“Sorry for what, ma’am?” Jeff asked, confused.
Waving him away, she just rolled up the window, unable to lucidly explain her reaction. She opened the bottle, gulping down the refreshingly cold liquid. Holding it up, she inspected it, realizing that it was a rather large bottle. And a good brand name, too. Realizing that Jeff had produced the biggest, best container of water that five bucks could buy, Becca couldn’t help but like the man. Which produced subsequent guilt that she’d ever harbored any suspicions about him, to begin with. He was just a rough country boy working hard for a living.
He certainly was more honest than most of the people Becca was used to encountering.
“This is Tank, please leave a message after the tone.” A high-pitched beep then ensued.
Taking a deep breath, Becca proceeded to leave a poignant message, her voice quivering as she spoke. She started rambling. She divulged the bit about the drone. Finally, tears streaming down her face, Becca hung up. Checking herself in the mirror, she laughed, embarrassed but also amused by the fact that she’d just suddenly transformed into a hormonal mess.
She startled when the phone buzzed. Looking down, Becca saw that it was Tank. She answered immediately. “Tank! I was worried about you. I just left you a message,” Becca said.
“Oh? Well, I was just on the other line with my wife. No big deal. Anyway, did you get my texts?” he asked.
Becca shook her head. “No. I was, uh, I was away,” she said, suddenly feeling foolish for having divested herself of so much emotional baggage in the voicemail she’d just left.
“Away?” Tank asked, his tone slightly incredulous. “You never go ‘away,’” he said.
“Well desperate times call for desperate measures. Isn’t that the saying?” Becca asked. Then she grunted. “Hey, what’s up? I’m still kind of far out, and it’s getting late. So, much as I love you, Tank, can we cut the chit-chat and get down to business?”
“Sure thing, Boss. Uh, so, I burned the pig and pea soup,” Tank said, his voice lowering. A tinge of embarrassment filtered through his tone.
“You mean you burned the bacon?” Becca asked, raising one eyebrow. She didn’t how he could have singed anything else.
“Yeah, the bacon,” Tank said.
Becca took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and leaned against the window, massaging her temple. Tank wasn’t normally like this. Sensing a sinking, foreboding feeling in her gut, she tried to fight the angst. The last thing she needed right then was another thing to worry about. She relied on Tank to be her rock. And if he stopped providing that anchor, that measure of stability…
“Okay, Tank. Please tell me you’re not freaking out like I am. You were in the Army. Is the whole body really getting to you? I mean, if it is, fine. I’ll give you some time off. Whatever you need. We all cope with different things differently. But, let me tell you, my friend, I really do need you more than ever right now,” Becca said.
“No, no,” Tank said, chuckling. “I mean, I’m sad for the family and all that. But I really did just burn the bacon,” he said.
“Okay, well, make more bacon,” Becca said, trying to modulate her tone as the words escaped her lips so that she didn’t sound too rude.
“Not that simple, Becca. I got behind, so I actually did the bacon last-minute. The stock and everything is always fine. But because I did things at the last minute, I wasn’t able to get the soup out. Well, I mean guess I could have. But I didn’t want to serve an inferior product, give the guests a bad experience, you know? And Charlie doesn’t know the lunch menu, since we only use it on Mondays and Fridays, and she’s usually either not here or doing something else on those days, at least, this time of day. You know? So, the choice was serve up the soup late or serve it up without the bacon. And, I mean, how do you serve pig and pea without the pig?” Tank asked.
Becca groaned. But she had to admit, Tank had a point. Even if the stock contained a considerable amount of bold pork flavoring. Considering how long they boiled the ham hock. “We need to get Charlie trained. Or else David,” she said.
“I agree,” Tank said. Then he waited.
“So, let me guess, some people freaked out. Everyone is so resistant to change and demands instant gratification, blah, blah. And they put the squeeze on you for not having their daily dose of goodness,” Becca said. She didn’t mean to be flippant about it, but sometimes, some of her patrons really could test her patience. Sure, when you only have an hour or even just thirty minutes for lunch, a minor delay can be more than a mere inconvenience. And she’d never tell her guests that, but she nonetheless felt that they owed her and her staff a little more civility and leeway sometimes.
