by Naomi West
His warmth.
Chapter 26
Cutter
“Woah, Smalls,” Cutter said into the phone in as even and steady a voice as he could get, “slow down, brother. Tell me exactly what's gone.”
His second-in-command didn't listen to his request. “They're all gone,” Smalls yelled. “Gone, dude!”
Cutter was still seated on the edge of the bed, wearing just his boxer-briefs. Through his sleep-induced fog, he couldn't make sense of what Smalls was saying. “What's gone?” he asked.
“Not what, dude!” Smalls yelled. “Who!”
“Who? What the fuck?”
“They took them all, dude! Cops came in with the health department a little while ago, wouldn't let me call you. They started arresting all the guys. Everyone that was here, man, they arrested and carted away!”
Cutter ran a hand down his face. This wasn't good. Without the crew, they didn't have a restaurant. And without the restaurant, they wouldn’t have the money to bail the guys out. This was the beginning of a vicious downward spiral, one that would suck down all of them, including Liona. “Fuck!”
“Fuck is right, man! We got breakfast in less than an hour, Cutter, and I don't know what the fuck we're gonna do. We got you, me, and Squirrel, since he's just in for lunch. We'll be lucky to get this place cleaned up, as is, but with just two cooks and a server? Ain't no way, man!”
Cutter shook his head. He didn't know, either. What could they do? They had everyone. They were lost.
“So what do you want me to do, prez?” Smalls asked.
Cutter sighed, shook his head again. “Just shut it down, I guess. Put a sign up, apologizing to the customers.”
Smalls sighed into his ear, a hard edge to his voice. He didn't like to admit defeat any more than Cutter did, but sometimes you had to make a tactical retreat in the face of overwhelming odds. Five people, they'd be fine. Four, maybe they could pull it off. But three? No way.
“Shit,” Smalls said. “You're probably right. Alright, man.”
“Just ... I'll be there in a bit, okay? We'll help you clean up and deal with any customers that wander up wondering what's going on.”
“Got it,” Smalls replied in a dejected voice. “See you in a bit.”
Cutter sighed again and hung up the phone. He tossed it on the bed next to him, his mind whirling with emotions and thoughts. Health department and cops? This had Wyland written all over it. So, now he had no men, no restaurant, and no way to make a legit living. He should have just killed the motherfucker when he had the chance the day before. He'd been so close. He could have just reached out, done the deed, been done with it. This was how the end must feel, he thought. He leaned his head forward and dropped it into his hands as he felt an ominous cloud of despair begin to descend upon him. It was thick, black, and oily as it came closer and closer.
Maybe it was time to run. Maybe it was time to just cut his losses, divvy up the funds, and call the Vanguard done and over with. He and Smalls could take Liona with them, ride out west, find another place to open shop. But, what would that accomplish? Wyland would just come for them there, no matter how long it took. And his brothers would still be locked up. What else could he do, though? He didn't have any options left. He didn't have any cards left to play, no tricks up his sleeve. He was just a man, after all.
The bed shifted as Liona sat up and pressed herself against his naked back. “Morning,” she said. “What's going on?”
He sighed and turned around. “Cops raided the diner, took everyone but Smalls in.”
“Oh no,” Liona said, putting her hand to her mouth. “What are we going to do?”
He winced. “Seriously considering closing everything up.”
She made a face, one of hurt, like he'd just killed her first puppy. She shook her head. “You can't do that.”
“Well, what can I do, babe? We can't run a restaurant without people. He's got us over a barrel. It's just me, Smalls, and Squirrel, and three people ain't enough to run a diner. And no diner means no money.”
“You got me,” she offered, an innocent, beatific smile on her lips. “I waited tables back in college for some extra spending money.”
“You did?” he asked, the wheels already beginning to turn. But, then they stopped, and he shook his head. “But, what about Wyland?”
“What about him? Sounds like he's already fucking up your world, like he said he would. If you leave, what will that accomplish?”
“Here,” Cutter said, “I can at least keep an eye on you, keep you protected.”
Her eyes flashed. “So, the solution is still to keep me here in a cage? All I did was leave one, just so I could be locked up in another?”
He shook his head, sighing. “No, babe. I just want to keep you safe, that's all.”
“Look,” she said, “the only way for me to be safe is for Wyland to be gone. Right now, he's untouchable, right?”
He groaned in dismay. She was right. He was damn near untouchable. And as long as Wyland was the assistant DA, he'd stay that way. Nothing Cutter could do would set them on an offensive foot.
“What you need to do is put him off his game,” Liona said. “You need to piss him off.”
“And, how do we do that?”
“Easy,” she said with a smile. “Pretend like it doesn't matter, pretend like he isn't get to you. He just gets more and more pissed, until he loses control and flips.”
