I looked at him like he was nuts. “How the fuck would I know?”
He waved his hand over the table. “Well, there ain’t any of those fucking bottles on the tables, so I thought I’d ask.”
“Packets,” I said, although I had no fucking idea. “It’ll be in packets.”
“Alright,” he said. “Make sure the burger’s medium.”
“Medium. Got it.” I looked at Stoney. “What about you?”
“Gimme the tacos.” He gestured to their empty pitcher. “We’re still out of beer, by the way.”
“Tacos and a burger,” I said. “Be back in a bit.”
Stoney raised the empty pitcher. “And a pitcher of beer.”
“Make sure it’s medium,” Creek said.
On the way to the bar, Chin stopped me. “How’s that burger coming along?”
I stopped and faced him. “Do I look like a fucking cook?”
He laughed. “Look like a pissed off prick.”
“Fuck you,” I snapped. “I’ll check on it. Let you know in a minute.”
“I had a Reuben,” Swag said. “Check on that, too. Fifteen bucks with fries, fucker better be good.”
“I’ll get on it right after I get Stoney’s order in. There’s one of me and thirty of you cock suckers.”
Swag chuckled. “Gray ain’t got no problems when she—”
“Go fuck yourself,” I said. “I’m not Gray.”
He leaned to the side and looked at my ass. “That’s obvious.”
I rushed past half a dozen tables, all of which wanted something or another. I waved them off and promised to return in a minute. Rubber-legged and confused as hell, I stumbled to the bar.
I glanced at Panzer and I let out a sigh. “Pitcher of whatever Stoney’s drinking.”
Obviously enjoying himself, he was smiling like the cat that ate the canary. “What’s he drinking?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not the bartender. You’re the one pouring the shit.”
He gave me a shitty look. “I don’t know who gets what. You order it, I hand it to you. That’s how this works.”
“Budweiser.” I gestured toward the row of clean pitchers. “Pitcher of Bud.”
Panzer lifted his chin. “Stoney!”
“Yo!” Stoney said from across the bar.
“What are you drinking?” Panzer shouted.
Stoney raised the empty pitcher. “Nothing. We’re out.”
“What were you drinking?”
“The Dragon.”
“He’s drinking that Dragoon IPA,” Panzer said, reaching for a clean pitcher. “Difference between it and Bud is about the same as the difference between a cumquat and a roller skate.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m just saying.” He put the pitcher beneath the tap and began filling it. “Any food orders?”
“Oh shit,” I said. “I need to check on somebody’s burger.”
I rushed to the kitchen. Gray was at the fryer, pulling out a basket of shrimp. Beneath the warmers on the stainless-steel table a dozen plates of food were growing old.
I stepped in front of the warming table, hoping to block her view. “How’s it going?” I asked, hoping to distract her from the fact that I was doing an awful job.
She gestured to the food behind me. “If that sits there very much longer, they’re going to think I’m a shitty cook. I’m not a shitty cook. You, mister, could very well be a shitty waitress. Oh, wait. You’re a waiter.” Still holding the basket of shrimp over the fryer, she shrugged. “Waiter, waitress, doesn’t matter.”
“I’m doing the best I can.”
“You know I’m joking, right?”
It didn’t matter. I was going a piss-poor job, and I knew it.
“Joking?” I looked the food over. It all looked the same. “Yeah. What goes where?”
“Well, you’re supposed to put a table number on the ticket. I guess you could write their name on it. None of those tickets have anything on them. I was going to say something, but I’ve been slammed since that second wave came in. Tickets are under the plates, but they won’t do you much good.”
“Table number?”
“Starts at the jukebox corner with one,” she said. “Goes left to right, toward the bar. Lowest on the far-left corner, highest on the right, closest to the bar. You can call ‘em whatever you want to, as long as you remember it.”
