D C Gomez [Gomez - The Intern Diaries Bundle

Copyright D. C. Gomez (2019)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-7321369-9-1

Published by Gomez Expeditions

Request to publish work from this book should be sent to:

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DEATHS INTERN

By D. C. Gomez

CHAPTER 1

F riday night, and I was living the dream. Yeah, right! I had cleaned the same three tables at least fifty times in the last three hours at Abuelitas. Abuelitas was a smallOK, more like a hole-in-the-wallTex-Mex restaurant in Texarkana, Texas. Of all the places I had ever dreamed of living and had moved to, staying there was beyond me. To make things even more confusing, Texarkana had a twin city, Texarkana, Arkansas. I guess the founders were not very creative with the name selection, but who was I to judge? Compare to most major cities, Texarkana was a tiny dot on the map. For the locals, it was the largest city within sixty miles in any direction. It was by accident that I found it. Located on the northeast tip of Texas, it was in the middle of everything and near nowhere.

I was sure my godmother would love this. I promised myself I would never follow her footsteps of wandering like a nomad. Now here I was, in my fifth town in less than six months. The good news was that I had managed to stay here the longest, a whole three months. I was probably brain dead since I had moved to Texas in the middle of summer. With the temperatures hitting over ninety degrees and with over ninety percent humidity, I was surprised I hadnt melted. My curiosity in learning everything about the King of Ragtime was now extinguished. I was sure I understood why Mr. Joplin left. Why didnt I just read Wikipedia ? According to the calendar, fall was six days away, and the weather was still suffocating.

Isis, are you listening to me? Oops. I had blanked out Abuelitas voice from the kitchen.

Abuelita had named the place after herself. More accurately, she had used her nickname. In her words, the only thing she was after her husband and daughter died was a grandmother. She embraced it and became a grandmother to the world. Her place was open to everyone, and a wide diversity of people patronized the place. Abuelita was probably in her late sixties, and tall, around five eleven, with a solid body. I was a couple of inches shorter, and it was odd to have a woman taller than me in this area. She was still strong and beautiful, with her silver hair. That shiny silver hair was the only indication of her age. She was blessed with the genes that aged in slow motion, like most Latinas.

Im sorry, Abuelita. I was distracted. I sucked at lying, so no need to even try.

With what? We havent had a soul in hours. Not even our regulars came in. Start getting the place ready for tomorrow. No need to waste time. Might as well close early today.

I was speechless. In the three months I had been working there, Abuelita had never closed early. Granted, it was already 9:00 p.m., and we normally closed at 11:00 p.m. So it wasnt that early, but without customers, the cleanup was done. Closing usually took us at least an hour. I was not planning to argue with Abuelita. She was a very eccentric woman. I was sure she and my godmother would have bonded instantly. I really needed to call her. She was the only family I had.

The dining area of Abuelitas had three tables, with four chairs each. Two of the tables were by the large window at the front of the restaurant. The register area doubled as a bar, with six stools on the dinning side. I took a chair by the window with a stack of forks, knifes, and spoons. I was not in any hurry. There were plenty of silverware wrapped in napkins already, since nobody had come in. Abuelitas faced Highway 82, past Walmart and the other Mexican restaurant heading toward Nash. Normally I saw the high school kids driving around. Tonight even the highway was a ghost area. A bit creepy for my taste.

It was probably a blessing it was empty, because Angelito was missing. Angelito was Abuelitas grandson and the other staff member on weekends with me. The only thing angelic about that boy was his name. He went through more girls than most people went through underwear. In his mind he was a ladies man, and unfortunately for the ladies, he was hot. At twenty-one he was over six feet tall and maybe around 180 pounds, with a great complexion and incredible hazel eyes. The one great thing about Angelito was that he lived with his grandmother. He was a spoiled boy, but he adored his grandma. If Abuelita had told him she needed him, he would have changed his plans for her.

I could have passed for his older sister. Angelito and Abuelita were of Mexican descent but looked European. I could have passed for anything, from Italian to even Middle Eastern. My parents died when I was little, and my Gipsy godmother wasnt sure of their nationalities. I could be anything, with my long, thick black hair and mocha complexion that could place me anywhere in the world. For most of my life, I was described as exotic. I guess it was a better way of saying outcast. It didnt help that my parents named me Isis. Isis Black was my full name. In the age of terrorists, I had the worst name on the planet.

At times I wondered what kind of parents I had who would trust their only daughter to a woman like my godmother. Dont get me wrong; my godmother was a beautiful woman with an incredible caring soul. She was also a little rebel with a complete disregard for authority. Maybe my subconscious was rebelling at my upbringing when I joined the military. I was sure my godmother would have been proud if I had joined a band or run away with the circus. I kind of did both by joining the Eighty-Second Airbornes band.

Oh, there it was againthat same weird Mustang. That was the fifth time that it had driven by tonight. Hard to miss a greenish-yellowish car. It almost looked sickish. Why would anyone buy a car like that? Instead of tinted windows, the car had almost a mirrorlike quality. Of course, I could hear its engines roaring from inside.

Around ten oclock, just on cue, Bob showed up. Bob was a veteran. He was also homeless, as far as I knew. He had served in the first Gulf War. We joked that we had served in the same sandpit just decades apart. Bob was in his late forties, with sandy blond hair and deep-green eyes. In his younger days, he had probably been very handsome. Now he rarely smiled, and most of the time, he was paranoid. Bob was also the one person I called a friend. My war stories made sense to him.

I ran behind the bar to the big window between the dining area and the kitchen. Abuelita, Bob is here. May I take my break now?

Of course, Isis. Were still empty. Heres Bobs plate. At least I can count on Bob. Abuelita handed me a large plate of carnitas with rice and beans for Bob. According to Abuelita, Bob was a creature of habit. For the last three years, he had been coming in exactly at ten oclock. Bob ate the same pork meal every Friday night and said very little.

Bob did odd jobs around the restaurant for Abuelita. He once stopped a few kids from robbing Abuelita. Ever since, Bob was the unofficial night guard of the place. He made sure Abuelita locked up in peace. In return Abuelita made sure he had a hot meal each night.