A Simple Errand

Chapter 4:

Linda met Sophie at a diner on Route 11 at seven the next morning.

Sophie had never been inside the Starlight Diner before. It was one of those old chrome-and-vinyl places that had probably been there since the '70s, with red booths, a long counter, and a waitress named Deb who called everyone "sweetheart" and poured coffee before you asked.

Sophie arrived first. She took a booth in the back corner and ordered coffee she didn't want, just to have something to do with her hands. Her phone was in her jacket pocket. The video was on it. The backup was in Ana's text messages, and a second backup was on her Google Drive. Three copies. She'd learned that from a true crime podcast — always have multiple copies in multiple places.

Linda walked in at 7:04. She was shorter than Sophie expected, with dark hair like her father's, sharp eyes, and a presence that filled the booth the moment she sat down. She was wearing jeans and a Channel 9 News jacket that she zipped down but didn't take off.

"Thank you for calling me," Linda said. No small talk.

"I almost didn't," Sophie said.

"But you did. That's what matters."

Sophie pulled out her phone, opened the video, and slid it across the table.

Linda watched it twice without speaking. The first time, her jaw tightened. The second time, her eyes stayed fixed on the moment Marcus shoved Gerald — the hands, the push, the fall, the sickening series of impacts as Gerald's body hit step after step.

When it ended, Linda set the phone down and pressed both hands flat on the table, fingers spread, like she was steadying herself against a wave.

"This is everything," Linda said quietly. "This is the whole case."

"I know."

"Sophie, I need to tell you something, and I need you to hear me clearly." Linda looked up. "My father had a flash drive in his laptop bag. It had evidence that Marcus has been stealing from the store for over a year. Running a return scam. That's why Marcus pushed him."

Sophie blinked. "What?"

"My uncle Frank — he worked at Circuit Depot's warehouse. He knew about the scam. He told my dad. My dad looked into it, found some public records that supported it, saved them on a flash drive, and put it in the laptop bag he was carrying when he went to buy a laptop for my daughter."

"How would Marcus know about the flash drive?"

"I don't think he did. But my dad was asking questions, poking around. And Marcus is paranoid. Uncle Frank told me Marcus has been skimming returns for fourteen months — laptops, phones, high-end headphones. Thousands of dollars. The store manager, Ray Toscano, gets a cut. When a customer like my dad starts asking detailed questions about specific products and inventory, and then requests to see a laptop that's similar to the model Marcus has been stealing and reselling — Marcus panics."

Sophie felt cold. "So it wasn't random."

"It wasn't random. Marcus thought my dad was onto him. Whether my dad actually knew at that point or was just shopping — it doesn't matter. Marcus decided he was a threat, and he dealt with it the way men like Marcus deal with threats."

Sophie thought about Derek. The way Derek followed Marcus everywhere. The way Derek laughed when Marcus laughed and went quiet when Marcus went quiet. The way Derek picked up Gerald's phone and laptop from the stairs without hesitation, like he'd done this kind of thing before.

"Derek," Sophie said. "He's not like Marcus."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Derek is scared. All the time. Of Marcus, of Ray, of everything. He does what Marcus tells him because he's terrified of what happens if he doesn't."

"Could he be turned?"

"Turned?"

"If someone talked to him — really talked to him — do you think he'd tell the truth?"

Sophie thought about it. She remembered Derek in the break room the day before, sitting alone, eating a sandwich with his leg bouncing under the table. He'd looked at Sophie when she came in, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, and then closed it and went back to his sandwich.

"Maybe," Sophie said. "If he felt safe."

"Nobody feels safe right now," Linda said. "But that might be exactly why he'll talk."

Linda called her executive producer from the diner parking lot. Sophie sat in her own car — actually, Janet's car, which Janet had lent her for the morning — and watched through the windshield as Linda paced back and forth, phone pressed to her ear, gesturing with her free hand.

At 7:38, Linda came back to Sophie's window.

"My producer wants to run the story. But he wants it airtight. The video alone is strong, but he wants a second source. Either another witness or someone inside the store who confirms it."

"Derek," Sophie said.

"Derek. Can you get me his number?"

"I can try. But Linda — if Marcus finds out I talked to you, I'm done. Not just fired. Marcus is the kind of guy who makes your life miserable in ways that don't leave fingerprints."

Linda leaned into the car window. "Sophie, listen to me. I've been producing news for eight years. I've dealt with sources in worse situations than this. I will not use your name, your face, or your voice without your explicit permission. If this goes on air, you'll be an anonymous employee. Nothing traces back to you unless you want it to."

