Before his last trip up, Bill popped a black beauty and took a swig of bourbon. He knew the speed would straighten him up and so he wasn’t worried about being too messed up to do the lunch. In fact, young, stupid and very naïve despite the things that had happened to him in his life, Bill assumed everything would just go on as it did and would be okay.
On that last trip he carried the two prime ribs set on one meat tray that Henry Lee had arranged for him. Henry Lee told him to be careful and Bill paid it no mind. He simply hoisted the tray on his shoulder and went about his business.
Mary had fixed him a double espresso. When he set down the tray, she handed it to him.
“Any bourbon in it?” he asked.
“No. And you better keep up on the line.”
“Give me a kiss and I will.”
“I ain’t kissing nothing. And you got blood on your shirt.”
“Must have dripped from the tray.” Bill sipped the espresso and wiped his shirt at the same time.
“Take a break,” said Mary. “Sit down a minute.”
“Nah. I’ll help you set up the ribs and then I’m gonna trim the round.”
“Well, finish your coffee then I’ll get you another.”
“I’m good.”
“I know you’re good. I need you straight.”
Bill and Mary set the ribs into a roasting pan, dressed them, then, each one holding a handle, they carried the roasting pan to the oven and slid it inside. That done, Mary went to fix Bill another double espresso. Bill went over onto the line and checked everything out, top to bottom, double-checking and triple-checking that everything was in order and everything needed was in place.
He had done everything Mary needed him to do and everything he needed to do for the line. The potatoes were out and set in place. All the meat and frozen stuff was in place, a lot of it too, much more than usual since whatever was left over from the lunch would be used for the dinner. He was making sure no one had to make a run downstairs during the service, especially since if anything were needed he would be the one to do the running.
Satisfied, he took a boning knife, a carving knife, a chef’s knife and a sharpening steel from the knife sheath and set them where he always kept them on the carving shelf of the steam table. The round was set on a flat platform there which was like a tray set upside down and covered with foil.
Bill was standing before the round, honing the blade of the carving knife straight. He had the steel in his right hand, the knife in his left. It had taken him awhile to learn how to do what he was doing, but now, practiced and good at it, he honed the blade swiftly, rhythmically running it against the steel, first one side then the other, over and over.
That’s when Drenovis walked into the kitchen.
Waitresses had been coming in and out regularly. The dish machine was running, the dishwashers in place. Like a sleeping beast, the kitchen, over the past hour or so, was waking up, stirring, stretching and moving into its daily routine. More and more was going on, faster and faster, and the service was still about a half hour away.
He and Drenovis eyeballed each other immediately. Bill set down the one knife and picked up the other. He began honing it on the steel as Drenovis went over by Bea’s station and drew himself a coffee.
Drenovis started first. Loud enough for Bill to hear, purposefully, he told Bea he was firing Lexi.