Cutter thought about her recommendation. Actually, looking back at his friendship with Wyland, that was a good plan. Wyland had always been a sore loser and a bully. Back then, it hadn't been as noticeable, but little warning signs had been there.
“So?” Liona asked, still smiling as she watched the gears grinding in Cutter's head.
Cutter smiled. “Yeah,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. “I think you're right.”
“Finally,” she said, kissing him for one, long moment. “I'm getting the credit I deserve.”
Chapter 27
Liona
Liona took a shower and got ready as fast as she could. While she did, Cutter called Smalls and told him the plan, called the Vanguard's lawyer, and went to rouse Squirrel from bed. She pulled on fresh clothes, put on the little bit of makeup Carly had managed to snag her, and was ready faster than she'd ever gotten ready for anything in her life. While Squirrel was drying off, she and Cutter bolted out the front door and hopped on his chopper. They roared out of the clubhouse parking lot, put rubber to asphalt, and took off down the highway.
“Here we go,” Smalls said, about half an hour later, as he showed them what was left of the kitchen.
“We can work with this,” Cutter said, that same old, familiar grit in his voice that Liona had grown to admire so much.
The restaurant was in as much, if not worse, disarray than Smalls had painted with his words. If a bomb had gone off in there, it would have been an improvement. The walk-in refrigeration was tossed, with veggies everywhere. None of the sauces or prep were ready. Smalls had done his best but sometimes your best just wasn't good enough.
Squirrel arrived a few minutes after Cutter and her, and they put him to work cleaning the dining area. He began to take chairs down from the tables and started the monotonous job of rolling software. Which was fine by Liona. She'd always hated side-work when she was waiting tables.
“Okay,” Cutter said just before he began sweeping out the inside of the walk-in, “here's what we're gonna do. First thing, we keep the restaurant closed through breakfast. Liona, I'm gonna be sexist here and say you probably got the nicest handwriting of all of us, so you write the sign. Tell 'em we'll reopen at lunch and apologize for the inconvenience”
“Got it,” Liona said.
“Smalls,” Cutter said, turning and gesturing to his second-in-command with the broom he clutched in both hands, “need you to go through the food we got, everything that's fresh and manageable.”
“'Kay,” Smalls said, nodding.
“You and I, we'r
e gonna put together a list of dishes we can make, and make fast.”
“Limited menu, then?” Smalls asked.
Cutter nodded. “Very. I think I see some soups left over from yesterday, so we'll put those on the menu as we find 'em.”
“Got it,” Smalls said.
“Liona, you ever done any chalk board writing?”
“Not since kindergarten,” she replied, grinning.
“Well, then you better learn to get in touch with your inner five-year-old. Need you to wash the daily specials board above the counter so we can put the menu up there.”
“Once we know it,” Liona clarified.
“Right,” he said, “once we know it. Come back here after the sign, and you can help Smalls with the sorting. Squirrel should be able to handle the dining area by himself.”
With their marching orders, the three of them separated and went about their tasks. They had a deadline to meet.
# # #
The next several hours passed in a flash. Before Liona knew it, she was watching as Smalls and Cutter pulled together a bare bones, limited menu that had as much variety as their meager ingredients could afford. After she'd assembled the menu from the two men, Squirrel helped her get the chalkboard down, and they set to work getting the day's options written out.
“Perfect,” Squirrel said, grinning from ear to ear, wide enough for his missing molars to be on display. “Looks really nice, Liona. Real nice, indeed.”
“Thanks,” Liona said, blushing a little as she swept a wild lock of hair back behind her ear. “Can you read it alright?”
“Just fine,” he said, checking the time, “can read it just fine. Almost opening time. You think the bosses are ready?”
She nodded as her eyes glanced towards the clock on the wall. “If they're not, they better be soon.” She tapped her foot. She was impatient, but she also felt something else ...
On one hand, she was ready to get this over with. She knew it was going to be bad. Up to this point, the entire morning had already sucked. She'd woken up early to the sounds of a frayed and edgy Smalls on the phone and a defeated Cutter in bed. Then, when they'd decided to try and do something about Wyland's shenanigans, she'd had to rush through getting ready. She'd worked with the guys for the last three hours, desperately trying to get the restaurant back into a somewhat presentable shape. On the other, she realized she was actually a little excited for the shift ahead. This would be the first time she'd really worked a job since college, since Wyland had limited what she was allowed to do. The prospect of working at the Farm to Fable, even just for one shift, may have frightened her a little, but it also made her feel a little valuable. Like she was going to get to be part of something bigger than herself.
“Liona, babe,” Cutter roared from the back of house, “last check. Come on, girl!”