I thought I could remember everything. Looking at the mountain of prepared food, it was obvious I couldn’t remember anything. I tried to look confident. “Got it.” Knowing I couldn’t get Reubens or tacos mixed up, I grabbed one of each. “Be right back.”
I walked backward through the kitchen door, because I’d seen waitresses do it in the past. Once into the seating area, I lifted the two plates. “Who had a Reuben or tacos?”
Twenty people yelled. I was clearly in over my head. I handed the two plates to the closest table. I returned to the kitchen and got another sandwich and a plate of tacos. When I was out of sandwiches and tacos, I started on the burgers.
I stopped at Chin’s table first.
“Reuben’s killer,” Swag said. “Dressing’s awesome.”
“House made,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “No shit?”
“Would I lie about something like that?”
I handed Chin his burger. “Here you go. Hot off the grille.”
He took the plate and gave a nod. “Thanks.”
I looked at Swag. “I’ll tell her what you said about the Reuben.”
“This burger’s got swiss on it,” Chin said. “I ordered Pepper Jack.”
“Stop fucking whining.” I waved my hand toward the packed bar. “One of these other pricks will end up with a burger with Pepper Jack on it. Here in a minute you can go find it and swap him out.”
He raised the burger and gave it a good look over. “Hell of a way to run a railroad.”
“Be grateful you got something,” I said. “I forgot Stoney’s order altogether.”
“Price!” Panzer bellowed. “Stop bumping your gums and get up here. Beer’s getting hot.”
I rushed to the bar. “You keep treating me like a fucking servant, and I’ll bust your ass in the jaw.”
“Fuck you,” he said, nodding toward the pitchers. “You are a servant. Now, go serve this beer. One on your right goes to Carp. One on your left goes to Stoney’s table.”
“Stoney?” I gave him a shitty look. “I just took Stoney a pitcher.”
He glanced at the clock. “That was forty-five minutes ago.”
“Jesus,” I said. “He’s flat going through this shit, isn’t he?”
He flipped the tip of the bar towel at me, making it pop! when he pulled it back. “Less talk, more work.”
I hustled to Stoney’s table, sloshing beer all over the floor on my way. “Here you go,” I said, sliding it onto the edge of the table as I passed.
“Having fun?” Creek asked, laughing as he spoke.
“Fuck you, River.”
Brisco and Carp were sharing a table, and I had no desire to talk to Brisco. I meandered to the table adjoining his and set the pitcher down in front of Shady. “Giver this to Carp.”
He tilted his head to the side. “He’s right there.”
I narrowed my gaze. “I know where he is, you little prick. Hand him that putcher.”
He swallowed heavily. “You got it, Price.” He lifted the pitcher and turned around in his chair. “Carp. Here you go.”
I made eye contact with Carp and gave a nod. He nodded in return. Although it was easy for him to see that I was disappointed in Brisco’s decisions regarding Gray, I doubted he knew the magnitude of my anger.
I turned toward the kitchen. The bar was a fucking mad house. Guys screaming over the jukebox just to be heard, half-drunk patches sloshing beer on the hardwood floor—making a fucking mess when it wasn’t at all necessary, and men who couldn’t seem to keep from dribbling French fries on the floor beside their
tables. Frustrated more with the men’s lack of compassion than their actions, I worked my way through the crowd.
“Can I get another burger, just like that one?” Chin shouted as I passed.
I spun around. “I thought you wanted Pepper Jack, or some shit?”
“I did, but that Swiss was good shit.” He lifted his empty plate. “I thought I didn’t like Swiss. Must have been something else.”
I gave him a look. “Seriously? You want another burger?”
“Yeah. Just like that one.” Plate in hand, he extended his arm. “Here.”
I looked at it like it was a dog turd. “I don’t want that dirty fucker.”
“Tables pretty cluttered, Boss.”
There were two empty pitchers, two empty plates, and four glasses, two of which were full of beer. I glanced at the bar. Panzer was mouthing the words to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama.
I nodded toward the bar. “Take all your dirty shit up to Panzer. That’s how it works.”