“Becca, the pig and pea was the only thing on the lunch menu today,” Tank said. “Besides poutine, anyway. And you know that the healthy eaters don’t really like the poutine.”
“Crud,” Becca uttered, expelling air. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel for a second as she thought. “Well, THAT is something to be a little upset about. Sorry for doubting you,” Becca said. She lapsed back into silence for several seconds. “I mean, what was your response? Was it really that bad that you couldn’t have just made them all wait? Bacon doesn’t take that long, Tank,” she said.
“It does when you’re making that much soup. Especially when it should be resting in there with the onions and whatnot. But, uh, well, we had other people needing coffee and baked goods. We were a little backed-up on the commercial orders for tomorrow. There’s some group coming into Sun River. That dentist thing or whatever? So, we had to add that to the normal load. And we’re actually getting more people in because word seems to have been spreading about the body. Literally, people are loitering in the bathroom. And it’s been causing lines to form. Charlie and I actually floated the idea of charging people to pay to use it. That’s what you had to do when I was stationed in Germany,” Tank said.
“Really? You had to pay to use the bathroom?” Becca asked. The idea intrigued her. Nonetheless, she couldn’t ever see herself wanting to charge people to relieve themselves. Heck, she’d been pressured by some to install locks on her restrooms. But she’d even refused to do that. In her heart of hearts, she couldn’t envision herself depriving a member of the working poor some chance to do their essential business. If they didn’t have a place to go, they’d just do it in the street, anyway, causing her even more problems and money. As long as people didn’t abuse the system or mistake her kindness for weakness, Becca doubted she’d ever even consider forcing people to buy a scone just to micturate.
“Yeah. You didn’t know that? You should travel the world,” Tank said. “Lots of weird places. Kuwait was crazy. And South Korea… man, that place is odd. Not in a bad way. But still,” he said.
“Okay, well, seriously, I need to get on the road and deal with other things. Do you have it handled? What was your response? Short version, please,” Becca said.
“Depends on your definition of handled. But, yes, the guests seemed mostly satisfied. Cost you a few hundred bucks, though. The response was to offer everyone complimentary coffee and baked goods. We were close to closing, anyway. But we did still have guests and everything,” he said.
“Oh, is that all? Yeah, I mean, I probably would have just told people to wait. But, you know, I get why you didn’t. And your response was honestly probably better than me upsetting people. So, whatever. Water under the bridge,” Becca said. But she paused just before hanging up. “Hey, will you make some extra pig and pea, just in case this happens again? You can precook the bacon with the onions, carrots, celery, garlic, all that. That way, if we get in that pinch again, we can just have some ready. And, honestly, we need to look at expanding the lunch menu, anyway. We need some fresh, local thing. There are vegans and everything who might not want poutine OR pig and pea soup. Those are both a little too niche-y, anyway. Not everyone likes Canada,” she said.
“’Niche-y?’” Tank asked, amused.
“Yeah, well, you
get the picture. Anyway, I need to go. I’m counting on you to keep the ship afloat,” Becca said. Then she hung up.
Smiling to herself, she shook her head. Feeling parched, Becca took another gulp of water. Then she got out of her car and headed toward the shack. Her footsteps crunched as she walked across the hard earth and gravel toward the small store. Something about the sound bothered her. But Becca ignored that. She needed to get back on top of her game. And the only way to do that was to tune out all the noise. Both literal and otherwise.
A bell dinged as soon as she stepped through the wooden door. Becca grimaced and suppressed a cough when a blast of hot, humid, diesel-infused air blasted her in the face. A small, dirty metal fan noisily circulated the room’s halitosis from a spot just above the dilapidated counter. Next to it rested an old black-and-white television set playing the news on mute. Jeff sat behind the register, polishing something with a clearly overused rag. He looked up with one eye when she entered, then resumed his chore. Whatever that was.
