Albert. Albert [REDACTED] is my name. I work at [REDACTED] just off of Interstate 398.
Yeah, I saw the guy we talked about. He came in out of the rain at about 2:00 a.m. Shabby looking guy in his forties, showed up wearing an old overcoat and beat up hat. Had a bushy mustache, brown and graying. Glasses. Couldn’t see his eyes. He wore his hat low over his face. He sat down at the counter, just crossed his hands at the wrists and looked down at his hands.
His hands? Uh, yeah, they were big. Very big. Long, thick fingers, meaty hands, big like catcher’s mitts. He was kind of a trim guy to have such big hands. They looked older than the rest of him too. Really veiny, creased. Those hands looked like they’d done a lot of work.
This story was featured The Florida Writer, a publication of the Florida Writers Association, Summer 2013, Volume 7, Number 2.
Late one night, a stranger wanders into a diner off the interstate highway. He orders coffee, takes a refill, and steps back out into a downpour. The waiter knows there’s something off about his visitor, but he has no way of knowing just how otherworldly this stranger is until the authorities call him in for a recorded statement the next day. Just who – or what – is the mysterious Company Man?