He looked at me like I’d asked him to give me a hand job. “Gray always takes our dirty shit.”
I glared. “I told you two fuckers the last time I was here. I’m not Gray.”
I spun on my heel and stomped to the kitchen. Once through the door, I jotted down Chin’s order, making sure to write his name on the ticket.
Gray was standing over the grille, tending to six burgers. “Some of these guys are ordering doubles. I didn’t think of that.”
“These fuckers are pigs, I can tell you that much,” I said, surveying the mess. “Sloshing beer all over the place. Looks like they got in a French fry fight, too. Damned sure got more on the floor than they did in in their mouths.” I shook my head. “We’re going to talk about this in the next meeting, I can tell you that much.”
“Always takes me about an hour to clean up after close,” she said. “Sometimes a little less.”
“When do you sleep?” I asked.
“3:30 to 9:30,” she replied. “Most days. Sometimes I get up at 7:30 or 8:00.”
I couldn’t imagine maintaining a schedule that required me to be up until 3:30 am, six days a week. I stayed up later and got up earlier than Gray mentioned, but I hadn’t done it with any degree of consistency.
“You’re doing a damn fine job,” I said.
“With the food?”
“The bar. Waiting tables. The food. Life. Attitude. Everything.”
She pressed her spatula against the burgers and smiled. “Thank you.”
I admired her for a moment and then turned away. “Be back in a minute.”
“Okay.”
Exhausted, I stumbled into the bar. I wondered how much of the changes I’d seen in my myself over the past week were a product of feeling sorry for Gray over what happened, and how much was genuine attraction.
There was no doubt I was attracted to her prior to Brisco’s clusterfuck. Her absence forced me to realize the depth of that attraction. Her presence in my home proved how much I’d missed the feeling of affection, and that it differed greatly from being attracted to someone.
“Where’s my pitcher of beer?” Keto hollered.
I raised my index finger. “Gimme a minute.”
I went to the swinging door and peered through the window. Gray was putting burgers on buns and adding the toppings. The pride she took in preparing the food was evident. It wasn’t as simple as throwing on a piece of cheese or a tomato slice.
The feelings I possessed toward Gray were genuine. The proof was in the pride I felt while watching her do something she truly enjoyed.
Although she didn’t see it, I gave Gray a parting smile. I turned around. Panzer was watching me watch her. I gave him a shitty look for meddling in my business. “Give me a pitcher of Bud for Keto.”
“Pitcher of Bud, coming right up.”
It was apparent Panzer was enjoying himself, too. I, on the other hand, wasn’t. Keeping a bar filled with screaming bikers happy was impossible.
I did my best throughout the night, focusing on whoever complained the loudest. The men’s demands continued throughout the night without a single lull. Most of the men ordered food until just after midnight. By one o’clock, my feet were blistered, my legs were numb, and my patience was shot to hell.
“Listen up, motherfuckers!” I bellowed. “Last call.”
Standing at the jukebox with Carp, Brisco glared. “Last call’s at 2:00. You’re an hour off.”
“Bar’s closing tonight at 1:30.”
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Other than the fact that I’m tired of looking at you?” I asked. “No.”
He flipped me the bird and turned around. Frustrated beyond comprehension and more tired than I’d been in a decade, I let it slide. Although Gray had yet to ask, I realized I’d be doing the same thing for the next two nights, at least.
On Sunday, the bar would be closed. Gray and I would have to get our heads together and figure something out. Working two more nights wouldn’t kill me, but beyond that I wasn’t interested in continuing.
After the last man left, Gray, Panzer and I gathered at the bar. Panzer had the food, beverage, and tip totals separated, with figures jotted down on a sheet of paper.
He lifted the pad and looked at Gray. “Want to hear it?”
She looked remarkable for being in the kitchen all night. “Hear what?”
“The totals.”
“Sure.”
