They Both Die at the End (Death-Cast #1)(28)

We reach Cannon Café. There’s a triangular sign above the door with an illustrated logo of a cannon blasting a cheeseburger toward the café’s name, with French fries exploding wayward like fireworks. Rufus chains his bike to a parking meter and I follow him inside the fairly empty café, immediately smelling scrambled eggs and French toast.

A tired-eyed host greets us, telling us we can sit wherever. Rufus passes me and goes all the way to the back, settling into a two-person booth beside the bathroom. The navy-blue leather seats are cracked in various places, and it reminds me of the couch I had as a kid where I would absentmindedly peel the fabric off until there was so much exposed cushion foam that Dad threw the couch out for our current one.

“This is my spot,” Rufus says. “I come here once or twice a week. I get to say stuff like ‘I’ll have the usual.’”

“Why here? Is this your neighborhood?” I realize I have no idea where my Last Friend actually lives, or where he’s from.

“Only for the past four months,” Rufus says. “I ended up in foster care.”

Not only do I not know much about Rufus, I haven’t done anything for him. He’s been all about the mission of shadowing me on my journey—getting me out of my home, going to and getting me out of the hospital, and soon coming with me to Lidia’s. This Last Friendship has been very one-sided so far.

Rufus slides the menu my way. “There’s a Decker discount on the back. Everything is free, if you can actually believe that.”

This is a first. In all the CountDowners feeds I’ve read, the Deckers go to five-star restaurants expecting to be treated like kings with courtesy meals, but are only ever offered discounts. I like that Rufus returned here.

A waitress comes out from the back and greets us. Her blond hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and the button clipped to her yellow tie reads “Rae.” “Good morning,” she greets us, in a southern accent. She grabs the pen out from behind her ear, and I glimpse a curly tattoo above her elbow—I’ll never grow into someone unafraid of needles. She twirls the pen between her fingers. “Late night for you two?”

“You could say that,” Rufus answers.

“Feels more like a really early morning,” I counter.

If Rae is actually interested in my distinction, she doesn’t show it. “What can I get you two?”

Rufus looks at the menu.

“Don’t you have a usual?” I ask him.

“Changing it up today. Last chance and all that.” He puts the menu down and looks up at Rae. “What do you suggest?”

“What, did you get the alert or something?” Her laughter is short-lived. She turns to me and I lower my head until she crouches beside us. “No way.” She drops her pen and notepad onto the table. “Are you boys okay? Sick? You’re not pranking me for a free meal, are you?”

Rufus shakes his head. “Nah, not kidding. I come here a lot and wanted to roll through one last time.”

“Are you seriously thinking about food right now?”

Rufus leans over and reads her pin. “Rae. What should I try?”

Rae hides behind her hand, shakes her shoulders, and mutters, “I don’t know. Don’t you just want the Everything Special? It has fries, sliders, eggs, sirloin, pasta . . . I mean, it has everything you could want that we have in the kitchen.”

“No way I’m gonna eat all that. What’s your favorite meal here?” Rufus asks. “Please don’t say fish.”

“I like the grilled chicken salad, but that’s because I eat like a bird.”

“I’ll have that,” Rufus decides. He looks at me. “What do you want, Mateo?”

I don’t even bother looking at the menu. “I’ll have whatever your usual is.” Like him, I’m hoping it’s not fish.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“As long as it’s not chicken tenders it’ll be something new for me.”

Rufus nods. He points to a couple items on the menu and Rae tells us she’ll return shortly, then rushes away so quickly she leaves behind her pen and notepad. We overhear Rae telling the chef to make our order priority number one because “there are Deckers at the table.” Not sure who our competition is—the guy in the back already drinking his coffee while he reads his newspaper? But I do appreciate Rae’s heart, and I wonder if Andrea at Death-Cast was once like her before the job killed her compassion.

“Can I ask you something?” I say to Rufus.

“Don’t waste your breath on questions like that. Just come out and say whatever you want,” he says.

He’s coming on a little strong, but good call.

“Why did you tell Rae we’re dying? Doesn’t that screw with her day?”

“I guess. But dying is screwing with my day and there isn’t anything I can do about it,” Rufus says.

“I’m not telling Lidia I’m dying,” I say.

“That makes no sense. Don’t be a monster. You have a chance to say goodbye, you should do it.”

“I don’t want to ruin Lidia’s day. She’s a single mom and she’s already had a rough time since her boyfriend died.” Maybe I’m not actually so selfless—maybe not telling her is really selfish, but I can’t bring myself to do it, because how do you tell your best friend you won’t be around tomorrow? How do you convince her to let you leave so you have a chance of living before you die?