Chapter 3: The Diner’s Reckoning

The next evening, we got a big order at the diner—over a dozen takeout meals. This was my chance.

After cooking, I followed the delivery guy to help carry the food to a nearby club. I had a plan.

The delivery guy, a college kid named Tyler, chatted nervously about finals. I barely heard him.

We hauled the food upstairs. My focus was razor-sharp as we climbed the narrow stairs, the smell of fried chicken and fries trailing behind us.

Through the crack in the door, I saw over a dozen people inside, devouring the takeout. There they were.

When the time was right, I walked in. No turning back. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to me.

One bleach-blond punk, his right hand in a bandage, saw me and shouted, “Yo, that’s the guy!” He recognized me.

I walked slowly forward, locking eyes with the man behind the desk. He had a nasty scar on the right side of his mouth. He looked dangerous.

He flashed a mouthful of gold. His voice was low, almost amused. He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desk.

“All that for a worthless girl? You came here to die for her? Is it worth it?” I didn't flinch.

"I've got girls way better than her." He gestured around the room, like he was showing off a collection. My blood boiled. The laughter grew louder, meaner.

They thought it was funny. The room filled with mocking, taunting laughter.

I clenched my jaw and slowly signed, “Where’s the necklace?” I wasn't leaving without it.

The man looked confused. “What, you can't talk?”

I glanced around and spotted the necklace on the desk. There it was. I pointed at it.

He caught on, picked up the necklace, and said, “You want this trash?”

He held it out as if to give it to me, then tossed it straight into the trash can in front of me. My blood boiled.

I was done playing nice. Fury boiled inside me. I rolled up my sleeves and signed hard, “You clowns aren’t even fit to be my punching bags.”

Let them come. Then I flipped them off.

Now they understood—I was taunting them. They charged.

I backed up, keeping my distance. My heart pounded. I pulled three face masks from my pocket, layering them on at once.

They stared, confused, some snickering. They had no idea.

It started slow—a few groans, then a chorus of complaints. Served them right. Suddenly, the room erupted in chaos. Guys doubled over, clutching their guts, faces twisted in agony.

I'd spiked the food. The room erupted with the sound of endless farts—a full-on biohazard.

The stench hit like a wall. It was chaos. Chairs scraped, men stumbled over each other, desperate for the bathroom. It was slapstick and savage all at once.

Over a dozen guys went limp, and before they could even reach the bathroom, they’d soiled themselves. Pathetic. They collapsed on the floor, groaning.

No way I was breathing that in. I tightened my masks and kept moving.

I found every one of them. The punks who’d beaten Lauren were among them. I stomped on each of their right hands, breaking them without hesitation.

No mercy. One by one, I found the ones who'd hurt my daughter. My boot came down hard, bones snapping beneath my heel. Their screams were muffled by the chaos.

He was scared. The scar-faced man turned pale, still trying to act tough. “You better ask around—I'm Reggie Harlan!”

He was done. He tried to bluster, but his voice shook. He clutched his stomach, sweat beading on his forehead.

Too late. “I’m telling you, don’t do anything stupid. Let’s just leave it at that. I need to hit the bathroom, and I won’t hold this against you.”

It felt good in my hand. I snorted, picked up a black eight ball from the pool table, weighed it in my hand, and walked slowly toward him.

He swung wild. I caught his fist. He tried to swing again. I twisted hard—his bones cracked with a sharp snap.

His punch was wild, fueled by panic. I twisted his arm behind his back, feeling the joint give way. He screamed.

I went to work. He screamed. I grabbed his jaw and knocked his teeth out one by one with the pool ball.

Each blow landed with a sickening crunch. No one dared stop me. Blood and teeth sprayed across the felt. The others watched in horror, too weak to move.

He gagged. Finally, I forced the eight ball into his mouth.

He choked, eyes rolling back, doubled over with pain, and collapsed on the floor, convulsing, leaking from both ends. It was over.

Justice, ugly and raw. The room was silent now, except for the groans and the stench.

I finally had it back. I took a breath, found the necklace in the trash, and carefully cleaned it off.

For Lauren. I wiped it on my sleeve, then tucked it safely into my pocket. As I left, I looked back at the mess I'd made—and for the first time in a long while, I felt a little bit whole again.