a real boyfriend too, usually to get a green card to get out of Korea. Hell if I knew what they did when they got back here. They were actually more of a risk than the Princesses, since those girls were pros. They got health checks from the Korean government and everything. I don't know how that all worked out, but basically, if you needed your pipes cleaned, it was better to go to a Princess than a camp girl. Why?"