The Good Die Twice by Lee Driver

did for a living.” Sheila’s voice was even more demanding
and vicious over the phone. “Find out what schools she went to. It
obviously wasn’t a finishing school. She didn’t even know which
fork to use last night.”
    Worm pulled the phone away from his ear
slightly. “You don’t have to yell Sheila. I’m not deaf.”
    “Where are you meeting her for lunch?”
    “The Patio.” Worm looked around at the tables
dotting the sidewalk, shaded by the canopy overhang. The sidewalk
cafe offered outdoor seating for those wishing to mingle with
nature.
    “How tacky,” Sheila muttered.
    A turquoise motor scooter pulled into a
parking space near the front entrance. Worm eyed the driver dressed
in black leather with a black leather vest zipped over a
short-sleeved, white, scooped shirt.
    “Oh, my.”
    “Oh, my, what?” Sheila mimicked.
    “Uh, sorry. I was distracted by a motorcycle
with great, uh, pipes.”
    “Well, pay attention.”
    The driver pulled off a turquoise helmet,
sending more than a yard of brown-and-gold-streaked hair tumbling
down her back.
    “Oh, my god. Save me.”
    “Now what!” Sheila demanded.
    “You won’t believe who just pulled up on a
motorcycle dressed in leather.”
    Sheila’s voice perked up. “Dagger’s
there?”
    “No. It’s Sara.”

    Sara carried her helmet under her arm. Dagger
had bought her the motorcycle a month earlier. She was afraid of
his big Harley and didn’t feel comfortable driving his cars even
though he felt she was ready to take them out on her own. Instead,
he bought her a small Honda to drive to and from the stores during
nice weather.
    Worm was just ending his cellular call when
she walked up. Several men seated at the outside tables stared at
her approvingly.
    Worm said, “I didn’t know you owned a
bike.”
    “Have you been waiting long?” Dagger had
coached her on a strategy and how to keep her guard up around Worm.
She took a wild guess that Worm had just received last-minute
instructions from Sheila.
    “No, just got here myself.” Worm smiled
broadly. “You look soooooo different in leather. I mean, without a
dress on. I mean.” His face turned the carrot color of his
hair.
    Sara smiled and walked into the restaurant.
They were greeted by a woman in black pants and a tuxedo shirt. She
led them along red brick flooring to the mezzanine level in back of
the restaurant.
    The walls were painted to resemble a quaint
eighteenth-century New England village. Wrought iron railings and
an abundance of hanging plants gave the room an outdoor ambiance.
Sara had seen the restaurant before, had had a cup of tea last
summer in the outside patio. But she had not been inside. She had
tried to coax her grandmother to join her on trips into town. But
Ada Kills Bull had rarely left the reservation land except to sell
her fresh vegetables and canned goods at the roadside vegetable
stand Sara had built at the entrance to the reservation. Cars would
line up for two blocks on both sides of the street just to buy the
home-grown vegetables, canned goods, and herbs.
    Sara marveled at the light posts
strategically placed throughout the restaurant and the large
chalkboard where the daily specials were written. Her eyes were as
wide as a child’s on Christmas morning. She had eaten out with
Dagger before, but each new restaurant found her in awe of the
decor and furnishings.
    “You’ve never been here before, I take it?”
Worm patted his bristle-stiff hair in an attempt to tame it. In his
youth he had been called matchstick because his bright orange hair
always grew straight up. That, and his bony physique, made him look
like a lit match. He was almost relieved, once in high school, that
his friends started calling him Worm instead.
    “No.” Sara studied his face. Though freckly,
it was smooth, like a baby’s skin, which made him look younger than
his twenty-three years. He was eager, with an inquisitive face and
a sweet smile. Just knowing he had to work with Sheila