As Becca navigated the few aisles, trying to remember what it was she was even doing inside, Jeff suddenly interrupted her search. “Hey, ma’am, uh, I gots to thankin’ ‘bout that question you asked me out there. And, you know, I still a’int seen no drones out that way. Nor have I heart ‘bout none. But I can tell you this, sure as I’m sittin’ here, there was a really odd dude came by not an hour before you done showt up. Yes, ma’am. Definitely not the sort frequentin’ these parts. I mean, sure, we see all sorts a people, you know? But if you a’int from ‘round here, then the only reason you gots to be here is hikin’ and all that. Two types a people for the woods, you see. Hikers and hunters. I can spot the difference ‘tween the two a mile away,” Jeff said.
He smiled and leaned forward. “And this dude weren’t none a them,” he said.
Becca watched the curious man as he spat into a nearby metal bucket and then chugged from a dented energy drink can. Riding the wave of her revulsion, she waited until it had passed. Then she smiled. The man possessed potentially valuable intelligence. He’d also offered some astute observations. She needed to know more.
“Say, do you happen to remember anything about the guy?” Becca asked, trying to prompt him after he lapsed back into polishing whatever instrument was in his hand.
“Well, I done told you, ma’am. The guy stood out. But, yes, I do remember. Learned to pick up details on people when Ise in Fallujah. Every little detail counts, ma’am. But it’s the ones that give off all sorts a red flags that you focus on. You know?” he said.
“Go on,” Becca said, trying not to show her impatience. Why is it that everyone in my life suddenly wants to chit-chat? she wondered.
“You wanna know the dirty deets, ma’am?” Jeff laughed at some internal joke. “Okay, anyway, guy looked Italian. Dressed way too nice to be a hunter, for sure. Now, I’m not really a hiker, mind, but I done seent enough a them to have a good eye for what one is. And my wife, she makes me trek up to Portland and even Seattle on occasion. You know, fancy dinners, whatnot. Kids might even end up in school out in one a them cities, perish the thought,” he said, shivering. Then he shook his head, took another swig of his energy drink, and resumed his soliloquy. “But, yeah, guy had swarthy skin. Almost looked like a Hajji for a second there, honestly. That helped me remember him, too. Anyway, his accent gave him away, what pegged him as Italian. Dressed in a blue button-down shirt, trousers, all that. Shoes weren’t dirty at all. Hands looked like they a’int never seen a day a hard work in the man’s fifty-plus years. I mean, that might be the biggest thing. How in the world is some guy like that even supposed to walk up a hill?” he asked, shrugging.
Deciding that she’d heard enough, Becca chewed on her nails as she processed the implications. Anger threatened to tear through her like a moose through a clearing. But she held it in check. Forcing herself to smile, she focused on Jeff’s other statements. Admitting to herself that she kind of liked the guy, despite his rough exterior, she figured it couldn’t hurt to try to exploit the potential a lasting relationship with such a figure could offer. “Okay, two questions before I mosey on out of here. A) Would you be willing to talk with my son-in-law? He’s a combat veteran, as well. And he’s a little too proud to admit that he’s got some problems. Now, I’m not saying anything bad about the kid. I love him to pieces. My daughter obviously does, too. I just…” Becca sighed. “I just want the best for him. And I hate seeing him suffer,” she said.
Jeff adopted a hard look. He stared directly in Becca’s eyes. The silence that lingered between them grew tense. But, finally, he just offered a subtle nod and smiled slightly. “Son-in-law, huh?” he asked.
“Oh, did I say that? Well, technically, future son-in-law,” Becca said.
“Eh, what’s the difference? Your girl done said yes, right? Rest of that is just details for you and the government. Commitment’s already there, ma’am. What’s the second question?” he asked.
Becca blushed. She’d actually forgotten the second one in her haste to expel the first. She smiled. “Well, you know, I’m always looking to expand. I run a small pastry bar in Bend. It’s called the Three Sassters. You’re welcome to come on in anytime. Enjoy a nice coffee on us, whatever. But, uh, well, I, uh…” she became flustered. Between feeling irate at Mario for his intrusion and double-dealing and embarrassed about divulging private details about David without his knowledge or consent, she wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind for exploring expansion opportunities.
Jeff smiled patiently. “You want me to stock some of your pies or whatnot?” he asked.
“Uh, Yes. Yes, exactly,” Becca said.
