by T. F. Pruden
“Tabernac!” the tall chef cursed again, “where are we to fin’ a place to stash our bag, eh mon ami?”
“In the depot,” Ronnie Sargeant replied, “come on, I’ll show you where it is, this ain’t my firs’ rodeo an’ ‘ats fer’ sure.”
The two men picked up the three bags. The tall chef staggered a little while the younger man, a half head shorter than his traveling companion, appeared less affected. Together they turned from the coach and walked with care toward the entrance to the terminal only a few yards away.
The shorter man held the door for his taller partner when they reached it.
The bright lights of the terminal caused both men to pause so their eyes, accustomed to the dim lights of the coach, might adjust to the sudden brilliance. A momentary stop restored their vision. The shorter fellow soon moved ahead of the tall man. He led them to a wall of numbered storage lockers lining the far side of the busy terminal.
He opened the first empty locker and stuffed the hockey bag he carried into it. The tall man followed suit though the pair of duffel bags he carried required two lockers. Both men inserted twenty-five cent coins into slots allowing them to close and lock the doors.
They next removed the keys.
The public lockers rented for twenty-four hours at twenty-five cents. Though the policy of the Regina terminal was to check them only when a traveler complained they were out of storage space.
“Don’ lose yer’ key,” Ronnie said to his tall companion, “gotta wait a month to get yer’ shit back if you lose da’ key, no exceptions.”
“Tabernac!” the tall chef mumbled as he stuffed the pair of keys into the chest pocket of his heavy wool coat, “Can’ wait ‘dat long.”
“Are you hungry yet?” Ronnie asked, “cuz’ I’m starving!”
“For sure for sure!” the tall chef replied, “Breakfas’ would be ver’ good mon frere!”
“Let’s locate my bro’ an’ get somethin’ to eat, eh?” Ronnie said, “we can do a Humpty’s run or grab somethin’ at the terminal restaurant.”
“For sure for sure!” the tall chef replied, “Whatever is quickes’ mon ami, for I am starv’ang now, eh?”
The shorter man clapped his hand on the shoulder of the tall chef. With a smile he turned him away from the wall of lockers and toward the terminal exit only a few yards from where they stood. The tall chef grinned as he felt the hand of friendship on his shoulder. He shook his head and the surprising fact of being kicked off of the bus drifted from the forefront of his consciousness.
His thoughts turned to breakfast.
“My bro’ is sure to have a bottle,” Ronnie said, “an’ I could sure use a drink, how’ ‘bout you my friend?”
“Mon ami ‘dat would be perfec’ before breakfas’, oui oui?” the tall chef answered with a grin, “An’ ‘dat schnapps she was tas’ey, eh?”
“I love ‘at shit!” the shorter man replied, “But we might havta’ wait ‘til the liquor store opens if you want more of it.”
“After we ‘ave ‘ad a bite to eat mon ami?” Maurice asked, “Will ‘da liquor store be open by ‘den, eh?”
“We might havta hang aroun’ fer’ an hour or two,” Ronnie answered, “but I doubt that my bro’ will mind.”
“Perfec’ ‘appiness mon frere!” the tall chef responded, “Is wort’ ‘da wait ‘dat peach schnapps, for sure for sure, eh?”
The shorter man laughed and clapped the tall chef on the shoulder again. They approached the terminal restaurant located past the ticket windows and overlooking the street outside the building. The tall chef did not notice the hand on his shoulder. He thought now of the sweet warmth of peach schnapps.
Maurice enjoyed the glow surrounding him under its influence.
“For sure I am ‘ungry mon frere,” Maurice said as he walked on unsteady legs toward the restaurant with his traveling companion at his side, “a steak an’ h’eggs will set me up for ‘da h’af’ernoon, for sure. What about you mon ami, what breakfas’ h’am I gett’ang pour moi, eh?”
“You don’t havta buy me breakfas’ partner!” Ronnie’s voice arrived in the valiant song of friendship, “I can get my own or else my bro’ can pay.”
