“I’m happy as hell it’s you and not the police again.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way back toward the kitchen.
“Come on in. It’s just you and me here. I sent everybody else home to close by myself so that we could have an uninterrupted conversation about what’s going on.”
‘Yeah, good call. We don’t want people in our business. These conversations that we are having need to stay between you and me.”
She went back into the kitchen, and I followed her. It was crazy seeing myself behind the scenes, because I’d always come to the front counter to order fish and chicken and shit. But it was good to see she kept it spotless back here, no matter how raggedy the sign was outside or how the building looked from the outside. It was good-ass food in here, cooked by a sister who knew exactly what the fuck she was doing with these pots and pans.
“So, the police came back here this morning, and I told them the same thing I've been saying. They keep asking about those cameras in the lobby, but I told them they don’t work. They said they were going to get a warrant to look at them, however.”
“Yeah, but that may take a day, or even a week, but we need to figure out what we are going to do when they come back.”
“Don’t worry about that, Proc. The cameras have already been wiped clean. My sister’s son is into computers and tech, so I had him come in here and wipe everything out. I told him I didn’t want the health inspector to find evidence that I didn’t change the grease trap every six weeks like I was supposed to.”
She and I laughed.
“And he believed that shit? As clean as this kitchen is back here?”
“Yeah, he did. He’s only fifteen, but he’s smart as hell, at the top of his class, and graduating two years early because of it. He wiped those cameras clean in about two seconds.”
“Good. So, when the cops come back, let them look at them because there is no evidence to see.”
“Of course, honey, that’s my plan.”
I leaned back in my seat, feeling even better about this situation. I wasn't stressing, but the shit was in the back of my mind whenever I tried to relax. Having to get alibis through several people wasn’t how I usually operate. My past murders have been cleaner than this. No one in the past could say they saw, or heard, I did shit.
“Now, Dianne, it’s time for you to tell me what I have to pay you?”
“Oh, Proctor, no, honey, you don’t have to.”
“Well, you know I am because I got you. Anything you need, I will provide. Shit, we can have this restaurant looking brand new once I get through showing my love to you for what you’re doing for me.”
She smiled softly. “Proctor, you already know I love you. You’re one of my favorite, most loyal customers, and when you come in here, my staff and I light up.”
“Yeah, I can tell, and I appreciate the love, but name the price, and I'll get whatever you want.”
“Okay.”
She nodded her head.
“Proctor, you don’t have to pay me with money. We make pretty decent money here, no matter how it looks from the outside. And I think I like the small-town charm my place has. The broken-down signs and all, as crazy as that may sound. We went viral a couple of days ago on TikTok because of a fish plate that some big creator came in and had. So since then, we’ve beenselling out even earlier than before. People traveled a long way from the Strip to get a plate from me.”
“That’s the goal. More where that comes from.”
‘Yeah, you are right,” she replied.
“But don’t ever forget where you came from, no matter how big your business is, always remember who your best customer is.”
“Oh, I won’t. At all.”
She reached over and rubbed her hand across the back of mine, where it rested on the table.
“Before we talk about the payment I will accept from my number one customer, I want to show you something.” She pulled her phone out of her apron.
“Now I know I look crazy half the time you come in here, but underneath the grease and flour, I don’t look bad for a fifty-four year old.”
She turned the camera around to face me.
