Page 70 of Thug

It sounded simple enough. “Got it.”

“Like I said, tacos are three to an order,” she said. “They’re made with fried shrimp that are tossed in a Sriracha mayo sauce, topped with a jalapeno cabbage slaw and queso fresco, and served on warm corn tortillas. They’re a little spicy, but not bad. The Reuben is a basic Reuben. Pastrami, swiss, thousand island dressing, and sauerkraut on rye. Grilled, of course.”

I looked at Panzer. “Are you listening?”

“Reubens, tacos, burgers.” He tapped his head with his index finger. “It’s all right up here.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said.

She looked at me like she wasn’t convinced. I didn’t know what else to tell her. We were grown men that were going to be waiting on other grown men. Our options were limited to three food choices and a handful of drink options.

Gray stood in wait, hoping for some kind of reassurance that everything would be alright. Panzer and I were more than capable. After being accosted by her hopeful stare for several minutes, I gave her the stink eye.

“Good luck, fellas.” She gave me a kiss and turned away. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Panzer pulled the beer tap. A few ounces ran into the drain pan. “This is going to be a breeze.”

“My thought, exactly,” I said. “She was acting like we were a couple of imbeciles.”

In an hour, the men began to come in a few at a time. In and hour and a half, we were filled from wall to wall. People were screaming from every direction.

“Jukebox ate a quarter,” someone complained from the corner of the bar. “Didn’t let me pick a song.”

I was in the middle of taking an order. “It’s a fucking quarter!” I shouted over Garth Brooks’ Friends in Low Places. “Shut the fuck up about it.”

“I wanted to hear that Eric Clapton song,” he complained.

“Fucker wouldn’t have played for an hour, anyway,” I responded. “Carp put five bucks worth of quarters in it when he got here.”

I looked at Creek and Stoney. “Where were we?”

“Burger, swiss, jalapenos—but I want ‘em grilled,” Creek said. “Burger cooked medium. Tomato, lettuce, mustard. Does the mustard come in those packets or does she put it on?”

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.”