Chapter 4
CILLA
Bono is in my ear this morning, being more than persistent that I contact the MC about the clubhouse being bombed.
“For goodness’ sake, Bono, be quiet,” I can’t help but say that out loud.
I try to do it in my mind because they can hear me, but sheesh it’s just natural to speak.
It has gotten me into trouble, and some very odd looks, but you know, I don’t care.
*Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall*
Oh, the shit is singing to me. “No, Bono, don’t do it,” I near enough beg.
*Ninety-six bottles of beer on the wall*
I grab my phone where I’d left it on the counter and I type out a message because it’s only 5:15 in the morning, and any sensible person would still be asleep in bed.
Cilla: I’m sorry it’s early, but can you arrange an appointment for me to speak to your person in charge?
“Are you happy now, Bono?” I snap because this is mentally abusive in my opinion. “Stop with the bottles.”
*Eighty-five bottles of beer on the wall*
I slam up my mental barrier so fast and solidly that I have to grab hold of the kitchen counter, because of the dizzy rush that sweeps over me. I give myself a mental pat on the back as I can’t hear him and his freaking bottles of beer anymore.
After placing my mug from my first coffee of the day into the sink, I grab my jacket and keys. Checking everything is as it should be I rush out, lock the door and head to work for my first day.
I walk into Shelby’s Place, which is the name of the diner, and I have to think not very imaginative. I’m greeted with the sound of soft talking and the smell of cooking.
“Morning!” I shout from the front of the counter because I’m not going to risk getting into trouble on my first day. I’ll wait to be told when I can go back to the staff area.
“Morning, Cilla. Follow me,” Shelby says as she walks out of the kitchen and behind the serving counter.
“This way to the staff area. From now on, just come through and get ready. I put a t-shirt and an apron out for you. If you just wear black pants or jeans it will work. I’ll give you another t-shirt so you have swap options in case of spillage on you. ”
“Thank you, Shelby,” I politely reply, and I can see a shimmer of a person at the back of the staff area, but I don’t look, and thankfully with my barrier up, I can’t hear either.
“Come through as soon as you are changed and I’ll get you organized.” Shelby doesn’t wait for a reply. She’s out of the room and I’m standing with a t-shirt and apron in my hands.
I quickly change, leave my things in the locker provided, then meet Shelby behind the counter. The next twenty minutes I’m taught how to use the register, use the coffee machine and other things which I have to be honest, start to fly over my head.
Shelby serves alongside me, and I ask questions as and when I need to. She is very patient as she helps me get comfortable with the job. I take breakfast plates to customers, give them warm smiles, and I’m happy to see some of these are people I know.
I’m ignoring the shimmering figures that are standing behind a customer. Oh, I’m not getting involved with all that. My barrier has weakened some with the volume of people wanting to speak to me and in the background I can hear Bono.
*Fifteen bottles of beer on the wall*
Oh yes, I’m ignoring him. I’ve contacted Finger and at the moment there is nothing more I can do. When I’ve finished my shift and leave here, it will be two-ish, and if necessary I’ll ride over to the clubhouse and demand again to speak to the person in charge.
I’m feeling a little frazzled, and as it’s midmorning, I’m well ready to have a break. My legs are aching something terrible, and the pit of my spine feels like I’ve had a kick from a horse.
Shelby pats my shoulder, while grinning at me I might add. “Take a seat by the window, and I’ll get you a drink and something to nibble on.” I don’t miss the fact that she is laughing at me. But to be honest I don’t blame her because I look like I’ve been pulled through a hedge and back again.
A plate with a BLT, fries and pickle spears, plus a mug of coffee appear in front of me. Not one of the diner mugs either. It’s a huge thing, and I’m feeling like I need the caffeine if I’m going to get through to the end of my shift without fainting.
Shelby takes a seat across from me with the same plate.
“You’ve done well, Cilla. Do you need any pain meds?
I’m not messing with you, but for the first few days it knocks your system moving all the time.
I’ve had help from cheerleaders and honestly, they’ve been on their knees by the end of the shift. ”
I feel a little better knowing that because I thought I was fit with all the stuff I had to do at the funeral home. But this is manic if I’m being honest. “I’ll be okay thanks, Shelby. If I need any later, I’ll ask.”
“Don’t be a martyr, Cilla. If you are in pain, have the meds. It will only get worse. It’s your muscles saying, shit give me a break!” Shelby laughs at her own description.
“I’ll have some if it gets worse. I think it is just muscle shock as you said.” We are quiet as we eat, and my stomach growls after the first bite. I give a wide-eyed look to Shelby who laughs when she sees my apologetic grin.
Once we’ve had our break Shelby heads into her office, and I’m working the counter.
The server who is taking over my shift gives me a wave as she passes me going to the staff area, and introduces herself as Jayne once she returns.
I’m pleased she’s here on time because the lunchtime customers are piling inside.
Before I realize, the time has zipped past and Jayne gives me a nod towards the staff area, “Cilla, you are done. Off you go, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay, thanks, Jayne.” I quickly go to the staff area, grab my things and the second t-shirt Shelby has left before heading out.
I open the door to the house and sigh with relief. Home! I quickly strip off my clothes, throw them in the washing machine and head upstairs where I shower and dress ready for whatever the day throws at me next.
Downstairs I check my phone, which I’ve not had time to even look at until now, and see a message back from Finger. I wonder why they call him that? I shoot the palm of my hand into the air as a stop, because the last thing I want is Bono pushing forward again.
Finger: Here at 4:00?
Cilla: OK.
No point in saying more because I’ll be there and sure freaking Bono will too. A voice slams into my mind breaking through my mental barrier.