“Very kind of you to consider me, ma’am. I mean, I a’int ‘xactly swimmin’ in opportunities here. Vendors a’int linin’ up, if you know what I mean. Heck, I can barely keep up with the Pepsi contract. So, sure. It’d be a pleasure. Folks in the boonies like the occasional splurge, too. We all got kids and such. Might be surprised at what a little gesture and some goodwill can do. Because we all end up out in Bend regularly, since that’s where all the closest tractor supplies and all them things is. Banks, cell phones, all that, gotta drive into town. Heck, lot a people drive up there for a movie, even get groceries and the hard stuff. Vodka, whatnot,” Jeff said.
He sniffed. “Now, I tell ya, I a’int no psychoanalyst, whatever you call them shrinks. But my door is always open to a brother in arms. Let me, uh, let me just write down my number for you. It’s a landline. Cell service just a’int that great out here. But if I a’int in, he can just leave a message,” Jeff said. He used a black permanent marker to scribble some numbers down on an old playing card.
Handing it to her, he sniffed again. “Come on down with some a them pies or whatnot. My wife and kids would appreciate the company. Life’s pretty boring out here. I like it. But I’m a bit dysfunctional myself. Be honest, I can probably relate to your son-in-law there. So, I like my simple, honest little life. My kids and wife don’t so much. But I do. Anyway, be a great way to kill two birds with one stone. A’int that the sayin’?” he asked.
Becca resisted the urge to ask the man if his allergies had gotten to him. She smiled and reached out, unexpectedly taking Jeff’s dirty hand. “Thank you,” she said.
“Oh, don’t you be thankin’ me. Two things in life I hate. Being thanked, ‘specially for my service, and hearing the words military-grade. Okay? Long as you cut that, uh, stuff, we’ll get along just fine,” he said, gently removing his hand from hers. “Until then, I’d say you got an Italian admirer to deal with.”
Chapter 12
Becca stormed into Mario’s restaurant.
Marching up to the maître ‘d, she leaned forward into the young man’s clean-shaven face. Grabbing him by his pressed, immaculate white shirt, she pulled him close. “Tell me where your boss is,” she ordered the boy, their eyes locked, their noses nearly touching.
“Give, give, give me, give me one second, ma’am,” the poor boy said.
“Oh,
no. You do NOT have one second,” Becca said, releasing her grip. “If you don’t get Mario on the phone right now, I will march right into the kitchen or anywhere else I have to. You want cops swarming this place? Because that’s what is going to happen in about half a second if you don’t get your pretty little but into gear. NOW,” she said. Breathing heavily, she stepped back away from the beautiful polished brown piece of furniture used to help greet guests and waited.
Noticing an older couple behind her, Becca turned and confronted them. She was in no mood to be nice. “I’d go somewhere else, if I were you,” she said, sparing them the civilities. “It’s about to get crazy in here.”
Returning her attention to the maître ‘d, she watched as his trembling hands gripped the phone so hard, his knuckles turned white. Deciding that too long had passed, Becca decided to make good on her promise. She briskly brushed past the boy at the counter, bypassing the gatekeeping in search of the final boss.
A lean man wearing a striped pink shirt and expensive suit pants with tennis shoes approached her from the side. Becca caught him in her peripheral vision before he had a chance to close the distance between them, however. Darting away, she lucked out and found the inconspicuous opening to a narrow, carpeted corridor leading to a row of executive offices. Jogging down the hallway, she reached a half-open door with Mario’s name adorning the cheap bronze placard affixed to it. She barged in.
Slamming the door behind her, Becca locked it. Then she plopped down in a seat right in front of Mario’s clean desk. She adjusted it so that she was facing the man directly. For some reason, the chair had been placed slightly to the left of Mario’s high-backed chair. Watching his stunned surprise as he gripped the receiver of his expensive-looking phone, she smiled with smug satisfaction as she waited for him to hang up. She had to give him credit, however, for maintaining his poise and not giving off any hint that something was wrong. Becca took that as a reminder that she was dealing with a dangerous man. Not only that, but he was an experienced, master negotiator. One who wouldn’t wilt under pressure.
Slice of the Pie Page 10