He had renovated an old property that he had taken in trade for a long forgotten debt and opened the diner as a hedge against poverty. Over the decades, the diner had provided his best source of support and a boatload of valuable tax deductions. Still, Richard was no nearer the Last Chance this Christmas Eve than he was on any other day. Besides having its own special place in the diner, that warning postcard was the source of unending conversation, none of which came near the boring truth. Sometime in the distant past, it was said, a forgotten short order cook taped it there after an inebriated regular attempted to secure financing for a meal. Someone thought the cook’s last name had been Short. Others argued that Shorty had been the cook’s nickname, given by an equally forgotten waitress. Still others claimed that the forgotten cook had a name with very few letters; hence it was a short name, not the name “Short.” Those with enough seniority to remember a waitress and short order. Martin had been up since dawn sitting in his den holding the tin containing Angel's pictures. He thumbed through the photos of his daughter for about the tenth time that morning. Although he would never admit it, he was grateful his wife Claudia had not destroyed the pictures. He could be stubborn and unyielding, and he knew it, so he was grateful his wife didn't always do as he instructed. He felt in his heart it would have been morally wrong to destroy the pictures and he was glad they still existed.Martin was fifty-five years old and he had devoted his entire life to family, religion, and business. He was a simple man, hard working, and honest to a fault. If there was ever a question about something being unfair, Martin would err on the side of generosity in an attempt to make things right. He had very good business sense and a stellar reputation in the community and he attended Mass with his family nearly every Sunday.Angel had been Martin's youngest child and had always been the.
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