Waiting for Liza - A Flash Fiction Drama

source edited in LunaPic

Matt swirled the coffee in his cup and glanced for the umpteenth time at the bold watch on his wrist. After his late night out, finally crawling into bed with the dawn, the last thing he’d wanted to do was pry himself out of bed to meet Liza so early. And why did she want to meet at this out of the way bistro instead of the Starbucks only blocks from his apartment? She was so insistent and mysterious though, he had no choice but to agree.

The enticing smell of warm fresh cinnamon rolls drifted across the cafe urged on by the fans circulating overhead. A gooey batch, the icing hardening as it cooled and dripped over the edges, had appeared on the counter. Matt glanced over and the mouth-watering aroma managed to make him momentarily forget his irritation of waiting for Liza.

Another glance at the oversized watch and his irritation was renewed. It was now quarter till eleven; she was already forty-five minutes late. A huff of impatience escaped his compressed lips and he looked around the room searching for the waitress. One of those hot cinnamon rolls with a coffee warm-up might help divert the growing anger in the pit of his stomach.

He noticed an elderly man seated slouched at a nearby table, his newspaper out of place in a room full of faces glued to their smartphones. Matt‘s hand instinctively touched his own in his pocket and he pulled it out to check to see if he’d missed a text message explaining this delay. His mind, bleary from lack of sleep, buzzed and whirled around the thought "...where was she?"

The old man let out a series of phlegmy coughs, accompanied by the crinkling of the newspaper as he flipped a page. Matt’s eyes darted up at the intrusive noise and accidentally caught the geezer’s gaze. The man smiled at him eagerly and folded the paper away.

Matt shuddered, mentally cursing himself for the unintended contact, as the man rose, and headed towards him. The stranger paused with hands on the back of the empty chair across the table and Matt spoke up quickly, “Sorry, man, I’m waiting for someone.”

A friendly smile appeared on the worn face and the man replied as he pulled out the chair, “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 nodded reluctantly. The flame in his mind was inundated with worries (along with a quickly escalating anger) and the urge to call Liza NOW and he didn’t have the patience for small talk. But it was too late; the elderly man was lowering himself into the seat.

A forced smile formed on Matt’s stiff face and he extended his hand for a reluctant introduction. The old man coughed into his hand, then wiped it on his threadbare pant leg before grasping Matt’s hand and giving him a surprisingly 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.” Half of his brain frantically searched for some way to be rid of the old nuisance and the other half remained fixated on Liza and her failure to appear.

Reg leaned forward and folded his arms on the tabletop. 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 yur watch every five minutes.”

Matt was affronted by the old man’s nosiness and blew out a long breath before answering. “I’m waiting on my Liza; she was supposed to be here almost an hour ago. It’s not like her to be late and I’m 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 ya stalkin’ 'er 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 hell did you just say?” And his mind raced to make sense of how this stranger could know anything about him, least of all the fact that he had been watching Liza’s house for the past few nights.

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 Liza knew! Or did she? Just who was this old man? Matt pushed back his chair and rose, ready to get away from there. I’ll just call Liza and find out what she knows.

Reg spoke up then, seeing that Matt was about to flee. “Sit back down, boy!” he thundered. “We're not done yet.”

It then dawned on Matt that the quavering cockney accent was gone from the old man’s voice, and suddenly, he looked neither old nor frail.

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. Liza, who we know is your next intended victim, will not be joining us. My team just finished our search of your apartment. We found sufficient evidence to charge you with the murder of Constance Miller last month.”

Two more plainclothed detectives stepped up to the table and took Matt by the arms to apply the handcuffs. Inspector Boskins watched the color drain completely from Matt’s face as he intoned, “You have the right to remain silent…..”