The Incident at Steakhouse Noir

By Wade Armstrong

Sometimes we wake up each morning with full intentions of what the day is supposed to bring. No matter how hard we try, we have little to no control of what the universe has in store for us.
Jesse Lewis, a young and struggling musician, sets out on a road trip from Canada down to the eastern US in hopes of reconnecting with the love of his life, Logan Harris. As Jesse hopes to rekindle a flame from the past, he quickly realizes things are not what they seem, or even were in the first place...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wade Armstrong
• Release date: Apr 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005851811

Wade Armstrong

Used to be a screenwriter and then I wrote this book.Stay at home dad | part time employee | brain tumour survivorist

Book preview

THE INCIDENT AT STEAKHOUSE NOIR

by

Wade Armstrong

Smashwords Edition

Published on Smashwords by:

Major Paradox Productions

The Incident at Steakhouse Noir

Copyright 2022 by Wade Armstrong

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

CONTENTS

1. Or Is It …

2. Ponderosa

3. Drinks, Anyone?

4. Mientius Estabas Fuera

5. They’ll Never Take Me Alive

6. Et C’est Parti

7. Hit The Familiar Head

8. Gremlin Eats After Midnight

9. When You Come Around

10. El fin.

Or Is It …

Burger King fast food containers and wrappers litter the seat and floor of my car. As I wake up and wipe the sleep from my eyes, raindrops pelt against the windshield of my ’71 Chevette. The sky is gray and miserable which I suppose is fitting. The weeks leading up to this moment have been no picnic. Two weeks ago, I was living up in Canada in a place called Edmonton, Alberta. I was doing some work up there for a music magazine where they’d send me to punk rock and rock n’ roll shows, write reviews and get paid money. All for just doing what I love anyway. At the last-minute things sort of… fell apart, so I just left. It took a lot of detective work to find her, but I finally tracked her down in Rhode Island. At least I’m about to find out…

Last I heard Logan was studying at some private college in Maine. The two of us had quite the blow out near the end of our relationship. I wasn’t surprised to hear she ended up at Brown, it’s a great school and she’s a great poet, way better than I could ever be. Not that I want to be a poet or anything like that, but I was a songwriter and musician, so I guess that puts me in the spectrum by default whether I like it or not. Ever since I quit my band I’ve been on some quest, almost like a soul search if we want to get right down to it. There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine life without her, not even for a second, but we parted ways a few years ago… and we haven’t spoken since. I made a vow to myself as a younger man that I would never make contact again, but things have changed. Life has happened, and I just need a friend. I hope she understands why I’m here.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn the key to start the car. After two attempts the old shit clunker fires up, which is a surprise, because yesterday I had to jump start it myself down a hill.

Almost ran over my damn foot trying to jump back in the car. So maybe I won’t do that again, seems too risky. Rhode Island is a beautiful state and I can see what drew Logan to it. Her changing majors from literature to poetry is a little odd, but no need to go into that mess. She’s still young, and most students change majors 2-3 times during their college or university careers, anyway. As my car idles at a stop sign the radio keeps fading out, so I bang furiously on the dashboard several times. The music isn’t turning back on, so I bang on the dashboard even harder. So hard that I put a crack on the top of it. A car horn wails behind me.

Move the fuck on, buddy!

I look behind me and some jackass is hanging out his window, shaking a fist in the air.

It’s a stop sign not a fucking light, you, jerkoff! he yells in a NYC accent. Then he swerves around me like we’re in the Daytona 500.

You fucking asshole! he screams while peeling away, leaving a plume of smoke behind as one final grand gesture of, fuck me. Out of nowhere my radio starts to blast and scares the hell out of me and as luck would have it, the engine quits. Great now I’m stalled out in the middle of some upscale neighborhood, I think to myself, in a moment of crisis. Don’t panic, I keep telling myself to reassure my brain that everything will be fine. All of a sudden smoke starts to barrel out from underneath the hood of my car. This is a new problem, but I may know how to fix it. All I need is a screwdriver to open the hood because the release is busted off. The car is a mess as I rifle through piles of clothing, books, garbage and even my guitar. It takes some time, but I finally find the flathead screwdriver, by now the smoke is really spewing out as I fumble to get the hood released. Then just as I get ready to lift it, a voice behind me mumbles,

Careful now, an old man says, walking up behind me, carrying a jug of water.

An old man gently nudges me aside and carefully opens the hood, moving his head away from the massive cloud of smoke. He fans the last little bit of smoke away with his hat and removes the cap from the radiator. The old man is breathing heavy, looks really hot as he hands me the jug of water in his hand.

Go on and pour that water inside, he tells me.

Slowly now… the old man says. while regaining a proper breathing pattern.

I pour the last drops of water into the radiator and the old man screws the cap back on. I notice him look at my front license plate or lack thereof. He’s puzzled as he inspects my car.

Where’s your front plate?

I’m from, Canada, and you don’t need front plates up there, Joy washes over the man’s face and I can sense a barrage of questioning coming, so I get in the car and it starts on the first try which almost never happens. The old man is now stancing my window and has his right arm practically in the car with me. I appreciate the help, but I have to go… and then I’m saved by the voice of an angel.

RICHARD! an old woman screams.

The old man flinches when he hears it.

Goddamn woman never leaves me alone. Are you married, young fella? he asks me.

Um… no… I’m not, I say.

The old woman is standing on the porch across the street, staring at me and the old man.

That’s good, don’t ever do it, the old man warns me.

RICHARD YOU’RE LATE FOR LUNCH! she screams, arms folded.

The man looks like he wants to die as he knocks on the roof of my car, signalling for me to go.

I watch as he fades out of my rear-view mirror while driving away. He takes his time to get back to the wife waiting on the porch. As I driver further out of sight my mind starts to wander like it often does. Since I was a little guy, I remember always hearing men bitch about their wives. They’d always say the same shit. It would either be complaining about how crazy their woman were or just women in general. They’d complain and blame their wives for their miserable existence. Why would you be in such a miserable situation to begin with? Who wouldn’t want a loving partner and best friend, a person you can share your darkest secrets with, laugh with and be naked with all at the same time? I long for the day where me and my wife are having a miserable day together. Not in some sick fuck kind of way, either. I mean it genuinely because you can’t have a happy, successful relationship if all you do is love each other every day. Something my mother told me once that always stuck with me is that you have to experience the worst in a person to truly appreciate their best. So that’s how I see things. I’m a flawed guy and I own it, but you can’t have Bruce Banner all the time. Sometimes the Hulk is gonna show up and you’re not gonna like me when I’m angry, but if you love me it won’t matter, vice versa. When you’re angry at me and hate my guts it’s okay in that moment, but at some point, you’re gonna have to let it go and love me again.

I’m only 21-years-old but I believe in love, even though it hasn’t been kind to me, I just know it’s out there for everyone. Up until a few weeks ago I was living with a girl. With my girlfriend as a matter a fact.

Then one day I got a phone call, the worst phone call of my life. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll always remember where I was, what I was doing, what the damn room smelled like when that phone rang.

After the… phone call… I just up and left without even saying goodbye. I packed a bag in the middle of the night, wrote a note that said I was leaving for a while and… that was it.