Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 26)

 Chapter 26

Revenge served cold

 I absolutely hate cleaning the calamari. I find it utterly disgusting, pulling out the insides, the intestines, the ink sac and that clear skeleton. And then popping the beak out, it’s like popping a stone hard pimple off of somebody else. Finally, peeling the thin skin off, but there I was, knee deep in calamari. Afterwards I marinated it in ginger ale laced with chili, ginger and garlic. During service we bread them with cornstarch and deep fry them. A squeeze of lemon and sprinkling of salt, then served with the Lemon Aioli they are fantastic. But the cleaning sucks.

 Tom and Ollie arrived together. Gustavo was hot on their heels. He needed to roll the dough out for the pizzas. Because our kitchen is so small, we roll the dough out before service and pre bake the crust in the pizza oven. They come out great. We just don’t have the space to do as it is ordered. 

 “You want a coffee, Mike?” Tom asked from the service station.

 “Sure, thanks.” I called back over the music. I had the Counting Crows on. To mellow for the other guys, but I enjoyed them. I knew Tom would change the music as soon as he starts in the kitchen, but the hour before he came was all mine. 

 He set my coffee down next to the cutting board. 

 “Dude, did you hear about Trish? That’s fucked up.”

 “I know. Kimber told me, I think that’s the only reason Bill is letting me stay.”

 “Yeah, I know. He was fucking pissed at you.”

 I just shook my head. Not wanting to think about it anymore. I was determined to get better.

 “Just so you know, I am going to the doctor again tomorrow to find out what the hell is going on.”

 “Your fucking bat shit crazy, that’s all. All those STDs have gone to your brain and now you’re fucked.” He almost fell over laughing at his own joke.

 “I think you are mistaken, the only one with STDs here is Ollie, have you seen the last chick he fucked? She’s like the village bicycle, everyone gets a ride.”

 “You never did,” Ollie shouted from downstairs.

 Tom laughed again. It was good to be back. He checked on the Bolognese, tasting it to make sure that it was coming along. Bill popped his head in the kitchen.

 “Hey guys, I need a second. This stuff with Trish, it’s really fucked up.” He started; he looked as if he hadn’t slept. 

 “I’m going to take the night off; the cops are on their way to talk to Trish about what’s going on. I guess it pays to have an uncle as a cop. Is everyone cool?” He was looking directly at me.

 We all assured him nothing was going to happen, that he should just take care of the asshole, threatening his girl. He called Tom outside; I guess to give him last instructions. 

 Tom came back, unable to look at me. He put Ollie on the meat station, told us it was good training for him. But I knew the real reason; it scared Bill that I might go all fire crazy again and try to burn the restaurant down. 

 Gustavo fed the logs into the pizza oven; the radiant heat from yesterday’s service was still there. It didn’t take long for the fire to blaze back to life. He of course was more than amused to find out that Ollie would run the meat station. He has been plotting his revenge, since Ollie pressed his dick to his face. I hoped that Goose wouldn’t go overboard, but I know how we can get. 

 I kept waiting for Goose to make his move; I knew it was coming. I was willing participant in whatever sick joke he was getting ready to play. But it never came, not during prep and not during service.  It finally happened we went to change clothes. 

 Goose had broken into Ollie’s locker just after he had changed clothes and stole his car keys. He put them in the bottom of a container filled with ice water and stuck them in the deep freeze. It froze them solid. Not only that, but he had sprayed water all over Ollie’s clothes and hung them up in there as well. They were frozen stiff. Ollie was so pissed. 

 After twenty minutes of running scorching water over the block of ice, Ollie’s keys freed from their icy grave. His clothes had thawed as well. That’s when he realized that it wasn’t water that Goose had used to wet them down. The fat Mexican had pissed all over them. Ollie was livid. We thought it was hilarious. 

 “You coming to the Cat?” Tom asked.

 “No, I think I’m going to crash. Next time.” I was out the door a few seconds later, I know how I am if I stayed. One beer becomes two, two becomes ten. I needed sleep. Tomorrow was the doctor; I wanted answers, so being sober for once was an excellent step, I thought. 

***

 Dr. Webber had nothing for me; he had only referred me to a shrink. His advice: reduce my stress, reduce my drinking, stop experimenting with drugs and get more sleep. I hated to think that I might need one, someone poking around my brain again, asking about my feelings, wanting to talk about my parents again. But I called. Because I want answers, I want to know what’s going on. 

 Maryellen Connor was a psychiatrist in Pittsfield. Her office was in a nondescript building, nothing special. In fact, it wasn’t really an office; it had a small waiting room, a toilet and her office space. The waiting room had a handful of chairs, a small table in the middle covered with the typical magazines and cabinet to one side filled with books and fact,. The magazines were more intellectual than the normal office; she had copies of some independent local magazines that play to the cultural type. The books were more for her I suppose than for us, or maybe it is to show us patients how well read she is; to me it was just pretentious. I sat in a chair and ignored all the things to read and waited for my turn. Thankfully I didn’t have to wait long.

 Dr. Connor was a short, uninteresting woman, probably in her mid-40s. She looked as if she had pushed out a kid or two. Her dark suit fit well, but her hair was a bit in disarray. Her demeanor was professional. The appointment went as expected. She was astounded to find out about my parents of course this will be her focus I suppose. 

 After recounting the story of my father, she paused. She remembered reading about the incident, as she called it. It didn’t surprise me it was all over the news back then. Every news agency in the entire state had talked about it.  She expressed the normal condolences and the normal amount of pity that everyone shows; she also looked at me with sharp focus. As if she was seeing something that no one else could see. 

 The hour went by faster than I had expected it too. It surprised me how good I felt as I left. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I had expected. I set up an appointment for the next week; she said she really wanted to help me find out what was going on. I felt for the first time since this started I might get it under control. 

***

 Bill called a staff meeting. The strange thing was, he had never called a staff meeting before.  The entire staff was there, even Trish. It’s funny how the service and the kitchen don’t really mingle together, we are a team but we are separate as well. I’ve always thought that the service thought they were better than us. But they never realize that the guests come for the food, so they come for us. Maybe they think the same way about us. You could tell the lines were drawn though; the kitchen and dish sat one side and the service on the other. No exceptions. It didn’t matter how good of friends we were outside of the restaurant. 

 “Trish and I just got done talking to the police.” Bill said. Trish sat next to him as he stood addressing us. She looked horrible, her hair, her makeup all a mess. She fought back tears as Bill spoke. 

 “The police traced the calls. Every fucking one of them came from the restaurant. That means we are all suspects. Since nothing has happened, the police are not pursuing anything officially.” 

 “What do you mean?” Yves asked.

 “I mean. One of you fuckers came to my restaurant and called her. That’s what I mean.” 

 Kimber was holding Trish’s hand, comforting her. They both looked so fragile; I wanted Kimber to know that I was sorry for only thinking of myself before. I didn’t know how to tell her. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail. She had almost no make-up on; she looked amazing, I thought, as Bill went on. 

 Tom spoke up. “Bill, I don’t think any of us would do anything like you are saying. Think about it. We all love, Trish.” 

 Everyone agreed. Bill said that he would change the locks on the restaurant and that no one would have a key for a while, except Tom. I think that Tom is the only one that Bill really trusted. Bill closed the restaurant for the next few days. That meant calling all the reservations and canceling them. It also meant freezing whatever we could and trashing the rest. Bill didn’t care. He needed break he said. We would open back up next week. That gave us all the weekend off.