Tea at Ma's

“More tea for ya, kiddo?”

The gentle innkeeper, known to her guests as simply “Ma,” held up a ceramic tea kettle with a wrinkly smile. The guest, a reserved man in his mid-thirties, hated her use of the word, “kiddo.” In fact, the false familiarity disgusted him and he worked to suppress a wave of nausea. He had hoped he could ignore the old woman, but there were no other guests downstairs for her to bother with. This inn was quaint and supposed to be a hot-spot for local tourists coming to try their hand at the ski runs on Beatty Mountain. Instead, the inn was still and quiet this morning.

“Oh, no thank you,” the guest replied with a bashful glance down at his half-empty teacup.

The tea tasted as old as she looked.

“You sure I can’t just top it off for ya? I also have to-go cups for the road. Gotta keep ya warm up on the mountain!”

Again, she offered him a warm smile he imagined she used with her grandkids. While he was not interested in more of her stale-tasting tea, the man nodded reluctantly.

“Okay, sure. A top-off would be great.”

“That’s what I like to hear!”

She eagerly filled his teacup nearly to the brim and continued to stand attentively next to the table where he sat. He assumed she was waiting for him to take a sip and commence with pleasantries, so, he lifted the steaming teacup and took the tiniest of sips.

“Very good,” he said as he sat the teacup back down. “Thank you.”

“Ma,” she added sweetly.

“Thank you… Ma.”

The guest hoped she hadn’t heard the strained hesitancy in his voice. He hated places like this, to be honest. He despised Ma’s faux-familiarity and her eagerness to serve him as if he was one of her own grandchildren, coming to the inn for a visit. All he wanted was to enjoy his breakfast in peace and not be fawned over by the town grandmother. He wouldn’t have even chosen to stay here himself, but the trip was booked for him by management. He’d definitely be letting the higher-ups know to not book him a stay like this again, if at all possible. Hadn’t they heard of a hotel? Possibly in the city?

She flashed him an approving, affectionate smile, and returned to the kitchen without another word. When he was sure she was busying herself with the cookies she was taking out of the oven, he gingerly picked up his teacup and dumped the rest of the tea into the tall ficus behind him with a grimace. With any luck, he could finish his work here and head up the mountain for some skiing before he received his next assignment and had to leave town. He looked up at the antique cuckoo clock on the wall and compared it to his own watch. The time was correct, but the contact he was meant to meet here at the inn, Aeron, was running late and Aeron had the full project details.

He pulled a smartphone from a pocket in his backpack and pulled up the project files to see if there was a message from HQ about the meeting being called off or perhaps from Aeron about running late. Scrolling through and seeing no updates, he sighed and wondered if he’d ever be free to enjoy himself on the mountain.

“So what brings ya to Beatty Mountain?” he heard Ma call from the kitchen.

Her back was still turned to him and he considered sneaking away, back to his room, to avoid the small talk. But, she turned around just as he was stuffing the cell phone back into his backpack.

“Oh, a little business, a little skiing,” he called out. 

“Business on a ski trip? Well that’s no fun!”

“Hopefully I can finish my business soon and hit the slopes,” he said flatly, gathering his things and hoping it would hint to her that he was in no mood to chat.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” she sang out, drying her hands on her faded apron and coming to stand next to his table once more.

He gave her a half-hearted chuckle and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

She rapped the table with her wrinkled knuckles and gestured towards the empty teacup.

“Good tea, huh?”

“Very,” he said as he zipped his backpack and prepared to stand.

“You know, I don’t take kindly to liars in my inn, mister.”

For the first time in a long time, he felt his stomach drop. He had been caught.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” 

Her tone had shifted from sugary-sweet to bitter and the sudden sharpness hit him like a slap in the face. He stared up at her with the words he wanted to say caught in his throat. He didn’t have the time to argue with this woman or to cause a scene that would attract attention to him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage.

He gathered his backpack, pushed his chair back, and rose only to have the world swim a little around him.

“Oh, I’m the one who’s sorry. Looks like you did have some of the tea after all.”

She placed her wrinkled hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down in the chair with surprising force for her age. When he attempted to brush her hand off and stand once more, she again held him down.

“What-”

“You think I don’t know who you are, kiddo?”

She folded her arms across her chest and looked down on him with fiery disapproval. 

“Well, maybe not you specifically. But I know what your business is here. You’re not the first. Probably won’t be the last, either.” She sighed before continuing. “I was really hoping we could do this the easy way and I wouldn’t have to clean up any big messes today.”

He opened his mouth slightly to speak, confusion and a slight weakness fogging his brain. In an instant, Ma’s wrinkled fingers were knotted in his hair and she slammed his face down on the table. Blood flowed freely from his nose and he cursed. It was likely broken.

