Part 2 by @sevendust04 - Finish The Story Contest - Week #48!

This is contest from the Bananafish Realm where @theironfelix wrote the beginning and each contestant writes their own ending. This is a fun and challenging contest and I urge you all to follow this LINK to the original post for all the information to join in!

The Extraordinary Café

by @theironfelix

The warm smell of fresh brownies drifted across the cafe, ducking under the tables, squeezing through chairs, urged on by the fans; it flew. A gooey batch, chocolate chips still soft, had appeared on the counter. So loudly rang the placing of the tray, that Matt’s eyes glanced over, his mouth already watering, and so the enticing aroma managed to make him half consider ordering two.

Over Matt’s head, a clock's hand ticked a steady background beat, drawing his attention. For all wandering eyes, it was ten to two; she was twenty minutes late. A huff of impatience escaped his cracked lips, his mind drifting back to the crowded room.

An elderly man sat slouched at the table across from him, his broadsheet newspaper out of place in a room full of faces glazed by the light of phone screens. Matt‘s hand instinctively touched his own in his pocket. If he got it out, his eyes would be glued hard to it, in case the light flashed. His mind knew it would vibrate, but the flash came first. It was an addiction he couldn’t fight. Not to the phone. To her.
His mind buzzed and beeped, unable to fight the itch of wonder "...where was she?”

The old man‘s mouth let go of a cough, accompanying the symphony of crinkling as he flipped a page. Matt’s eyes darted up, accidentally catching his gaze, the man smiled at him eagerly folding the paper away.

Matt’s mind shuddered, cursing itself as the man rose, heading towards him. As soon as the stranger came within ear shot, Matt called out trying to put him off.

“Sorry mate, i’m waiting for someone.”

The grin over the worn face widened. “Someone who still ain’t here yet, ‘ow about a bit of company, to help with the waiting? Whatcha say?”

Put on the spot, Matt’s thoughts already ablaze, he found himself nodding before reason could interject. The flame in his mind was inundated with worries and the urge to call her now - to see where oh where she was. Matt didn’t have the patience for small talk, but it was too late; the elderly man was lowering himself into the chair opposite.

The chair eeking with the slow applying pressure of aching joints, a wry smile found itself on the old man’s lips. In the opposite side of tension: a forced smile began forming on Matt’s dry lips, his hand quivering but extending for an introduction.

Finish to the story, by @sevendust04

The old man coughed into his hand, then wiped it on his threadbare pant leg before grasping Matt’s hand and giving him a surprising strong handshake. “Name’s Reginald, but me friends call me Reg. Pleased ta meetcha.”

Matt pulled his hand out of the grip. “I’m Matt, so nice of you to join me, Reg.” While thinking of some way to be rid of the old coot so he could get on with finding out what has happened to her.

Reg leaned forward and folded his arms on the table top. He fixed Matt with an inquisitive stare and cocked one bushy eyebrow. “So tell ol’ Reg who’s so important that’s got ya fidgetin’ like a dog with fleas and glaring at yon poor clock.”

Matt was affronted by the old man’s nosiness and blew out a long breath before answering. “I’m waiting on my Lizzie; she was supposed to be here at 9:30. It’s not like her to be late and now I’m getting worried that something has happened to her.”

Reg leaned even closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mayhap she ain’t comin’ a’tall, mayhap she’s found out about you stalkin’ her house in the middle of the night. Most gals don’t take lightly to bein’ spied on.”

Matt’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “What the devil did you just say?” And his mind raced to make sense of how this coot could know anything about him, least of all the fact that he had taken to watching Lizzie’s house every night.

Reg studied him across the table with a knowing smirk on his wrinkled face. He said nothing else, settling back in his chair and letting Matt stew in his own juices.

Matt’s agitation was obvious as his eyes darted nervously around the room as if seeking escape from the idea that Lizze knew! Or did she? Just who was this old man? Matt started to push back his chair and rise, ready to get away from here. I’ll just call Lizzie, see what she knows.

Reg spoke up then, seeing that Matt was about to flee. “Sit back down, boy! We still have a few more things to talk about.”

It then dawned on Matt that the quavering cockney accent was gone from the old man’s voice, and suddenly, he didn’t look so old either.

Reg pulled out a cell phone that had been vibrating in his pocket. He answered it and spoke a few terse words in response to the caller, then disconnected with a “Very good!” He replaced the phone and came out with a leather case, which he opened and sat on the table in front of Matt.

"I am Inspector Reginald Boskins. My team just finished searching your apartment. We found sufficient evidence to charge you with the murder of Constance Miller last month and we know that Lizzie is your intended next victim.”