Afterburn. It’s a Café 6.

The recent adventures of the Bartender of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro saw her battle an assassin sent to her condo at The Lofts, leave the city for islands unknown to stay with a mysterious benefactor and finally, current day, her return to the Café, the other Proprietors and of course, Tom. Links have been included as refreshers.

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The airport terminal’s automatic exit doors opened, a whooshing sound and the makeshift wind tunnel spat me out onto the sidewalk.  Fifty yards to my right was a black Audi S4 idling curbside, a tall, 30-something Tom Ford cotton and silk blended suit standing sentry; it wasn’t difficult to figure out he was there for me.

Rush hour traffic had ended hours ago turning the once overcrowded freeway into a remote underground desert race course for those daring or stupid enough to risk it; temptation was riding shotgun this particular night. As our speed increased, the passing streetlights were flashing onto my retinas like strobe lights; I began to feel my stomach churn.

“Pull over now, Mr. Tom, unless you want me to barf all over this awesome leather seat.”

I got back into the Audi, “change of plans Mr. T! take me to Bumpers Pool Hall…that’s right, not far from the Six Sentence Café & Bistro; reaching into my bag for my phone, “yeah, meet me at Bumpers and bring your cue – I’m back, baby!”