While Bebe’s steak cooked, Bill lugged that pot of hot grease out the back door where he dumped it into the grease barrel. He did it quickly because the grills were hot and the steak would cook in no time. For that reason he had it placed toward the front.
When Arlene returned, she came around again and put the glass of bourbon and the beer on Bill’s cutting board atop the meat reach-in. She stood there a moment not knowing what else to do, but then Bill told her go back around to pick up Bebe’s dinner. As she did so, he plated the steak, got her a baked potato and some veggies which he smothered in butter that quickly melted. Then he slid the plate up under the warmer lights.
“Anything else you need?” Arlene asked.
Bill took a good look at her and said, “What else you giving?”
Arlene flushed red. She was as young as Bill and maybe a little naïve. She shifted her weight as she reached for the plate, but before she could say anything, Esserine started talking bible talk about the fornicators. “Meats for the belly…,” Esserine started. She went on and finished with, “Now the body is not for fornication, but for the Lord; and the Lord for the body.”
Arlene flushed more red now and she wasn’t even fornicating. She bowed herself quickly, stepped away toward the automatic doors and on out of the kitchen.
“You’re cramping my style,” said Bill.
Esserine smiled a sly smile. “Don’t you have to finish that grease?” she asked.
Bill took a big sip of the bourbon and chased it down with beer. Then he went back to work, washed out the one fryer, placed the cube of grease inside and lit her up. Then he emptied the dirty water from the stock pot and shut down the second fryer. Carefully, he drained the grease from it.
That done, he finished the bourbon in the glass and brought the glass over to the dish machine. Then he finished his beer.
Lorraine brought him another beer a few moments later when she came in to say good night. She was supposed to be closing girl, but Arlene said she’d do it because she didn’t work nights much and she wanted to learn all there was about the shift. Tommy’d said he didn’t care if they switched.
Lorraine blew Bill a kiss from across the counter. If Marie had been there instead of Esserine, Lorraine would’ve come around the counter and kissed Bill good night. As it was, this had to do.
As soon as Lorraine had left the kitchen, Bill went back to work. He saw Jim moving out of the corner of his eye, but he’d gone down on his knees to clean up the bottom of the fryer where he’d spilled some grease. He was lining it with towels, pleasantly high from the bourbon and beer.
That’s when time stopped.
“You royal French Canadian cocksucker.”
That’s what Bill heard, clear as anything he’d ever heard before.
Hearing it, recognizing Jim’s voice, he stood up immediately and saw Jim by the knife sheath.
“Could have shared that whiskey,” Jim said. Then, “Punk ass, nigger-loving kid,” he said. He drew a knife from the knife sheath and knife in hand, he stepped on the line and moved toward Bill.
Bill reacted instinctively. Before he could think to do it, he lifted the big pot of grease and tilted it ready to throw. Staring Jim down, he said, “C’mon Motherfucker.” He waited, praying Jim would back off, praying he didn’t have to throw that grease.
Jim froze where he stood. “You wouldn’t,” he said.
“Try me,” said Bill.
