Chapter 8

The renovations were finally over and ‘The Jammed’ opened its doors. Of course, everyone in town knew about ‘Red’s restaurant’ or about ‘John Harding’s son’s place’.

Clients came the first time out of curiosity, but they came back because of Tony’s cooking. His dishes were addictive; once you tasted them you had to come back for more. His singing became as popular as his food. We never had to invest a dollar in advertising. Word of mouth worked just fine. The Middletown Gazette dedicated a glowing article to us.

Mary took care of the dining room, leaving me to handle the bar and a couple of the tables nearby when necessary. Tony hired someone to help him in the kitchen.

For the most part, the lunch crowd was steady. We had a lot of regulars, who didn’t always venture far from their normal eating habits, much to Tony’s dismay. Even so, we had the most wonderful, faithful customers in the world.

Dad was one of the regulars. “I’m really enjoying having a well-cooked meal for once in my life.” He used to say. That was the only side reference I heard him say about my mother after the divorce.

We had open mic and karaoke every Friday night. People sang, performed stand up, or played an instrument. The event started at 9:00 PM. and went until midnight.

Saturday nights we had live local bands and dance. Most of them were good, some of them sucked. A very few were surprisingly good.

A couple of months later, we had to hire another waitress to help Mary service the crowd without having to wait a long time. Tony got some more help in the kitchen too.

Once we broke even, I remodeled the upstairs bedrooms, left the farm and settled in the restaurant.

One night after closing, Tony approached me. “Red, I wanted to ask you something. I want you to be honest with me.” He said in a serious tone of voice.

“Okay. I’m listening.” I looked at him with a confused expression on my face. It wasn’t like him not to get straight to the point.

“You know so far I’ve been living in the bed and breakfast...”

“I know. Go on.”

“Well ... I wanted to ask you if you would mind if I live here in one of the free bedrooms.”

“Sure, why would I mind? Half of the place is yours. I thought you preferred your privacy.”

“Well, it’s not a secret in town that I’m gay.”

“So?”

“Well, two guys, one of them gay, living under the same roof ... People might talk. I don’t want to ruin your reputation.” Tony said but only half-jokingly.

“This is Middletown, the idlers will always gossip no matter what you do.”

He opened his mouth to keep talking, but I was faster.

“Tony, I hear what you’re saying. It’s really nice of you to care about my reputation, but I don’t care about what people might eventually say. I never did. You know I’m straight. The fact we have different flavors is not a problem at all for me.”

Tony had always been very discreet about his personal life, and he had kept his nose out of mine too.

He was visibly moved by my words. “Thank you, Red. I already considered you a great business partner, but now I’m proud to call you my friend.”

“Don’t get too emotional with me, because I’m not going to hug y...”

My sentence was interrupted by a distant high-pitched scream.

At first, I didn’t think anything of it. This was a small town. Nothing serious ever happened here, especially not after midnight. Then I heard it again.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Tony.

“Hear what?”

“Can’t you hear the screaming?”

Tony opened his mouth to insist that I explained, but paused.

Then we both heard clearly panicked shrieks coming from outside.

“I was concentrating so hard on what we were talking about that I must have blocked it out. I’m hearing it now,” Tony said.

They were desperate, bloodcurdling screams that couldn’t be ignored; nor could the cruel male laughter that nearly drowned it out.

“Call 911. I’ll go out to see if I can place where the screams are coming from.” I told Tony.

Once I was outside, I heard another cry, more desperate than the first.

A shiver of unease crept up my spine as I became aware that some girl was being assaulted or worse. I moved fast. Tony came behind me with his phone in his hand. As we approached, we heard something like a struggle going on in a nearby alley. That left no doubt.

“Get off me, you sick drunken bastard! I’m your daughter!” a girl was yelling.

Then it came, the cold-hearted bellow of an angry man, “Shut the fuck up, you’re nothing but a slut!”