“Non!” the tall chef spoke with an urgent voice, “You an’ yer’ brudder’ you are shar’ang your ‘ospitality wit’ me, ‘da leas’ I can do is to buy you bot’ breakfas’ an’ drinks, eh? Tabernac!”
Ronnie Sargeant laughed at the tall man walking unsteady beside him. The man’s character impressed him. His lack of worldly awareness while angering him also saddened him a little.
“My friend that’s not necessary,” he said, “but I’m sure my bro’ will appreciate your generosity as much as I do. And thank you.”
“You h’ar welcome mon frere,” Maurice replied, “for wit’out your ‘elp it would ‘ave be a long an’ miserable night an’ now an even longer day pour moi, an ‘dats for sure for sure, eh? Tabernac!”
They arrived at the restaurant and the shorter fellow stopped before entering. He scanned the assortment of booths and tables for his brother, who would meet them there. A moment later a large and bearded fellow seated at a booth against the window waved to him.
He nudged the tall chef at his side.
“There’s my bro’,” Ronnie said, pointing to the man waving at them.
Maurice looked to where his traveling companion pointed. The sight of the fellow waiting for them astounded the tall chef. He appeared to dwarf the booth where he sat. Though drunk he could see the enormous man waving from within it must weigh over three hundred pounds.
The fellow towered above the tabletop in front of him, and so great was his bulk he appeared to have been wedged into the booth. He wore a long and unkempt beard while dressed in clothes best suited to either hunting or hard labor. The baseball cap riding atop his head appeared too small for the job of protecting the giant skull covered by thick hair protruding from beneath it.
“Tabernac!” Maurice spoke in a grave voice, “Your brudder’ ‘e is one big specimen, eh mon ami?”
“You said it right there partner!” Ronnie answered the tall chef with a grin, “But don’t let his size fool ya’, he’s gentle as a kitten an’ loyal as a hound dog, an’ ‘at much I can tell you for sure!”
“Tabernac! For sure for sure h’am glad to ‘ear ‘dat mon fere!” the tall chef said, “A fellow ‘dat size you wan’ on your side, eh?”
Ronnie Sargeant laughed at the tall chef’s comment. He could no longer count the times he heard similar remarks when introducing his brother. As usual, he was pleased and proud, if also a little jealous, at the first impression created by his enormous sibling.
His brother dwarfed him throughout their lives.
“He’s a big one all right,” he said, “but you’ll see he’s a good friend to have an’ that’s fer’ sure. Come on, let’s introduce you an’ get some breakfas’, eh my friend?”
The tall chef nodded in agreement, following close behind his traveling companion as he led the way to the big fellow seated at the booth. Though both hungry and drunk, it surprised him to discover curiosity now drove him to continue an adventure that seemed, inexorably, to entangle him.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Wayne pointed the Camaro out of the Cash-n-Carry Wholesale parking lot and turned south on Henry Avenue.
He mashed the gas pedal to the floor. A grin spread across his face as the small block roared to life and the wholesale grocer shrank in the rear-view mirror. The back seat had been folded flat behind him and the glass hatchback of the car packed full of dry goods needed for the restaurant. The young chef J.D. Dryer sat next to him in the passenger seat.
Wayne stifled a laugh as he noticed the chef’s white knuckles gripping the grab handle on the A-pillar of the cars’ roofline.
“This thing’s gotta lotta power!” the young chefs’ shaky voice was loud enough to be heard above the roar of the engine.
Wayne backed off the accelerator and smiled into the m
irror as tire smoke rose from the parking lot exit.
“Yup,” he said, “it’s an IROC, so it’s got the Corvette engine.”
“Well it sure works don’t it?” the chef answered.
“It’s a nice toy all right,” Wayne replied.
He fixed the chef with a grin as they arrived at the Princess Street intersection. Wayne flicked the stalk to signal his intention to turn right.
“A big toy for a big boy,” he said, and winked.
J.D. nodded to his boss.
