What is the Asian man carrying?

What is the Asian man carrying?

By

Phoenix Hocking

Hallelujah Jones sat at her favorite table in her favorite restaurant.  It was a bright, summer day, cool now, but promised to be very hot later. 

She sipped her iced coffee, which Marie had brought her, even though Hallie would rather have had a Diet Coke.  Sometimes it didn’t do to be so predictable.  Even so, she wouldn’t have dreamt of sending it back.  Wasteful, that would have been, so she was content with her iced coffee, liberally laced with French Vanilla creamer and a touch more sugar.

A first and only child, hence the name her ecstatic parents had given her, Hallie was used to doing things alone.  She had never been a party girl.  She learned early on to amuse herself.  Her parents both worked, so she was often by herself.  Luckily, she thrived on research, and enjoyed hours spent in the library, pouring over some obscure book or other.

Hallie ate at the Worker Bee restaurant two or three times a week, sometimes more.  She had lived alone since her husband had passed away some twelve years ago.  She liked it.  She liked being able to eat breakfast for dinner, or belching without apology, or farting in bed. 

But sometimes she missed the company of others.  Not that she wanted to marry again.  Heaven’s no!  She wouldn’t give up her independent freedom for anything.  But Hallie loved conversing with people, and she enjoyed her status as a “regular.”

She sat at a two-top, facing the front door.  Overhead, the fan wheezed and whirred, stirring the hot air into some semblance of coolness.  On a small easel sat her Amazon Fire tablet, open to yet another mystery.  Idly, she wondered what the police would find if they ever had occasion to visit her apartment upon discovering her strangled or stabbed body in a dark alley.  But, of course, since Hallie didn’t generally frequent dark alleys, the prospect of such a thing happening was slim.

Across the street, an Asian man exited the health food store across the street.  He placed a bag on the bench just outside the entrance and sat beside it.  The man placed his hands, palms together, in an attitude of prayer.  After a few moments, he opened the bag, pulled out a sandwich, and began to eat.

A red SUV came and parked in front of the store, obscuring Hallie’s view.  She turned her attention to the two rather large gentlemen who sat at the four-top next to her.

Marie had just delivered two enormous hamburgers to them, complete with French Fries and chocolate shakes.  The burgers were piled high with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, avocado, and cheese.  Sauce oozed out from the buns.  The men tucked into their burgers with relish, uttering small groans of pleasure.

Marie brought Hallie her own Impossible Burger, a plant-based patty with its own toppings, minus the cheese.  She closed her eyes for an instant and said her own tiny prayer, “Thank You, God, that nothing had to die in order for me to eat.”

She enjoyed her own burger, dipping her fries into the vegan dressing she had brought some time ago and was kept in the fridge just for her.  Sometimes, she missed meat.  Missed chicken.  Missed fish.  But when she thought of the suffering of animals on the factory farms, she found she could no longer eat the flesh of tortured and terrified animals without being nauseated.  Her one concession to animal products was eating eggs from the restaurant owner’s own chickens. 

Two women entered the restaurant and looked around for a place to sit. 

“I think they have an outside patio,” one said.

“We should probably ask,” replied the other.

Hallelujah smiled and said, “No, it’s okay.  Just go on back.”

They looked surprised but said a pleasant “thank you,” and headed out the back door.

“Thanks, Hallie,” Marie called from behind the counter.  They were used to her stepping in.  Sometimes Hallie even worked as a hostess on weekends when the Worker Bee was going to be especially busy.  Hallie didn’t want a job.  She was retired from well over fifty years in the working world and had no desire to put her nose to the grindstone ever again.  But she liked helping out, so on holiday weekends, sometimes she’d fill in, just because she liked feeling useful. 

The red SUV was gone.  The Asian gentleman was now sitting quietly on the bench, hands on his knees.  Meditating?  Maybe.  Though how anyone could meditate with traffic bustling by was beyond Hallie.  She could barely sit for a minute without her mind jumping around random thoughts like Mexican Jumping Beans.  Well, more power to him.

A dark blue pickup truck took the place where the red SUV had been.  A man got out and slammed the door closed.  He was what Hallie’s mother would have called, “a long, tall drink of water.”  Tall, thin to the point of gauntness, cowboy boots, cowboy hat.  Not the type to frequent a health-food store, thought Hallie, but then, you never knew about people.

He didn’t stay long.  Barely five minutes in the store and the cowboy left, clutching a paper bag.  Probably his lunch.  The Asian man remained on the bench. He shook himself gently, as if to blow away mental cobwebs, gathered up the detritus of his lunch, and put the trash in a nearby container.

He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, as if deciding on his next course of action.  He looked both ways, then crossed the street, coming toward the Worker Bee, his hand in his pocket.  His pocket bulged as if he was carrying something he didn’t want to be seen.

His eyes met Hallie’s eyes as he entered the restaurant.  He took in the two large gentlemen across from Hallie, just getting ready to leave.  His eyes searched the counter, the window into the kitchen, and the other patrons in the café.  They came back to Hallie, who was watching him with undisguised interest. 

He wrinkled his brow and seemed uncertain, poised on the brink of decision.  What was he planning?  The bulge in his pocket loomed menacingly.  Was he about to shoot up the place?

I read too many mysteries, thought Hallie.  So…perhaps…maybe….  Yes, this must be he.

Hallelujah Jones smiled.  “I was wondering if you’d come,” she said. 

The Asian man sat across from Hallie, relief written across his face.  “Of course,” he replied. 

“Did you bring it?”

The man reached into his pocket.  “I did,” he said, as he placed it on the table. 

Hallie picked it up, and turned it over two or three times, admiring the clean lines, the smoothness of the stone, the color. 

“Perfect!” she exclaimed.  She reached into her purse and counted out some cash. He gathered the bills, then stood up, bowed slightly, and left the restaurant.

Hallie carefully wrapped the item in a napkin and put it in her purse.  It would go quite nicely on the shelf with her others.  She paid her bill, then walked home, smiling to herself.  She would use the services of the Asian gentleman again, should the opportunity arise.