"And if Marcus figures it out anyway?"

"Then we'll deal with it. But right now, you have a video that proves two men assaulted a fifty-eight-year-old grandfather who came into a store to buy a laptop for his granddaughter's college education, and then they stole his property and lied about it. That video is either going to see the light of day, or it's going to sit in your Google Drive forever while Marcus keeps doing what Marcus does."

Sophie gripped the steering wheel. Janet's steering wheel. Janet who told her to hurry, because men like Marcus don't wait for justice.

"I'll get you Derek's number," Sophie said.

Sophie went to work that afternoon for her 12-to-8 shift. She smiled at customers. She restocked displays. She answered the phone.

At 2:15, Marcus walked past her and stopped.

"Hey, Sophie."

"Hey."

"You hear about the guy who fell on the stairs? His daughter's been making noise online. Saying we pushed him." He laughed. "Can you believe that? Guy trips over his own feet and suddenly we're criminals."

"That's crazy," Sophie said.

"Ray filed a report with corporate. They reviewed the camera footage. It clearly shows the guy tripping. Open and shut."

"Good."

Marcus tilted his head. "You seem tense."

"Long day."

"You sure? Because if there's something on your mind, you can always talk to me. That's what team leads are for."

He smiled that empty smile and walked away.

Sophie's phone buzzed in her pocket. She waited until Marcus was out of sight, then checked it.

A text from an unknown number: Sophie, this is Derek. Can we talk? Not at the store. Somewhere safe. Please.

Sophie stared at the message. Then she typed back: When?

Derek: Tonight. After close. The Starlight Diner on Route 11.

Sophie thought about the diner. The red booths. Deb the waitress pouring coffee.

I'll be there, she typed.

At 8:15, fifteen minutes after her shift ended, Sophie walked into the Starlight Diner for the second time that day and found Derek sitting in the last booth, hunched over a cup of coffee he hadn't touched.

He looked terrible. His eyes were red. His leg was bouncing so fast the table was vibrating.

Sophie slid into the booth across from him.

"I can't do this anymore," Derek said before she even sat down. No preamble. No greeting. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. Every time I close my eyes I see that man hitting the stairs. I hear the sound."

"Derek—"

"Marcus told me it would be quick. He said we'd just scare the guy. Make him stumble. Grab the laptop and phone. He said the old man was snooping around, asking questions about inventory, and if we didn't do something, we'd all go down. Me, Marcus, Ray. Everyone."

"The return scam," Sophie said.

Derek's eyes went wide. "You know about that?"

"I know enough."

Derek put his head in his hands. "I owe eleven thousand dollars. Gambling. Online poker. Marcus found out and said he'd help me if I helped him. So I helped him process fake returns. Forty, maybe fifty times. He'd give me a cut — two hundred here, three hundred there. Enough to keep the debt collectors quiet. And then Tuesday, he said we had to deal with this customer, and I thought he meant we'd follow the guy to his car and say something threatening, but then we were on the staircase and Marcus just — he just pushed him. And the guy went down so hard, Sophie. So hard."

Derek was crying. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just tears running down his face and dripping onto the table while his coffee got cold.

Sophie reached across the table and put her hand over his.

"Derek. Gerald Hoffman is in the hospital with a fractured hip and cracked ribs. He's fifty-eight years old and he came in to buy a laptop for his granddaughter."

Derek made a sound like he'd been punched.

"His daughter Linda is a producer at Channel 9. She has my video of what happened. She wants to run the story, but she needs a second source. Someone inside the store who'll confirm what Marcus did."

Derek pulled his hands away. "If I talk, Marcus will destroy me. He knows about the scam. He knows about my gambling. He'll tell the police I was the one stealing, not him."

"And if you don't talk?"

Derek said nothing.

"That man's granddaughter needs a laptop for school," Sophie said. "And instead, her grandfather is lying in a hospital bed because two men shoved him down a staircase. One of those men is sitting across from me right now, crying into his coffee. The question is whether he's going to keep being that man, or whether he's going to be someone different."

Derek stared at her. The diner hummed around them — forks clinking, Deb laughing at something a regular said, the kitchen bell dinging.

"If I talk," Derek said slowly, "I go to prison."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you'll be able to sleep."

Derek picked up his coffee. Drank it in one long swallow, even though it was cold.

"Give me Linda's number," he said.

Sophie did.

She drove home in Janet's car with the window cracked, cool September air filling the cabin, and for the first time in four days she felt something that wasn't fear.

It was small, and it was fragile, and she knew it could disappear by morning.