The smell of cheese and freshly baked bread hung in the air as warmth rolled off the kiln, a sharp contrast from the chilly winter winds of Chicago.

"Order's on deck!" The chef called out
as Mara entered the kitchen, taking the Italian Beef Sandwich, the signature dish of the unpretentiously esoteric diner located in the cloistral area of The Windy City.

At 4 o'clock, there were hardly any customers. Usually vacant and silent at that hour, the inconspicuous place had an uncommonly sun-burnt man sitting in the shadows of the corner, looking nervous and uneasy.

Constantly staring at his cell phone, he seemed unaware when Mara placed his food on the table. Eyes glued to the phone screen, it looked as if he was either eagerly waiting or dreading for it to ring any moment.

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"Is he not done yet?" Joseph inquired of Mara who responded by shaking her head.

He sighed.

"He's been here for over an hour. What's his glitch?" he pointed towards the twitchy man in the corner.

"I think he wants to hoodwink us. One of those guys who want an easy free meal," another chef  remarked.

"He hasn't even touched his food,Winnie," Mara stated.

"You never know when he makes a run for it," Winnie retorted.

The man nervously tapped his fingers on the table as he seemed lost in thought. All of a sudden his phone rang, waking him from his trance like state. A sheen of sweat uncannily covered his forehead.

As his cell phone continued to ring, his deep set eyes became shrouded with anxiety. Standing up, he fumbled with his purse as he placed the money next to his untouched and now cold order.

Without a word, he dashed out of the door, leaving behind his noisily ringing cell phone.

Mara stood near the kitchen door, watching the odd antics of the customer. She walked towards the table to collect the wasted sandwich and the scattered and crushed notes and coins on the table.

"Did he leave a tip?" Winnie asked, eyeing the filled plate in Mara's hand.

"No. That he didn't. But he left his cell phone behind," Mara answered, holding up the now silent device in her hand. "He just crossed the street.  I think I might be able to catch him."

"You don't have to. He'll come back for it when he realises he has lost it."

"He's just there, Win, no need for him to come back," Mara stated, running out of the door.

"Did I just see her be a good Samaritan to a dude who by the way not only wasted our precious cooking skills and great food but also showed no courtesy of tipping her?" Joseph commented incredulously.

"Yes, Joseph, that's our Mara Davidson for you."
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"Sir! Sir!" Mara called as she ran after the portly man infront of her.

Ignoring her the man walked towards a now darkening and fetid alley.

"Sir! I've your phone!"

Tom Kelley turned around, facing the dark haired girl behind him. "Run off girl!" he sneered.

"But I have your phone. You left it in the diner," she said regretting her decision of running after him.

Instead of being grateful, the man hissed,"I don't want it. If you cherish your life as I do, you'll throw the damn thing away!"

Just then the device in Mara's hand started to buzz.

"Why the hell are you still holding it? Throw it away!" Tom yelled.

"Tsk tsk, Kelley. It's rude not to pick up your calls."

Tom's face instantly paled as he stared at the swarthy man in front of him.

"Fuiste una tonta al pensar que no te encontraría," the man said, his voice hoarse.(You were a fool to think that I would not find you.)

A semi-automatic and possibly loaded pistol hung at his waist. Even in the dimness of the alley, its sleek silvery muzzle was striking against the leather contraption that held it.

"Pensaste que podrías robar el dinero del jefe y él te dejaría ir. Que ingenuo de tu parte, Tom." (You thought you could steal the boss's money and he would let you go. How naive of you, Tom.)

Despite not understanding what the words meant, Mara realised they were menacing. If Tom's pallor and panic-stricken eyes weren't a give- away, the ominous look on the other guy and his equally ominous weapon surely were.

"What happened Kelley? Cat got your tongue?" the man mocked.

"Le pido disculpas señor. Por favor, perdóname," Tom replied, his scratchy voice suddenly turning timid.(I apologize sir. Please forgive me.)

"Rompiste la confianza del jefe, tonto. Tienes que pagar por esto."(You broke the boss's trust, you fool. You have to pay for this.)

Tom cowered in fear, knowing what was to follow.

"Por favor, dame un poco de tiempo, te lo devolveré, lo juro."(Please give me a little time, I'll give it back to you, I swear.)

"Too late, Kelley." Taking a quick glance at the distressed female, he added,"Que pena que esta chica muera contigo tambien." (What a shame that this girl dies with you too.)

"No, no, por favor, no me mates. Lo devolveré todo. Te lo ruego por favor." (No, no, please don't kill me. I will return everything. Please, I beg you.)

Mara stood in the corner, uneasily watching the what-was-to-be a clandestine exchange between the two men.

The other man had pulled his gun to his hand, making it silently but effectively clear that any unwanted movement would not be kindly looked upon.

Living in Chicago, Mara was no stranger to crime, they often filled the newspapers, at times from top to bottom but having been exposed to such an ordeal was something different, something daunting.

Still in shock, whether from fear or from incredulity over the turn of events, or perhaps, both, her feet remained frozen to the ground, rendering her immobilized.

The fear on Tom's angular visage mirrored that of Mara's, not in degree but in kind.

If only he could escape Jair, one last time, he'd leave this damn city forever, but not before paying off his debts to the boss.

He'd make an honest man out of him, he almost promised himself.

He hardly cared about what was to happen to the girl next to him, fretting only for the survival of his own.

Just one last time, he thought.

Everything would be fine after.

Mara's eyes were glued to the shiny but equally dangerous weapon in the man's scarred hand. As his grubby forefinger pulled the pistol's trigger, a resounding noise filled her eardrum, making her flinch.

The gunshot echoed deafeningly in the now dark alley as she saw the man stagger and fall, clutching his abdomen.

A blood curling cry escaped from her throat as the dying man gasped for breath.

"Ahora es tu turno, cariño."
(Now it's your turn, sweetheart.)