Page 69 of Thug

Normally, I’d knee a guy in the nuts for such a comment. Considering the circumstances, I flashed a smile and turned toward the kitchen. “Coming right up.”

20

Price

Gray shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know what else to do.” She surveyed the bar. “It won’t be that bad. It isn’t like they’re strangers. Just get Brisco to help you and it’ll be smooth sailing.”

Nearly a week had passed, but I hadn’t forgiven Brisco for what he’d done. Not completely. “If I’m doing it, I’m not working with Brisco,” I said. “Maybe Panzer or Lackey. Or Carp.”

Her eyes lit up. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Look,” she said. “The kitchen’s done. Everyone knows it’s done. I don’t have a cook, and I’m the only bartender. It’s a beer only bar, so it’s not like you need to mix drinks. Hand them their beers, keep track of what they drink, and give Lackey the total at the end of the night.”

The MC bought beer for the fellas one night a week. Gray’s “dollar draft night” caused us to declare Thursday to be that night. I looked at the taps, glanced at the cooler, and then the sinks.

“Wash on the left, disinfect in the middle, and rise on the right,” she said. “I always rinse twice. Air dry. Towel off the water spots.”

“Panzer!” I shouted. “Come here.”

The bar was empty, but it wouldn’t be that way for long. We’d spent most of the afternoon buying food and supplies for the kitchen. In an hour it would be wall to wall ‘Eights, and I’d definitely need some help.

“She says she needs to be in the kitchen, and we need to tend bar,” I said. “You game?”

He looked around. “I’ll work the bar. You take orders from the fellas.”

I gave him a shitty look. “You want me to be a waitress?”

He nodded. “Pretty much. Call yourself a waiter. You’ll feel better about it.”

“Fuck that,” I said. “You wait tables. I’ll work the bar.”

I wasn’t interested in being a waiter or a waitress. I looked him up and down. “You want me to do the bitch work?”

“Someone’s got to.”

“Fuck that,” he said. “Get Brisco to do it.”

If Brisco helped me, we’d end up in a fist fight before the night was over. I realized I’d forgive him at some point, but it had to be on my terms and only after I had time to accept what had happened as being nothing more than a giant misunderstanding. I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t close.

“You twat,” I said. “Fine. I’ll wait fucking tables.”

He jumped behind the bar. “Deal.”

Gray looked at each of us like we were idiots. “You’re like children arguing over the television.”

I pointed at the 3-compartment sink. “Wash on the left, disinfect in the middle, and rise twice on the right. Wipe the fuckers off with a towel after they dry.”

“I got this,” Panzer insisted.

“I need to get everything ready,” Gray said. “For tonight, we’ll have Reuben sandwiches, burgers, fries, and shrimp tacos. Tacos are three to an order. Burgers and sandwiches come with fries. Standard toppings with the burgers.”

It dawned on me that I’d also be taking food orders. Being the waitress sucked, and it hadn’t even started yet.

“What’s standard?” I asked.

“American, cheddar, swiss, or Pepper Jack cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, onions—raw or grilled, jalapenos—raw or grilled, and pickles. Bun is either toasted or not, their choice.”