Espresso Rossa

Hesper stood from her seat at the café table and waited to see if the large black pickup truck would slow. Horns blared as it blew through a stoplight two intersections away headed in this direction. A rush of adrenaline sharpened her senses. Noon light, reflected from windshields and bumpers, stabbed at her eyes. She heard gasps and cries of alarm from other café patrons who stood, ready to run – with one exception.

Parking was restricted in the front central area beyond the roped off patio. The truck was headed for exactly that spot. In the targeted area of the patio, at a small, round, single table, sat a man dressed in black jeans, a white polo and a black jacket. He was sipping espresso. A laptop was open on the table in front of him. He slowly put his cup back on its saucer and watched the approaching truck, his eyes narrowed to slits. 

To Hesper he looked less frightened than angry. Hateful, she thought.

She looked at the approaching truck and backed to the outside edge of the patio, reaching into her pocket for her phone. The driver of the truck was a woman with wild blonde hair blowing in the wind of the truck’s open windows. She was wearing large dark sunglasses and the left side of her face was covered in cuts and bruises. 

The driver’s attention was focused on the man with the black jacket who pushed his chair away from the table, but remained seated and staring.

Hesper stepped back again and felt the rope separating the patio from the sidewalk press against her leg. She raised her phone and took a burst of pictures of the vehicle and its driver. 

The truck thudded over two low concrete barricades. The sound of squealing brakes shredded the air as it skidded over the no parking area. When the truck finally stopped, a black cloud of smoke and the stink of burned rubber followed. The front bumper struck the small round table. It skidded on metal feet across the cement and smacked into the café windows crating a massive spider web of cracks. The laptop smashed on the cement patio and the white ceramic espresso cup and saucer flew. They hit the metal window frame and shattered to jagged pieces that sprayed in every direction.

Patrons screamed and jumped the patio ropes onto the sidewalk. Several of them turned back to watch, their phones out and up. 

From inside the café, muffled shouts and frenzied motion that Hesper could barely see through the highly reflective windows and glass door. 

The driver of the truck screamed and pounded the steering wheel. She threw open the driver’s side door and half tumbled out, landing on bare feet. Hesper watched as the woman rifled in her small white leather purse, while cursing loudly. She kept the open door of the truck between her and the man who finally stood, a mask of red rage on his face.

Hesper’s eyes were drawn to the thick silver rings he wore on each of four fingers of his right hand. The carved flat tops caught the sunlight as he squeezed that hand into a fist.

“Alyssa, you stupid bitch, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

The woman, Alyssa, found what she was looking for, and pulled a diminutive black handgun from her purse. It could have been a child’s toy, but something about the way the woman held it, and leveled it at the man as she slammed the door of the truck, told Hesper this was no toy. 

“Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”

“Jesus Alyssa. Look at you. What are you gonna do? Shoot me? You wanna go to fucking jail?”

Then, she shot him in the leg. He screamed in pain and hit the ground hard on his ass. 

“Better in jail than in that fucking house one more minute with you.”

Two café waiters in uniforms – black pants, black shirts, black aprons – approached from behind Hesper. As they passed her, one of them whispered, “Call 911.”

She watched as they gave the front of the patio a wide berth and moved quickly to the back of the black truck. They slowly approached the woman from behind.

She pulled the trigger again. He screamed and clutched at his chest. The white polo turned dark red from under his hand. His lips moved, but Hesper only heard a series of low gurgles. Blood spattered between his lips and down his chin, and then he fell over.

The waiters tackled the woman to the ground. The gun skittered across the cement and came to rest at Hesper’s feet with a few spinning white pieces of coffee cup.

The bloody man’s chest heaved once, twice, and then he lay still. A red puddle spread out beneath him. His rings glinted needles of light.

Finally turning away, hands shaking, she made the call.