Injustice

Destiny stared at the pathetic mortal and laughed. It has taken very little intervention to ensure a fate of abject misery. So primed was she for a poor future that only a few small adjustments to her Fate Lines were needed. Now all it would take was a match to light the fuse.

“Our efforts would be better spent elsewhere,” the disinterested voice of Luck said, “her misfortune is rich, but short lived. We could be gorging on despair, but we focus on this mere morsel.”

“She is not a feast, but a distraction,” Destiny explained again. Some days she was unsure her sister paid heed when she spoke, an exercise in patience. “Enough to pull Justice from her pet. Enough for Lust and Desire to run amok in his life.”

“Amok,” Luck sat up from the diner chair she was sitting in, again taking in the frozen image around her. She wiggled her fingers, then smiled a small smile, “Amok sounds satisfactory. That mortal has been the source of much displeasure of late. He was a fountain of nourishment, one I had planned on enjoying for years. Not a drop of misery has flowed along his Fortune to me since our sister intervened.”

“Then this is how we shall prevail,” Destiny pointed to the young Latina woman carrying the tray, “an injustice to pull our sister away. An upsetting of her balance, the way she unbalanced ours.”

As Destiny has observed her sister do many times before, Luck felt along the woman’s Fortune to decide a course of action. Unlike Destiny, Luck was not a planter of seeds, but a spinner of tops. Yes, she would weight the top for more delicious outcomes, but she would not, could not lose the element of chance.

And so she spun. The woman, one black eye covered with make up, the remnant of a rough night with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, unaware of the precarious position her life had just been put in, bent over to clear the dirty dishes from an empty booth, sliding the meager coins that were left as a tip into her pocket. Destiny watched as her sister closed her eyes and snapped her finger just at the woman straightened. It was then that time began and the unlikely event began to unfold.

The door to the diner opened and two large police officers walked in. It wasn't unusual for police to stop by the diner to grab a coffee or a snack, sometimes even stopping for a meal. Martina smiled at the officers. Police were good tippers, and after her last customers, she could use a good tip. These police didn't smile back, though. Something was different about them, as if they didn't notice her, or didn't see her properly. They nodded in her direction, but wouldn't make eye contact. They felt dangerous.

Martina knew dangerous men. Her boyfriend, Alexandro, was a dangerous man. For three years she had seen him become more and more pulled into his criminal lifestyle. When she tried to address it, ask him if there was another way to earn money, he would reward her with things like the black eye she had attempted to hide behind her makeup that morning.

Of course she knew that she could leave him, but knowing and doing were two different things. She loved Alexandro, despite how horrible he was. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe she could still change him.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Martina said, again smiling at the police officers who had taken a seat at a table near the door, "Just coffee today, or would you like to see a menu?"

“Two coffees,” the larger is the two police officers grunted.

Martina turned toward away from the table to fetch the order when she heard the door open again. She turned to greet the newcomer, but to her dismay it was Alexandro.

She rushed too the door to meet him.

“You can’t be here right now,” she whispered.

“The fuck I can’t, woman,” he said, anger in his voice.

“Alexandro!”

“Just because you’re so high and mighty with your fancy job doesn’t mean I can’t pop in to see you,” he said, pushing his way into the diner. Then he stopped, seeing that the only other people in the restaurant were police.

“Shit,” he turned, his voice dropping low,“shit shit shit. Fuck, bitch, why didn’t you warn me!”

The sound of chair legs scraping against floor tiles brought Martina’s eyes up to the police, who were now standing and approaching the pair. Alexandro’s eyes were panicked. He reached his hands into his pockets, one hand pulling out a wad of something he quickly stuffed into the front pocket of Martina’s apron, the other a knife. He turned to the police.

“Back off,” he spat, holding the knife in front of him in a threatening manner. Why were things escalating so quickly? Why had Alexandro have to have come by right then, of all times?!

“Drop the knife and get on the ground!” The smaller police officer shouted, both men pulling their guns from their holsters. Martina’s hands went up into the air.

“Get any closer and I’ll cut you,” Alexandro’s voice cracked.

“Last warning,” the larger officer said, a grin on his face, “just give me an excuse.”

Alexandro screamed and charged the police, earning himself five bullets in the chest. Martina screamed, dropping to her knees. Her man! Her Alexandro! He was dead!

“On the ground now!” The large man shouted at her, “Hands behind your back!”

In pure shock, she complied. Soon enough her hands were secured with a zip tie and she was pulled to her feet. The police patted her down, then pulled the bundle from her apron.

“What do we have here?” The large man chuckled, opening the package to reveal a wad of cash and what looked like a bunch of white powder in a plastic wrap.

“Finally,” the smaller man said, “Alexandro’s contact for drops and pickups. You, my dear, are going to be going away for a long, long time.”

“What?!” She said, still in shock from what was happening, “but I didn’t do anything!”

“This says otherwise,” the big cop said, “I hope you have a good lawyer, because you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will…”

He went on from there, but Martina was too in shock to listen. The only things she registered were the feeling that she had the worst luck in the world, and the hit tears that were rolling down her cheeks.