He was uncomfortable being alone with the man and still bewildered by the change in his role at the yet-to-open restaurant. Wayne sprung it on him the night before and the shock left him befuddled. When told the tall chef had been fired, it stunned J.D. to silence.
For a moment he expected a similar fate.
It further shook him when the big man offered the job of head chef.
His ego caused him to accept the role without hesitation. The offer surprised him and he failed to think of the money involved. J.D. accepted the salary his handsome boss suggested without discussion.
After taking a night to sleep on the events of the day before he remained somewhat nonplussed. He also considered he may have sold himself short. The young chef now struggled to rectify the error caused by his incompetent negotiating skills. The large fellow seated to his left drove fast enough to be dangerous and offered no clue about how he might accomplish such a maneuver.
Wayne soon convinced J.D. his driving skills would be enough to distract anyone.
“So you’re telling me you didn’t even know that place existed?”
Wayne spoke as he pulled away from the intersection and onto Princess Street. He threaded the car with care through the Saturday morning traffic.
“That’s right.” J.D. answered, “Had no idea. Never even heard of it before goin’ into it just now.”
“So you’re a certified chef with papers and you had no idea where to buy stock for your business?” Wayne’s voice was incredulous, “Where the fuck did you expect to get your food? At the local Safeway store?”
“It’s crazy I know,” the young chef replied, his embarrassment growing as he confronted his ignorance, “but nobody at the institute ever said anything about it an’ workin’ at my uncle’s place the head chef handled it.”
“That’s some education they gave you over there!” Wayne spoke with a shake of his head, “You’re lucky you can cook or you’d be in tough.”
“Guess so,” J.D. replied, with the embarrassment caused by his inexperience growing, “but that goes fer’ both of us don’t it?”
It was not the time to ask for a raise.
“Yup,” Wayne replied, “we’re both just lucky I guess.”
Wayne braked the car to a smooth stop as he reached the intersection at William Avenue and waited for the light to change. He signaled his intention to turn left toward Main Street where he would then head for the Midtown Bridge and distant St. Boniface.
With a tasting for the staff to prepare for he knew they had little time to waste.
His surprise at discovering the ignorance of his young chef passed. The young fellow had talent despite his inexperience, and he could teach J.D. the skills needed to run the business as they went.
He pulled away from the intersection and turned, shaking his head in disgust at the culinary institute. The amount of money they charged to turn out graduates lacking the most rudimentary of skills required to operate a functional restaurant was shameful.
Rene pulled the ‘Lemieux Trucking’ badged pickup away from the curb and drove north along St. Mary’s Road.
He departed the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting room only moments earlier. Rene spent an hour sitting through the scheduled gathering of Maurice’s home group and was glad to get away. He spoke with several regulars among the tight-knit club members. None reported seeing the tall chef through the previous month. They could give him no information related to Maurice’s seeming unplanned departure. With his obligation to Jane complete it relieved him to depart the informal gathering.
The tasting scheduled for an hour later and a desire to greet his staff as they arrived at the restaurant threatened to distract Rene.
The traffic was heavy despite the still falling snow and he drove with caution to avoid entanglements with his fellow drivers. For despite spending at least half their lives in conditions eerily similar to these his neighbors responded to the weather by driving as though seeing it for the first time.
Rene shook his head with disgust and kept a circumspect eye on the surrounding traffic.
He sighed with admiration as he reached the lights at the corner of Niverville Avenue and stopped in front of the Red Top Restaurant. The family eatery had operated successfully for as long as he lived at Winnipeg. They served exceptional breakfasts, a fine selection of burgers, and home-cut fries with an exemplary service known as their trademark.
Rene enjoyed both the food and atmosphere of the Red Top. Held in high esteem and widely appreciated they were celebrated for serving the best comfort food in the city. His dream was to develop a reputation to equal them at the soon-to-open ‘Rene’s at the Marlene’. With time he hoped to someday be held in similar esteem.
To hold such a position while earning serious profits would result from his dream coming true.
With a lupine grin he pulled away as the light changed.
Rene nodded to the Red Top as he passed.
