Starbucks Girl

Starbucks Girl

"Tall Mocha Frappacino," announced the youngish counter girl to her associate as she rang up my order. Her short-cut dishwater blonde hair was stuffed under the edges of her black baseball cap with the prominent Starbucks label, and her nametag read "Monica". Something about her caught my attention, so I found a table where I could drink my java and observe her without seeming to pry.

Observing people is something I do for a living, being a private eye, and it's hard to shut that off even when I'm not working. People have always fascinated me since I was a kid staring out the window on those long winter days at the men and women waiting at the bus stop in front of our house.

"Brown eyes, light-skinned clear complexion with no visible makeup and no facial jewelry," I noted mentally, as though I was on a case. "Petite, about 5 foot 4 inches, with a little cleavage showing above her green apron. Seems to be quiet but pleasant and very efficient."

What had caught my eye, I wondered? Noticing how intently she looked at the customers seated in the little shop, it dawned on me. "She seems to be listening to their conversations! Either she has a keen sense of hearing or is really good at reading lips – or maybe both."

I noticed that there was one table in particular that Monica was keenly interested in, so I started observing it myself. There was an intense conversation in progress between a distraught-looking white-haired woman and dark-haired teen who might have been her granddaughter. It was too far away for my fifty-five year old, rock music damaged ears to catch what was being said, so I decided to casually walk by and pick up the newspaper that was on an adjacent table.

"Mi hija, I don't know what to do!" exclaimed the white haired woman as she rung her hands. My roof has been leaking during all the heavy rains this year, and now that your Uncle Esteban is in a wheelchair, there was no one left in my family who could fix it. I don't have enough money from my monthly social security check to make payments on a new roof. So when that contractor stopped at my house last month and offered to patch all the leaks for $900, I took the money out of my little Credit Union account and told him to go ahead."

"Did you sign a contract with him before you gave him the money, mi abuela?" questioned the teen.

"No, he said we didn't need a contract and that I could trust him since he's been in business for a long time. I said okay, but told him I'd only pay him $600 in advance, with the other $300 after the work was done. And he agreed that would be okay."

"So what happened after he took the $600?"

"He came over one day for about an hour and stripped off a few old shingles. He said he'd be back later with new ones, but that was three weeks ago and I haven't seen him since."

"Have you called him?"

"He never answers his phone. I always get the same message, 'This is Bob's Better Roofing and I will answer your call as soon as I get back to the shop.' I've left ten or twelve messages and never heard back. Since I can't drive anymore, I can't drive way over to his shop on Elm Street to try to see him in person."

"He probably would make himself scarce anyway, if he did see you drive up. I wonder what can we do? You're lucky it hasn't rained in the last few weeks, but we'll probably be getting some more rain soon. Maybe I can talk to one of my business professors at the junior college to see what he'd suggest. I'm going to class as soon as I drop you back off at your house, grandma."

I noticed that Monica watched the teen help the elderly lady out the door and saw a fearsome look in the eyes of the Starbuck's girl. A few minutes later her relief came in and she said something to her as she folded up her apron, gathered her black cardigan around her shoulders, and walked out the door with a determined set to her jaw. I wondered what this seemingly mild-mannered young lady was up to and followed her out a minute later.

It was hard keeping up with Monica in her little black and white Mini-Cooper.  I wondered where she was headed until I saw her turn down Elm Street. "She's going to Bob's Better Roofing," I said aloud to no one in particular.

Soon she was inside the shop. I quietly ducked in myself and watched her go into the little office. There sat a large middle-aged man, chewing on a cigar and reading a girlie magazine. His whole demeanor oozed sleaze.

"Are you Bob?" demanded Monica in a surprisingly threatening tone.

"Sure. But what's that to you?" he snarled as he looked up from his magazine.

"I've come to retrieve the money you took from Mrs. Alvarez! She gave you $600 last month and you haven't yet fixed her roof leak."

"What the f--- is that to you, Miss? I don't have no contract with any Mrs. Alvarez." He spat the words out along with a piece of the cigar. That was his first mistake.

I couldn't believe what next transpired. The petite Starbucks girl grabbed that fat slob by the shirt collar with one arm and literally pulled him out of his desk chair. She did it as easily as she would have lifted a bag of Starbucks dark roast overhead. His face turned red and  he gasped for breath as he uselessly tried to twist out of her iron grip.

"You've got exactly one minute to give me the $600 or I'll toss you through that plate glass window," she said through clenched teeth in a voice that could have commanded the dead.

"Okay, okay, Miss. I get your point. Only just let me down!" Bob gasped. Monica complied and dropped him on the floor like a sack of rotten potatoes. He staggered to his feet, walked over to a nearby file cabinet, and pulled out his cash box.

While opening the cash box with one hand, Bob reached inside the file drawer for an old revolver and started to pick it up. That was his second mistake. Before I blinked, the Starbucks girl had grabbed his hand and squeezed it so hard that tears came to his eyes. Then I heard a crack as his wrist bone snapped. He screamed in pain just as she kneed him in the jaw and he fell to the floor.

Monica calmly counted out $600 from the cash box and stashed it in her bodice. "This is going back to Ms. Alvarez, you pig. And don't let me ever hear again that you're taking advantage of poor old widows."

As she strode out the little office, I heard Bob whimper, "Who are you?" Monica turned briefly, looked at him with blazing eyes and a self-assured smile as she exclaimed, "I'm the granddaughter of Wonder Woman."

I barely ducked behind some boxes in the shop in time to avoid discovery as Monica got into her Mini-Cooper and sped away. Soon I was on her tail, as I wanted to see where she went next. Sure enough, she pulled up in front of a little run-down looking house, knocked on the front door, and handed a surprised Ms. Alvarez her $600. I walked back to my car in a daze, just shaking my head in disbelief.