Thunderclouds and Sunshine

“It’s a good day! I have a job, a place to sleep and Chef saves me leftovers. Even the dish soap bubbles have little rainbows in them, look!” Alfie scooped some foam onto his finger. The bubbles were mesmerizing.

“Yeah, that’s…great, I guess. What time are you on ’til tonight?”

“Midnight. Chloe called in sick.”

“That’s a long shift. Make sure to take a break.”

“I will. I can use the extra money.”

“That never changes. I’ll catch you later.” Brent headed for the freight elevator and Alfie went back to his pans.

By midnight, the racket had quieted and most of the staff had left for the night. Alfie cleaned up his station, grabbed the brown bag of goodies Chef Paolo had left him, then made his way to the back stairs. He was grateful that he only had to get to the attic to get home. His bedsit was tiny, but he’d made it as cozy as he could with thrift store finds and donations from kind coworkers. He had his own shower which, though cranky, produced plentiful hot water, and a kitchen cubby big enough to house a fridge, sink and microwave. His bed even had a new mattress, a soft comforter and lots of squishy pillows. It was enough for him and a huge bonus for central New York.

On the ground level, Alfie paused to look through the door into the restaurant. The window was round like a porthole and Alfie liked to think of the whole business as a ship, with the staff as crew and him as the cabin boy. There were lights on in part of the room and Alfie could see a group of men sitting around a table. They seemed relaxed, with drinks in hand. Alfie spotted Mr. Borroni, the restaurant’s owner, deep in conversation. The enigmatic Italian had given Alfie a chance when he most needed it and Alfie would be forever grateful to him for that. At his shoulder, in the shadows, stood Mr. Borroni’s assistant, Luca. Luca was the most handsome man Alfie had ever laid eyes on. Luca made Alfie’s mouth go dry and induced tingling sensations in his groin. He had black hair, short but with a slight curl at the ends. His eyes were storm gray when they weren’t hidden behind dark glasses. Alfie had never seen him smile.

What I’d let that man do to me. Alfie drifted into his most regular daydream. Anything he wanted, as many times as he wanted. He could hold me down, I wouldn’t be able to escape, then he could… “Oh!” The swing door banged open and he narrowly avoided falling on his ass as he took a few rapid steps back.

“I thought I saw you out here, Alfie.” All six feet four gorgeous inches of Luca Talete loomed over Alfie.

“Hey, Luca, I wasn’t spying, honest. I saw the light and took a peek.”

“It’s late. You should be tucked up in bed by now.”

Yes, please! With you. Naked. “I worked an extra shift.”

Luca didn’t seem pleased. “Are they working you too hard down there? I can have a word with Brent.” He managed to sound threatening without effort.

“Oh no. Brent is always checking on me. It’s just that Chloe called in sick and they couldn’t get anyone else at such short notice and I didn’t mind because washing pots is all part of a brilliant service.”

“You’ve been listening to Mr. Borroni’s motivational staff talks, haven’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Alfie nodded. “He’s right. Everyone plays their part, even me.”

“Yours is an important part,” Luca said. “You must be tired, but we’re out of ice. Would you mind running down to the freezer for some more? I’d go myself, but I can’t leave Mr. Borroni.”

“Of course I can!” Alfie bounced, happy to be able to help Luca with something. “I’ll be right back.” He left his bag on the stairs then skipped down to the kitchen. He filled a bucket with ice from the huge bin in one of the walk-in freezers, then carted it back up the stairs. He hovered at the door but no one came, so he plucked up his courage and took the ice into the restaurant. He was very aware of his state of dress and horrified when Mr. Borroni noticed him.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Alfie. He works in my kitchen here and does an excellent job.”

Alfie stared at the carpet and the toes of his scuffed runners with one loose lace. “Hello,” he managed to whisper.

“You’re all intimidating the boy,” Mr. Borroni scolded. “Thank you for the ice, Alfie.”

There was a chorus of thank-yous and Alfie dared to peek from beneath his lashes. Everyone was smiling. No one seemed angry with him. He breathed a little easier and put the ice bucket on the table. “My pleasure,” he murmured. Luca caught his eye and gave him the nod to leave.

Happy to be heading for his bed at last, Alfie skipped toward the door, forgetting that he needed to retie his lace. He tripped but managed to avoid falling headlong, instead dropping to his knees. He grappled with the lace but a flashing red light caught his eye. What’s that? Ducking lower, he peered beneath the table he’d knelt next to. There was a small black box attached to its underside. It had a couple of switches and one ominous light, blinking steadily.

“Luca! There’s a bomb!” Alfie yelled, launching himself back in the direction of Mr. Borroni and his guests.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He bundled Mr. Borroni to the nearest exit and burst out onto the street. His guests followed, drinks abandoned and chairs toppled.

Alfie didn’t know how long he had, only that he had to get out. To follow Luca. His limbs wouldn’t cooperate. I have to be wrong. I wouldn’t know a bomb from a lump of cheese, except cheese doesn’t have wires and red flashing lights. Why would anyone want to blow up an Italian restaurant? The food’s so good at Borroni’s! He slipped, falling to one knee, but that allowed him to push off and gain some momentum like a sprinter from his blocks. Alfie threw himself toward the doors. He was pushing through them when the detonation happened. There was a moment’s silence then a deafening roar. He was tossed through the air like a rag doll, heat searing his bare legs and arms.

Each heartbeat took an eternity as the ground rushed to meet him. He hit asphalt with a bone-jarring impact. His vision darkened for a second or two but he wasn’t granted the mercy of unconsciousness. He lay where he’d landed, nostrils filled with the acrid stench of burning debris. The distant wail of sirens competed with the crackle of fire. Sharp snaps and pops punctured the air, accompanied by the hiss of evaporating moisture and the snapping of timbers.

A small explosion made Alfie’s heart leap. Gas canister in the kitchen. His eyes were stinging and watering from the smoke. Beneath his hands, sharp splinters jabbed at his skin. He dragged himself to his knees, peering through the smoke, the scene now illuminated by flashing lights from approaching emergency vehicles. There were figures moving in his direction but to one side a man stood watching. Not helping, just observing with clinical detachment. He caught Alfie’s eye, scowled, then melted away into the darkness.

Alfie coughed and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He needed to get to cleaner air but couldn’t summon the will to move.

“Alfie, how badly are you hurt? Can I pick you up?”