Edmund’s flight left at 10:30, so he needed to be at the airport at 8:30, but that left him time to stop for breakfast at Ruby’s. He’d stayed at the same cheap motel in Missoula the night before to save him the two and a half hour drive in the morning.
He stepped through the door, took a deep breath of the diner-breakfast odor—sausage, pancakes, coffee—and smiled. This was definitely what he needed before a couple of days of airports, hotels and Uber rides.
He headed for a booth in the corner and started scanning the laminated single-sheet menu. He had settled on the steak and eggs when he heard a feminine voice from beside him.
“So how’s the revenge business?”
Edmund clenched his jaw a bit. Shit, she remembers.
He looked up with what he hoped was a charming grin. “As always, unprofitable, but rewarding. How’s Dante?”
Molly smiled back at him. “I’m making a little progress with the original. I have a couple of English translations I switch between too. So what’s the mayor up to today?”
“I got a plane to catch, so I’m getting some actual food inside of me before I venture into the desolate hellscape that is the American airport.”
“So what ‘actual food’ can I get you?”
He ordered steak & eggs and a cup of coffee. She came back with the coffee in a few seconds. While waiting for the meal, he started reading his paperback, putting the receipt he was currently using as a bookmark on the table beside his mug.
When Molly came back with the steak and eggs—and good Lord did his stomach growl when that plate arrived—she asked, “So whatcha reading today? More Lewis?”
“No, nothing so philosophical. The Hour of the Dragon by Robert E. Howard.”
She shook her head with a faint frown.
“Conan the Barbarian,” he said. “The originals, not the third-generation copies from movies or comic books.”
“Oh. Good?”
“Yeah, really good stuff. A lot of the old pulp stories get a bad rap.”
“Well, enjoy.”
This was a busier morning, so Molly didn’t get much chance to talk with him again beyond checking on his meal and bringing the check.
After Edmund headed out, she collected his dishes. $15 tip this time. Still nothing to sneeze at.
She found the receipt he’d left behind.
“McKay’s Used Books, Greensboro, North Carolina,” Molly read under her breath.
“Greensboro,” she repeated, and tucked the slip of paper into her black order book.
The Mayor of Christ Mountain 
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