“That’s all she wrote, folks!” I call to the dozen or so customers still waiting, who let out a collective groan. “I know, I know. Life is so unfair sometimes. But I’ll make a deal with you. If the sun rises in the morning, Killer Chef will reopen. Sound good?”

The crowd starts to disperse, and Marlene and I begin to clean up. We’re nearly finished when I hear a knock-knock-knock against the closed service window.

“Sorry,” I say, loudly, without looking over. “Truck’s closed for the night.”

But the tapping continues.

“I admire your determination, I really do, but—”

It’s quiet.

Then there’s insistent knocking on the rear door.

“We’re closed!” Marlene yells.

The knocking doesn’t give up.

Marlene reaches up, takes down her phone, her thumb over the keypad to dial 911 if need be.

I guess I could stay here until the knocking goes away, but suppose it doesn’t? And what if it’s not a couple of drunk bachelorettes looking to score some angel wings pastries before stumbling off to bed?

I go to the door, picking up one of my large, sharp Korin Gyutou knives along the way. At home I have a backup piece, a 9mm Smith & Wesson M&P, and that pistol should be here where it could do some good, not home, gathering dust.

I grab the handle, give it a turn, and shove the door open.

CHAPTER 15

And nearly hit Vanessa McKeon straight in her gorgeous, flawless face.

She laughs and skips back, and says, “Boy, when you say you’re closed, you really mean it!”

I feel foolish holding the knife and hide it behind my tired butt, but in truth, after all the work tonight and the disappointment of not seeing friends in line and the unsettling view of the three gangbangers making a threat, it’s a sweet treat seeing Vanessa standing there before me. From the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp, her blond hair and light-pink floral-print dress look almost radiant.

I’m not as tired anymore.

I turn and Marlene makes a teasing kiss-kiss face, and then she shoves her phone back in her pocket, starts wiping down the near counter again.

“Of all the po’boy joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk up to mine,” I say with a grin, stepping back for a second to put the Korin Gyutou down, then stepping out of the truck. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was hoping for some culinary pleasure,” she replies, smiling. “I had to work through our staff meal at the restaurant earlier tonight, and I didn’t feel like sticking around and eating leftovers. So I thought I’d swing by Killer Chef for one of your legendary sandwiches. But I see you’re closed. Maybe another time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “That time is now.”

“Are you sure? Really?”