Cookie was sitting on a few upside-down milk crates, jumping up as soon as Kathy opened the swinging door. Tears streamed down her cheeks, smearing her eyeliner and foundation. No sound came from Kathy, her hand pressed tightly over her lips. The older man knew best to leave well enough alone, especially when it came to the affairs of a woman paying him. He had several tattoos on his arms, a couple on his chest, and two on his back, all done while he spent the better years behind bars. Scars on his hands and a few deep ones on his face told those wise enough to think about asking where they came from not to. Grabbing the spatula, Cookie flipped all three pancakes in one fluid movement. No one knew about his prison time. Not even Janice. Chewing on a toothpick, he moved the scrambled eggs over the grill to avoid getting too hot. Cookie smoked like a chimney inside, but once he got out, he quit. Fellow inmates, men you would say got ‘close’ to him, died from cancer. Cookie said it was the smoking. So did his physician, Dr. Campbell, while he served his time inside the penitentiary. He didn’t smoke anymore but watched Kathy pick up the habit. Each time she lit up, Cookie shook his head. Gray hairs streaked Kathy’s hair, and some wrinkles, new ones, appeared around her eyes and mouth. Cookie watched her wipe the tears from her face, smearing her makeup.

Cookie shook his head, watching her light up another cigarette.

“Don’t you say a word,” Kathy hissed. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Cookie’s hands went up in surrender. “Your body, Kathy. Ain’t none of my business.” He turned his attention back to the food.

“Just toss all that,” Kathy pointed at the grill. “Floyd don’t want none of it now. Not that he was gonna eat it anyways.” Kathy’s eyes rolled back. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. “What’m I gonna do, Cookie?”

Cookie dragged a trash can over the edge of the grill, raised his eyebrows at Kathy, and once he got an affirmative nod from her, scraped all of it into the garbage. “I’m not sure what you mean, Kathy. You talkin’ about the diner? Or Floyd?” Even though Cookie lived in Tri-Cities for only a few years, he got to know all the ‘regular’ people. Pastor Theodore and the cronies who came in every Sunday after church. The Church Ladies is how he remembered them. Very particular about the food they were, so Cookie made a point to do it right. Kathy couldn’t afford to lose one customer. Cookie knew if he didn’t do anything and lost her customers, the diner would close, and he’d be out of a job. The condition of his parole was maintaining gainful employment, no matter how remedial. But he loved cooking, its simplicity, and the ease of cooking pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, and simple staples like grilled cheese and soups. Hamburgers took a bit more attention, and when he was off, which was rare, he’d barbeque or smoke pork butts and pork tenderloin. People in the Tri-Cities loved their brats, something he’d not been fond of since getting out of prison. Something about stuffed meat didn’t appeal to him.

“I don’t know how Janice did it. Everything went so well for her.” Kathy sat down on the milk crates. “She had income. She made money from this place. How?”

Cookie slid his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels. “I dunno. I didn’t know Janice all that well. She took a chance on me, and I put everything I had back into this place.” All of that was true. He also funneled money through the diner, doing it for more than a few years. It was never a lot, and his small investment kept Janice’s restaurant open year after year. What he didn’t tell Janice, and he sure the heck wouldn’t let Kathy in on his secret – the Zaterelli family was funneling money through the diner, like the plastics factory Kathy worked for. No one knew about the money laundering and the factory?

Emulsion Plastics was small enough that the U.S. Department of the Treasury never considered it problematic. Putting everything he had back into Janice’s Diner meant thousands of dollars running through the cash register. And, because it was a cash-based business, adding a few thousand dollars a month wasn’t a big deal. Especially during the fair and other local events. Farmers market. The State and County Fairs. And made-up touristy traps, trying to draw people from outside the area into the Tri-Cities area. Every year, a few of these festivals would bring outside money, and many outsiders would stop at the diner and come in or leave the area.

The last thing Cookie wanted was to draw attention to his criminal ties, knowing full well that if the Treasury Department started looking into Kathy’s cash business, she’d go to prison for a very long time for committing a crime she didn’t know anything about. Instead, he decided to take the profits from his small investment and give it outright to Kathy, helping the diner stay afloat while ensuring the Zaterelli’s money flow kept moving. His cash payout from the laundry was substantial. And his legit investments were doing very well. The dividends alone brought him close to three grand a month.