“Listen, listen,” he clamored.

His right hand gripped hers on the back of his head, trying to free her grip, while his left hand snaked down towards his boot, where he had a knife stashed. He didn’t want to have to explain to management why he had killed a sweet, old innkeeper, but he had to do what he had to do. Seeing him move triggered her and Ma threw his head back down on the table. He saw stars, but swung at her with the knife he slid from the sheath in his boot. Ma jumped back with uncharacteristic speed, releasing her grip on him as she did.

Again, he tried to stand and the world wobbled around him. He clutched the table with one hand to hold himself steady and he held the knife out towards Ma with the other. Normally, a broken nose wouldn’t have done much to derail him, but in combination with this woman’s special tea, he felt disoriented.

“Look, kid, I’m sorry about all this hullabaloo, I really am.” She almost looked remorseful. “But, it’s just business. You know how it goes; better than most I’d imagine.”

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and grimaced at the sharp pains. They were moderately sobering, though, and he felt a bit of clarity wash over him.

“Who are you?”

She took a smartphone from the pocket in her apron and tossed it onto the table in front of him before placing her hands on her hips. It looked almost identical to his own. With the knife still held out towards Ma, he picked up the phone and unlocked it with a swipe of his finger. As he read through the project files she had pulled up on the screen, a cold awareness washed over him.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” he murmured. “You’re Aeron? You’re my contact?”

“Mara Aeron, or MA for short. At your service.”

Ma gave him a small bow and more fog settled in over his brain as he tried to think through this.

“The syndicate really doesn’t train you recruits like they used to, huh?”

She sighed, clearly disappointed in him, and with a surprisingly agile move, disarmed him of the knife. She tossed it over her shoulder and into the dining room trash can as if she were disposing of a dirty napkin.

“Didn’t you find it odd that management sent you here without any real agenda or any real details? No jobs scheduled for after this one?”

His knees buckled beneath him and he tumbled towards the worn wooden floor before catching himself on the table. The teacup clattered to the floor and shattered. Ma tsked and crossed her arms.

“Great. Now I’ve got to get a new teacup and clean up this mess you’re making all over my nice dining room.” She sighed and looked up to the sky. “Lord, give me strength.”

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t we supposed to be partnering on a job?”

Even that question made him confused. Surely this woman, more than twice his age, couldn’t be Aeron. She couldn’t possibly be an agent for the syndicate.

“Me?” she laughed. “Partner with you? No, kiddo. Not in a million years. You’re my mission. You were sent to me like the proverbial lamb to slaughter.”

Now it was his turn to laugh.

“Look. There has been some mistake here. I’m sure if we contact headquarters they’ll get this all cleared up and we can just call this… tea under the table, as it were.”

His nervous chuckle was swallowed up by the silence in the inn. Ma was not amused by his joke.

“Get up.”

“Gladly,” he said, hauling himself up from the floor as smoothly as he could.

He didn’t want to give her the impression that he was weak. After all, he was a trained hitman. He’d been through worse and would most certainly go through worse in the future. But, today was not the day for his dismissal.

With blood still dripping from his nose, he adjusted his clothing and forced himself to stand tall, as if he didn’t want to slip into a long sleep right then and there from the effects of the tea. 

“Last chance, Ma,” he said sarcastically. “You should know, I’m not above ending an old woman. I’ve done it many times before in my past contracts.”

“Oh, so you’re a tough guy for killing old ladies, huh?” she snorted. “No wonder the syndicate sent you to me for dismissal.”

He clenched his jaw and readied himself to pounce. He didn’t care who she thought she was, she would die like the rest of them, no problem.

“Even with whatever you’ve drugged me with in that tea of yours, I can take you down, lady.”

“Is that a fact, honey? Well come on then.”

Ma spread her arms wide as if inviting him into a loving embrace, but her eyes narrowed. How had he not noticed the clarity behind those eyes? The years had taken their toll on her appearance, but her eyes, and her skills, were still sharp as ever. It was always disappointing when the syndicate sent her these reject recruits to dismiss. Ma longed for the “good ol’ days” when the recruits at least put up a fight.

The guest lunged at Ma who simply stepped aside, sending him stumbling forward to catch himself on the doorframe to the kitchen. He had a gun in his backpack, but as he waited for the wave of nausea to pass, he noticed the knife in the trash can next to him. He darted down into the can and plucked the knife out of the refuse, but not before Ma appeared next to him, meat cleaver in hand. Her eyes were wide and wild, a web of lines splayed from the corners as she grinned. 

