Devon
_________

Devon turned around as Mabel finally came back from the owner's suite after a full hour.

"Geez now I know why you needed three plates" He joked loudly, hoping that somehow she hadn't actually eaten those burned pancakes. 

"I don't recall asking for your opinion." Mabel retorted "Now go home. It is about time for the dinner chef to come in anyway"

Eager to escape this place Devon happily complied, quickly briefing her on what had been ordered (just a bowl of soup since it was only 3PM) and left.

Once in the safety of his car, a late model Ford sedan painted white, he let out a sigh of relief. Starting the car his thoughts went back to Ashburn's truck sitting in the garage. 

The drive home seemed forever as Devon pondered on what it was he should do. If he confronted her about it she might be able to offer a reasonable answer, like him selling it or something. But on the other hand something just had never seemed right, and this just made things worse. Even though he was always in the kitchen he had occasionally glanced into the dining area, on the way to the bathroom mostly, and it was just unbelievably shady. The customers had all been cloaked, even in summer, and some appeared to be huge. Much bigger than anyone he had ever seen before. People mostly spoke in hushed whispers and even at peak hours only a few customers that were normal would ever show up. 

Even the employees seemed weird. They were always strong personalities and their briefings included not asking questions, and turn over seemed very low. As if they enjoyed working here, despite all of them complaining in the break room endlessly. 

With a sigh he pulled out his cellphone, looking up to make sure there were no cops, and he flipped it open. It was an old phone, a simple flip model with no fancy buttons. He'd never liked the whole smartphone thing and never jumped on board. Solemnly he dialed on the phone and put it to his ear 

"9-1-1 what's your emergency?" Came the voice of a perky woman over the phone