What did that guy tip you?

I ask, as the blue Aston Martin leaves the restaurant property.

You gave me a dollar, Angelo says.

That in the college degree will get you jack squad.

I say, shaking my head.

Angelo and I are standing outside the restaurant in our maroon jackets that say paradise of

LA on the backs. You know, Angelo says, running a hand over his close cut black hair.

When I took this job, I thought I was going to walk away with some fat tips every night.

I mean, this is the swankiest restaurant in town, right?

Turns out rich people don't tip for shit.

Bunch of assholes.

Now you tell me, I say, it's only my second day on the job.

And for all of yesterday, I was hopeful that the crappy tips were just a fluke.

I guess not.

Both of our phones suddenly erupt with an emergency alert sound.

I take my phone out and look at it.

It's an amber alert.

There's not a lot of information though.

This is a five-year-old girl by the name of Ariel Proud was taken.

And it lists where she was last seen and what she was wearing.

A pink tutu skirt with a matching bow in her hair.

And a white t-shirt with a cartoon cat on it.

...