Before he could remove his hand from the garbage can, Ma brought the cleaver down. For a moment, he thought she had missed, but as he stood upright, the searing pain signals shot up from his forearm and swarmed his brain. He took a wobbly step back and held his arm up to inspect it. The cut wasn’t clean, nor was it entirely complete, leaving him with the lower portion of his forearm dangling beneath the elbow.

“Whoopsies,” she said, bringing a wrinkled hand to her mouth as she looked from his arm to the cleaver. “I really should have sharpened this one.”

“What have you done?!” he shouted, looking from his mangled forearm to the crazed old woman responsible. 

“Well, this would’ve been a lot less painful and a whole lot quicker if you would’ve just drank your tea, kiddo. Now, I guess we just have to do this the hard way.”

“Help!” he shouted, backing himself towards the foyer and the stairs up to the rooms. “Someone help me!”

“Oh, don’t worry. We’re quite alone. I didn’t want your stay to be disturbed… prematurely, anyway.”

Ma shrugged and raised the cleaver once more before she began slowly advancing towards him. He clutched his arm to his chest, howling in pain, and turned to run to the front door. If he could make it out to his rental car, he could maybe make a tourniquet with his belt and make it to help before he lost too much blood. But he stumbled on the runner in the hallway and fell forward, his face colliding with a doily-covered table and sending the inn’s guest book clattering to the floor.

Names of skiers, if they truly were, danced before him on the pages of the guestbook where it lay open next to him on the floor. Handwritten notes like, “Sweetest innkeeper ever!” and “Thanks for the warmth and the tea, Ma!” taunted him. He had gotten cocky and had fallen prey to Ma’s disguise, the false security of a seemingly lonely old woman running a homely inn for tired skiers and mountaineers. 

Ma advanced quickly and rolled him over onto his back. She stood over him, one leg on either side of his chest, and again clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“You recruits really used to have a lot more spunk, I tell ya.”

He brought his knees up and jammed them behind her own, sending Ma toppling forward and the cleaver clattering from her hand. She swore, the first out-of-character and impolite thing he had heard her say so far, and he took the opportunity to scramble a few paces away from her. Using the doorframe he hauled himself up to his feet once more and felt the world sway around him. Between whatever was in that tea, the hits to his head, and now blood loss, he was beginning to doubt he would make it.

“What a brat,” she huffed, hauling herself from the floor.

It was comforting to him to know that, in the end, Ma was still human, and an old human at that.

With renewed confidence, he stumbled back towards the dining room. His gun was waiting for him in his backpack. With any luck, he could still end this, though he wasn’t sure what would happen afterwards.

He released his grip on his mangled arm to grab his backpack and the pain ripped through him once more, blurring his vision. Plopping down in a nearby seat, he brought the backpack up to his lap and unzipped it. Ma entered the dining room, a bit of blood dribbling down from her chin, though she paid it no mind.

“Now just what are you doing?” she asked as she approached.

He found the gun in the backpack and simultaneously cocked it and pointed it at her. She froze immediately, though she did not look afraid.

“I’m leaving,” he said breathlessly. “And you’re going to let me.”

“Can’t do that, kiddo.”

“I’m not your goddamn kiddo,” he spat, and pulled the trigger.

The saddest sound either of them had ever heard was the “click, click, click” of the gun, emptied of its bullets, as he tried in vain to empty the clip into Ma’s chest.

“I emptied it last night while you were in the shower. Sloppy move.”

Losing his strength, he let his good arm and the gun fall to his side. He was exhausted.

“It’s okay. It’s time to rest, now.”

She walked over to where he sat and pulled up a chair next to him, sitting the cleaver on the table between them. She looked at him sorrowfully. She was almost sad to be dismissing such a weak recruit, but she knew it had to be done. “We are only as strong as our weakest link,” her manager had told her when she, herself, was once young and cocky; close to dismissal.

“How about a nice cup of tea to take the edge off?”

He nodded slowly and Ma noticed he was barely able to hold his head up. It wouldn’t be long now and the job would be done. She gave his leg a gentle, grandmotherly pat, rose, and started for the kitchen.

“Hey Ma,” he murmured. “Your tea is trash.”

She turned around just in time for the cleaver to lodge itself in her chest, the force knocking her back against the doorframe where she slid to the floor. The effort used up the last of his strength and he tumbled from the chair. In the end, he saw a wrinkled, bloodied smile cross her lips. Finally, she thought, freedom from the mundane life of innkeeping and the repetition of unchallenging dismissals. The guest watched through half-lidded eyes as Ma took her final, ragged breaths before he took her advice and closed his own eyes for a little rest.