Chapter 4 - The Vanishing Act
Before Sam could ask her what she meant, the girl let go of his shirt. She pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes, grabbed her black baseball cap, and slid out of the booth with shocking, fluid speed.
"Hey! Wait!" Sam called out, taking a step after her.
She didn't run, but she moved with absolute, silent efficiency, slipping through the heavy glass front doors of the diner into the pouring rain before the bell above the door had even finished ringing.
Sam rushed to the glass, pressing his hands against the cold window pane. The street outside was empty. The neon signs painted red and blue puddles on the dark pavement, but the blonde girl in the grey t-shirt had vanished into the wet gloom as if she had been nothing more than a ghost conjured by the storm.
"What was that about?" Richard’s voice barked from behind him.
Sam turned slowly. Richard was standing by the cash register, holding a greasy receipt in one hand and a half-empty mug of lukewarm coffee in the other.
"She left," Sam said, his mind still racing over her cryptic words. Tomorrow at 4:00 PM. A black Cadillac near the entry.
"Good riddance," Richard grunted, punching keys into the register with loud, metallic clicks. "That’s eight dollars and fifty cents out of your tips tonight, Sam. And clear table four. You've got grease on the vinyl."
Sam walked back to the booth. He reached out to grab the empty white plate, but as he lifted it, he noticed something underneath.
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Tucked neatly beneath the edge of the paper napkin was a single, crisp silver coin—an ancient, uncirculated silver dollar—and a tiny strip of folded newspaper margin. On the newsprint, written in dark blue ballpoint ink, were five numbers:
400-88-CAD