“$462 in tips, $1,107 in food, and $604 in beverages.”
“A thousand dollars in food?” she asked. “How in the world—”
“Carp had three burgers,” I said. “Most of the guys ate two. Some had burgers and tacos. It was a fucking mad house.”
“Almost $2,200 in one night is insane,” Gray said. “For a week, that’s, what…”
“In a six-day week, it’s $13,038 at tonight’s figure,” I said. “Might not be a good waitress, but I’m good at math.”
“That’s nuts.” She looked at me and smiled. “The total, not that you’re good at math.”
“Doubt it’ll be that high on a normal day,” Panzer said. “Most nights you’re what, half this busy?”
“A little more than that,” she said.
“Two grand in business and I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” I said. “It’s not worth it.”
Panzer arched his back. He stretched his arms over his head. “I feel great.”
“Well,” I said with spiteful grin. “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow after you do the bitch work.”
“I really appreciate it, guys,” Gray said, glancing around the filthy bar. “I know it’s not much, but you can split the tips.”
I laughed. “I’ve got a few ideas on how you can pay me, and it’s not with money.”
She shot me a glare.
“I don’t need paid,” Panzer said.
She gave him a funny look. “What do you mean?”
“Friends don’t charge friends for their help.”
Gray beamed with pride. “We’re friends?”
He draped his arm over her shoulder and gave her a side-armed hug. “What else would we be?”
Panzer had yet to learn the details of what happened to Gray. He knew something went awry, but I hadn’t shared the true details with him. I simply told him it was something that she did not want to discuss, and to respect her wishes.
I could now see that when the day came that he did know the truth, there’d be hell to pay.
21
Gray
Sunday finally arrived. It was a good thing, because Price was ready to strangle half of the members of his club for either making jokes about him being a shitty waitress or because they weren’t picking up after themselves. The fact that he made it through the week without losing his composure was impressive.
Since the incident, I noticed changes in him. Not in how he acted or treated me, but in what he offered me. He was still the same person. Many things about Price would likely never change. He
rarely smiled. He was always stern in his actions and his appearance. Then, there was his temper. Holy crap. He was as hot-tempered as a caged cat.
Each time I saw him he revealed a little more of the man behind the mask. I wondered how many layers would have to be peeled away before I caught a glimpse of the Price McNealy no one had been fortunate enough to know.
I peered into the top of his music console. It contained an eight-track tape player, an analog radio, and a phonograph. It was in remarkable condition, but it was obviously old and outdated by today’s standards. The sound, however, was phenomenal.
“I think it’s amazing that this thing sounds as good as it does,” I said. “How old is it?”
Lying flat on his back on the couch with his feet propped on a pillow, he glanced to the side. Following a short blank stare, he responded.
“Must be about fifty years old. I’m forty, and I think my dad got it right after him and my mom met. They’d been married for a year when I was born, and were together for ten years before that.”
“A ten-year engagement?” I gasped. “That’s crazy.”
He gazed at the ceiling. “I don’t know if it was an engagement or an arrangement. Guess it doesn’t matter. After ten years they decided they just as well tie the knot and have kids.”
We were listening to In a Silent Way, by Miles Davis. Price chose it, saying it would allow him to relax on his one day away from the bar. I didn’t like it at first, but the longer it played the more I enjoyed it.
“What’s your fondest memory of them?” I asked.
I hoped I didn’t overstep any boundaries. I was fascinated with the story I’d heard about his parents, although I realized it had more than likely been embellished over the years. Price had told me about his aunt and explained how close they were. I wanted to hear more about his parents. What he was willing to share, at least.
Still staring at the ceiling, he propped his left ankle on top of his right. “Oh, I don’t know.”
I sat down in a chair across the room from him. “Is it hard to remember? Because it was so long ago?”
“Not so much. Just tough deciding what my fondest memories are. Haven’t given it much thought.”
I sat quietly and allowed the music to float into the room.
Thug Page 17