*Park now. My niece is about to be run over*
I know better than to ignore urgent demands such as this one, and if it’s the park, we are talking about a child. I rush out to my truck, and drive at reckless speed I might add, to get to the park in time.
Once I’ve parked the truck, I run into the park and see two women talking while a little boy and girl are playing.
The boy is chasing the girl, and my vision narrows.
Chasing toward the road, a truck coming towards them…
I don’t stop and think, I run as fast as my aching body allows and just as the truck reaches the proximity of the child I grab her with a shout of pain from the muscles in my lower back.
The weight of the moving child and the speed I was moving clash but I hold that child as if she were my own.
The mothers cry out and rush over to me.
I slowly hand over the little girl and accept the thanks from the mother.
Now, I can’t tell her that her sister sent me, or I’d have another person saying I’m batshit crazy.
I pass it off as lucky that I noticed what was about to happen.
The mothers rush away with the children, and I trudge back to my truck.
While I’m sitting in the truck, I drop my mental barrier, because if I’m honest, I’m too tired to maintain it for a while. I need to recuperate some of my energy.
*You did well, Cilla*
I hear Bono clearly and nod my thanks. “Yeah,” is all I manage to respond. Checking the time, I decide to go directly to the clubhouse and see if I’m too early to speak to the man in charge. I admit, I’m ready to go home, have something to eat, and go to bed. My mental health needs a time out!
“Be quiet, Bono, please,” I mumble as I’m driving. I can hear the asshole humming about beer bottles and a wall.
At the gate of the clubhouse, a young man is standing, looking as tough as he can. I don’t grin although I can see a cloudy figure standing behind him. I don’t want to scare him to death at his young age by telling him he’s being followed.
“Hello,” I give it my sweetest tone. “I’m here to see the man in charge. I have an appointment, and if you need it verified you can speak to Finger.”
*Nine thousand two hundred bottles of beer…*
Oh, my…I shoot up my barrier and think I’m going to have serious words with Bono when I get home.
The young man, after speaking on his cell phone waves me through, and I head to the main entrance of the building where Finger has just stepped out and is obviously waiting for me.
He points to a spot, and I quickly park and jump out of the truck.
Which, when only short at 5’4” isn’t always easy, and more so when your back and legs are in muscle pain.
“You are early, Cilla,” Finger says as I stop in front of him.
Sighing a little as Bono is now talking a mile a minute. “Yes, I thought I best get here and then I can go home and get to bed.”
“Oh, let’s get this done then.” Finger holds the door open and leads me through a room with a bar and to an office which states on a bold plaque, ‘President–Tracker.’
Finger knocks and on the command come in, he opens the door and leads me inside.
“Take a seat, Cilla.” Finger points to an easy chair, and I gladly throw myself down and stretch my legs out in front of me.
The chuckles had me opening one eye and seeing the amused looks on Finger and Tracker’s faces.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’ve been up since just gone four, done a shift at the diner, saved a child at the park and listened to your friend Bono sing about bottles of beer until I’m going to research how to mentally shove one up his ass.
” Bono instantly stops singing, and I smirk at him much to Finger's amusement I might add.
“What has brought you here today, Cilla?” Tracker asks as he walks his massive ass over to an easy chair across from where I’m sitting.
“Bono needed me to give you a heads-up that this ZeBach man is going to come here and blow up your clubhouse. Well, he’s going to try unless you can stop him,” I relay the message that Bono had given. “He said he’s coming, but he’s stopping at places on the way, so not sure how long.”
Tracker nods at me, rubs his chin then asks, “How many men does he have with him?”
I turn my head and look at Bono who is daydreaming of all things. “Bono, wake your ass up. The man asked a question. How many men does this terrible man have with him?” I snarl because I know he’s more than likely worn out his own energy supply with that damn singing.
I listen to Bono and then repeat to Tracker and Finger. “Bono said between ten and fifteen. He has been collecting men as he has been traveling here. But the aim is to blow up this building.”
“Can you tell us anything else, Cilla?” Finger asks, showing concern at what I’ve been telling them.
I look at Bono again, and the shit is fast asleep standing up.
“Bono, wake up.” But he doesn’t wake. He disappears, which means his energy has gone.
“Sorry, but the shit has been an asshole all day singing about beer bottles on a wall and he’s worn himself out.
His energy has zapped out, and he’s left. He’ll be back when he’s able.”
“Can you tell us anything else?” Tracker asks, and a shadow appears behind him.
Not now! Please, not now is what I’m thinking, but you know it. The shadow becomes a man. A tall man. I lean to the right and look past Tracker.
Tracker squints at me. Finger smirks as he asks, “Is there someone else there now, Cilla?”
“A very tall man. Actually, he looks a lot like you, Tracker,” I say as I lean a little more to get a good look.
I listen to what he’s saying and give him a nod as he disappears.
“He said to tell you, Eugene Burrows, knuckle down!” Now I’m not sure what it means, and Tracker looks at Finger then back to me, but he has some shock on his face.
“Who is Eugene?” I ask, carefully I might add.
Tracker does that man thing where they tug on their beard before answering my question. “Eugene Burrows is, or should I say was my great-great-grandfather. Throughout the generations of men in my family, they have always said to knuckle down when trouble’s coming. God-awful trouble, that is.”
“Oh. You believe me now?” I can’t help but ask.
“Yeah, I believe you, Cilla. Finger, give Cilla my digits, and she can contact either of us whenever she needs to. We owe you now, and we are more than happy to do anything we can for you in return.” Tracker stands and holds out his massive hand for a shake.
I stand and pump his hand as firmly as I can, and I see the amusement in the crinkles that appear at the sides of his eyes.
I’m just going to let go when I hear. *Seven thousand bottles of beer on the wall* Goddamn he is back!