Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 25)

 Chapter 25

Redemption

 I woke with the headache from hell. My eye sockets pounded. I hate this feeling, the fur that coats my tongue, my unbearable craving for water, every sound, light and movement hurt. 

 I have a few hours before I have to go see Bill. Thank god for that. I need food, water, a shower and maybe another drink, but not particularly in that order. 

 The shower was a lifesaver, steaming scalding water rushing over my sore, hungover body. I feel as if I haven’t slept at all. But it was probably because I had passed out on my couch, I thought.

 That hand hurt less today. This doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. No, it hurts, it hurts badly, it just hurts less today than yesterday.

 I decided that it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I called Kimber. She might give me a hint of what to expect later when I talk with Bill. Our conversation did not go as expected. 

 “What do you mean, someone is stalking Trish?” I asked, confused.

 “Just what I said, Trish got somewhere on the lines of fifty calls, saying that he was going to kill her and calling her all sorts of names.”

 “Who would do that?”

 “I don’t know she is at Bill’s. He is pissed.”

 “Super.”

 “God, you only think about yourself.”

 “No, it’s just I was already nervous.”

 “Seriously, grow a pair. Some asshole threatened to kill our friend. Grow up.”

 She hung up. Like I said, it was not how I expected the call to go.

***

 The restaurant was still dark when I got there. I let myself in. Bill hides a key behind the woodshed for the staff. No one was here. The kitchen was still warm from the pizza oven. That’s not uncommon. 

 A few plates and glasses littered the dish station, remnants from yesterday’s service. The service station was stocked and ready to go. I turned the coffee machine on and waited. It took a few minutes to heat. 

 Tom and Ollie should be in soon. There is always so much to do. The prep list hung on the wall in its usual spot. It was a long list; probably because they had been one man short lately, me. 

 Bill slammed through the door, stomping past the kitchen and the service station and straight to the bar. He took the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue down and poured himself two fingers. He downed it without spilling a drop. Then he poured another.

 “Hey Bill.” I called from the service station.

 “Just shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear any bullshit.”

 I said nothing. I just stood halfway between the bar and the coffee machine. 

 He drank his second glass empty and returned the bottle to the shelf. 

 “Look,” he started calmly. “I’m sure you heard. So here is the deal. I need you back in the kitchen. I can’t have everything here break down.”

 I nodded. 

 “Whatever is going on with you, get a hold of it. I need to deal with this Trish, shit.” He shook his head. 

 “I will.” I said, finally relaxing.

 “Good, can you work now?” 

 “Yeah, sure.” 

 He walked to his office and closed the door. I took that as the signal that I should get to work. That is exactly what I did, and my first job of the day was to start the Bolognese.