“Give it…to me. I n-need it.”

She threw the back door open and tossed the plate in, quickly stepped aside as the fat man crawled in after it, pushing himself forward with his knees. He slurped and moaned and Lola slammed the door. It hit something solid and came swinging back out, but Lola slammed it again, this time pressing her body against it until it clicked.

She collapsed to the pavement and watched the cruiser rock like it was filled with teenagers at a drive-in.

The ambulance zoomed into the parking lot and the EMTs ran by. One of them stopped. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. There’s a woman inside with deep wounds on her leg. She’s lost a considerable amount of blood. A man with a wounded hand too.” The EMTs face swam in her vision and the parking lot behind him started spinning.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“They really need you inside.” She nearly told him about the others inside, the diners, stuffing themselves to the point of combustion.

The squeaking noise caught her attention and she looked back toward the car. The fat man had his face pressed against the other side of the window, running his tongue over the glass, smearing it with saliva and masticated meat bits.

Lola averted her gaze, took deep breaths, and fought off Daddy’s voice as it crept back into her head.

AFTERMATH

As the paramedic wrapped Mr. Chan’s hand, the Chinaman hollered and spat venomous words at the remaining customers. The kitchen had stopped producing food to fill the buffet with while the police were there.

Juan saw the Latina officer outside, leaning against the wall and talking to herself. The fat man had smeared blood on the inside of the car window as he stared out at her.

The portly officer with the hairy forearms questioned Juan and Mr. Chan. Juan knew the employees had disappeared because of the police presence. Hell, he wanted to hide too. The last thing he needed was to be deported back home before he had a chance to make any money. He could already hear his mother-in-law, screaming about how he was worthless, how her daughter deserved better. But the policeman seemed distant, scribbling mindlessly on his pad of paper as Mr. Chan babbled. The officer couldn’t keep his eyes on the Chinaman or Juan; they kept peeling away to search the restaurant, his stomach grumbling, his mouth wet with saliva.

He had that look. The same look as the leg-biting fat man, the numbed-by-hunger woman…the rest of the people in the restaurant. The same look as Manuel.

Mr. Chan bounced and hollered for everyone to leave. Looking like Alzheimer’s patients coming to consciousness while wandering the streets, the customers shuffled out. They’d eaten every bit of food that was on the buffet, every noodle, every loose pea. Licked up every drop of sauce. Some of them wandered from table to table, searching for any stray piece of food, but found nothing.

“Out. Get out. We closed,” Mr. Chan said.