She went scurrying around the front counter and headed in back. The kitchen was back to being a spotless as the Vanguard clubhouse's. Cutter and Smalls were standing in front of the prep table with Squirrel, and the smell of sauces and soups filled the air.
“Alright, guys,” Cutter said, his eyes traveling around the group, “ain't gonna lie. Next three or four hours are gonna be brutal. I know it, you know it. But, we ain't got much choice, do we?” Both men nodded silently in agreement with him. “Only way we're gonna get our boys out is by standing up for ourselves, and keeping this cash flowing in. Ain't that right?”
“Right,” they both said.
Cutter's eyes wandered away from the men and settled on her. “And someone reminded that this asshole can't stand it when people don't just give up and give in. Ain't that right?”
She felt herself blush. She gave him a tight smile and nodded back.
“What're we gonna do then?” Squirrel asked.
“Stand our ground,” Smalls said, nodding fiercely.
“Damn straight, Smalls. We're gonna serve as many customers as we can. They wanna know what's going on, you tell 'em we had a refrigeration malfunction, so we're on limited menu. Got it, babe?”
“Got it,” she said, nodding again.
There was a knock, outside on the front door. Squirrel broke away from the little pow-wow and went up to the dining area.
“We'll keep a tab on what's running low, and what's run out,” Cutter said to Liona, not breaking stride in his pep-talk. “You got any problems with complainers, you send 'em to Smalls to deal with.” Beside him, Smalls narrowed his eyes and gestured pounding a fist into the palm of his hand.
“Really?” Liona asked, suddenly unsure of all this. What the hell had she gotten herself into? “Is he gonna beat them up or something?”
“Nah,” Smalls said, laughing, “I'm just messing with you. I got some gift certificates already written up back here.”
Relief flooded Liona. “Smalls,” she chided. “Let's focus, here.”
“Hey guys!” Squirrel called as he came pushing in through the double doors from the dining area. “Hate to break up this love fest, but we got customers stacking up outside. And they look hungry enough to eat a road hog with no ketchup.”
“Then let 'em on in,” Cutter said. “Let's get this shit-show started!”
# # #
Lunch was over and done with before Liona could even think to blink or even sit down. She hadn't even had a chance to really check the time until the constant flow of customers began to taper off a little bit, down to a more manageable level. Her waiting skills had kicked in after the fourth or fifth customer, and she hadn't had many mishaps during the shift. She switched up a couple orders at a table, but nothing too serious.
But, still, the last time she'd done this job she'd been a little younger, a little faster, and was definitely more used to being on her feet for long stretches of time. Now, as she sat at one of the tables with Squirrel, massaging a foot through her sock, she recalled just how painful that waitress job had really been. Somehow, she must have repressed those memories.
“You handled everything real nice, girl,” Squirrel said from across the table. He was kicked back, his feet up on one of the adjacent chairs. “Real nice job today.”
“Thanks,” Liona said, grinning despite her pain. Eventually, though, she couldn't hold it back anymore and winced a little.
“Foot pain don't ever go away, neither,” he said, grinning. “Just gets worse and worse.”
She laughed, more from delirious exhaustion than anything else.
He clapped his hands together, almost like he'd just remembered something he'd been forgetting. “Well, guess we better start getting everything put away,” he said.
She nodded and put her shoes back on. She got up and, together, the two of them put up all the chairs and swept the dining area. In the back of house, she could hear Smalls and Cutter groaning through their own cleanup duties. Their dishwasher was out with a bad case of jail, same as everyone else, and there was literally a restaurant's worth of dishes that needed to be cleaned still before they all went home for the night. After Squirrel and she were done with the dining area, they headed in back to help with everything.
All through it, Liona marveled at how, even though she was bone-deep weary, and about to collapse on her feet, she still felt accomplished. Like she and the rest of the guys had pulled together like a team. Sure, it wasn't climbing Mount Everest or anything, but it was still more than she'd done lately. And, to her at least, it mattered.
A couple hours later, this time with more laughing and horsing around than before, and they were all standing around staring at a perfectly clean kitchen. Sure, they were finished a couple hours later than they normally would have been, but given the circumstances it was a win.
“Alright,” Smalls said, stumbling a little. “That's it for me.”
“Yup, yup, yup,” Squirrel agreed. “I don't wanna see another dirty dish long as I live.”
“Maybe now you'll be more appreciative of Slim's work,” Cutter said with a chuckle. Slim was their dishwasher.
Squirrel put hi
s hand over his heart. “I ain't ever gonna say shit about how Slim does his job, I fucking promise on my granny's grave.”
“Believe it when I see it,” Smalls grumbled, but with a knowing grin on his face.