He now looked forward to meeting his restaurant staff for the first time. The reputation of ‘Rene’s at the Marlene’ would be in their hands. It would also rely on the skill of their young chefs. Wayne was responsible for the new hires. His young partner had staked their success to the people he recruited.
With his money on the line Rene hoped to be satisfied with his partner’s choices.
He couldn’t afford to lose his operations manager before the new restaurant opened its doors for the first time.
Maurice followed his new friend Ronnie Sargeant down the narrow aisle of the terminal restaurant to the booth where his enormous brother waited.
The tall chef did his best not to stagger. His attempt though valiant, failed as he was now drunk.
The big man struggled to extract himself from what appeared a comically small booth and stood as they neared. Maurice saw he underestimated the fellow’s size while seated. As he stood he revealed himself to be at least six inches taller than the thin chef. He must weigh in a neighborhood well north of three hundred and fifty pounds.
His mass was intimidating.
The size of the man would be enough for Maurice to turn and walk in the other direction if not for the disarming smile on his large and unlined face. The fellow looked the spitting image of an enormous and animated teddy bear clothed in a set of too small blue denim overalls. He wore a red plaid shirt beneath them and a pair of brown leather topped rubber boots on his feet.
Maurice was challenged to withhold the laughter threatening to burst from within him at the sight of the man.
He watched transfixed as the big fellow wrapped his arms around Ronnie as he reached the booth and with ease lifted him over his head. The large man laughed with delight at the sight of his brother.
“HI RONNIE!” he shouted.
His boisterous greeting caused the balance of the restaurants’ customers to look at the impromptu reunion unfolding next to them.
“Hi Reggie!” Ronnie Sargeant answered with a laugh as his brother lowered him to the ground and released him from his embrace.
“LONG TIME NO SEE BROTHER!” the big man shouted.
He gripped his brother by the shoulders, oblivious to the on looking crowd and carried away with excitement at seeing him.
“I SURE MISSED YOU WHILE YOU WUZ GONE!”
Ronnie Sargeant laughed as he clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“I missed you too bro,” he replied, “but let’s not be shoutin, it’ll upset the folks tryin’ to eat their breakfas’, k Reggie?”
“Sorry Ronnie,” the big man answered his brother in a lowered voice.
He removed his hat and holding it in his hands turned to look sheepish at the tables surrounding them and addressed the people seated there.
“Din’ mean ta’ upset nobody, jus’ glad ta’ see ma’ brother.”
Ronnie laughed aloud, slapping his brothers’ shoulder again with pleasure at seeing him.
“No probs bro, I’m excited to see you too,” he said, and turned to wave at the tall chef standing timid behind him, “this is my new friend Maurice, how ‘bout sayin’ hello to ‘im too, eh?”
The big man smiled as he looked at the thin fellow with the anxious face standing behind his younger brother. He unconsciously licked his lips as he noted how tired and drunk the tall chef was after the long night on the bus. To the experienced eyes and limited intelligence of Reggie Sargeant the fellow looked in need of a drink. A heavy breakfast would help remove the gaunt and fearful look in the blue eyes staring back at him from within the thin face.
He extended an enormous right hand to the tall chef.
He dwarfed Maurice in spite of the tall chef’s impressive height.
Reggie grinned with diffidence as he waited for the fellow to return his greeting.
Wayne sat next to Sarah at the table closest to the kitchen door in the dining room of the closed restaurant.
He surveyed the complement of new staff members seated around them with a smile on his face.
Across from them sat waitress Bonnie Lane. The only married woman among the servers and an experienced professional, she would be the functional number two member of the evening staff. An attractive woman in her late twenties, the blonde haired woman with the good legs had been employed as a dining room server since graduating high school. She was married, happily, to a member of the Winnipeg Fire Department.
His partner Rene sat across the aisle from them in a booth with the aged breakfast cook Doris Walker by his side.
Wayne was introduced to the grizzled breakfast cook and her veteran servers only that afternoon. It pleased him to discover her equipped with a sharp wit and vivacious spirit despite advancing years.