The Late Night Horror Show Read Free

owner. She was in the back doing some sort of half-assed inventory.
    The bell above the door jangled as someone came into the coffee shop. Kira glanced up from her iPad and smiled when she saw Lashon Miller stroll up to the counter.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey.”
    Lashon set a book on the counter and yawned as she stretched her arms over her head. Kira glanced at the book. Wolves of the Calla by Stephen King.
    “Haven’t you read that already?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Don’t you have any new books to read?”
    Lashon shrugged. “Bored. Nothing new appeals right now. So I’m rereading some shit I like. Hook me up with a large caramel latte, please.”
    Kira set to work making the drink. “What are you doing tonight?”
    Lashon flipped dark hair out of her face with a toss of her head and shifted her posture so that all her weight was balanced on one leg. She turned the little wire rack of folk CDs that sat on the counter. “Don’t know. The usual, I guess. Sit at home. Be fucking bored. Unless, like, I go on an epic fucking killing spree down at the square. Still haven’t ruled that out.”
    “So…still haven’t patched things up with Greg?”
    Lashon continued to slowly spin the wire rack. “No.”
    The monotone reply worried Kira. Lashon and Greg Nelson had been a hot item for over a year. They had been mad for each other, the kind of couple given to frequent public displays of affection, the superinappropriate, borderline-foreplay kind that made people uncomfortable. About a month ago it had come to an abrupt end. Lashon had refused to talk about it and so it had become a subject of gossip and speculation among the others in their circle.
    Kira finished the drink and set the brimming cup on the counter. Lashon picked up the cup and took a small sip, making a soft sound of satisfaction. “Mmm. I don’t have any money.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t have any money.”
    Kira sighed. “For fuck’s sake, Lashon.”
    Lashon took another sip of her drink and said nothing, but stared levelly at Kira.
    Kira rolled her eyes. “Whatever, bitch. I’ll pay for it.”
    “Thank you.”
    Kira forced a smile.
    Right. Like I had a choice. Jesus.
    Kira had precious little money of her own, but what else could she have done? With the possible exceptions of Jason and Monroe, Lashon was the closest friend she had made since moving to Murfreesboro after high school two years ago. She couldn’t refuse her service or kick her out for nonpayment. Nor could she just let her have the drink on the house. Miss Mildred was funny about that kind of thing, and you could never tell when she was watching you on that black-and-white security monitor in the back. So the money was coming out of her pocket and that’s all there was to it.
    Lashon was looking at the CDs again.
    Kira fumed the more she thought about it.
    Something had to be said.
    “Look—”
    Lashon sighed. “He hit me.”
    “What?”
    “Greg. He hit me.”
    Kira’s expression softened. “Oh.” Then her face hardened again. “That fucking asshole.”
    “Yeah.”
    Kira stared at her friend and thought back over the last month. She couldn’t remember seeing any bruises on her face, but that didn’t mean anything. He might have hit her where it wouldn’t show. “I’m sorry.”
    Lashon’s expression was strangely blank as she removed a CD by Ani DiFranco from the rack, flipped it over, and looked at the back. “Why? You didn’t hit me.”
    Kira stared at her friend. There was something more than a little odd about her demeanor today. The drink thing was out of character. The timing of the abuse revelation was also questionable. It almost seemed as if it’d been meant to distract her. And, perhaps most disturbingly, she knew damn well Lashon Miller didn’t give the first shit about Ani DiFranco or anyone else among the selection of NPR-approved artists on display on the little spinning rack.
    “Will you put that fucking CD back, please?”
    Lashon looked at her again, her