Everything Has Teeth

by Strand, Jeff

  "Tell her to stop staring at me."

  "I will."

  "I won't look at you anymore," said Julia. "I apologize. That was rude."

  "Yeah," said the woman. "It was rude. And I don't know why you were doing it. I've got enough problems without you staring at me all the time."

  "I think maybe you should go back to your own table," said Warren. Where the hell was their waiter?

  "I was going to! I was just about to get up, and then you had to go and rush me." The woman's pupils were not dilated, but she was indeed blinking way too much, like she had dirt in her eye. "Did you think I was not gonna leave? I was gonna leave. You just have to give me a second. Everybody is always in so much of a hurry these days and it drives me crazy. I was gonna leave."

  She pushed both hands against the edge of the table to give herself leverage, and stood up. Then she reached over and picked up Warren's butter knife, clutching it in her fist like a deadly weapon.

  "Can I borrow this?" she asked.

  Warren didn't say anything. He exchanged a helpless look with Julia.

  The woman walked away from their table.

  Warren wiped his perspiring hands off on his pants. What should he do? It was only a butter knife, but the woman was clearly having medical or mental issues, and he couldn't just let her walk off with it. She could hurt somebody, or herself.

  He pushed back his chair. "Back in a second," he told Julia.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Just let somebody know what's happening. Go ahead and dig into the bread." Warren stood up and followed the woman. He hated this damn restaurant.

  His waiter was a few tables away, taking somebody else's order, so Warren didn't bother him. The woman plopped down in a seat across from a middle-aged man who seemed to know her.

  Should he let it go or say something?

  He should say something.

  Warren walked over to the table. "Hi," he said.

  The man finished chewing his bite of salmon and set down his fork. "Yes?"

  "I just...I just thought you should know that she took a butter knife from me."

  "A butter knife?"

  "Yes."

  "You mean she grabbed it right out of your hand?"

  "No, off my table."

  "And there are no other butter knives to be found anywhere in this restaurant?"

  "That's not what I meant."

  "What did you mean?"

  "I just meant that you might want to know that she had a knife."

  The man chuckled, then massaged his forehead with his right hand as if this was simply one more frustration in the line of miseries that made up his life. "Give the man back his knife," he said to the woman.

  "I don't want the knife back," Warren insisted. "I didn't come over here to get it."

  "Then what? You came over here to tattle?"

  "She was acting bizarre. She sat right down at our table."

  "Don't talk about me like I'm not here," said the woman.

  "I apologize," Warren told her. "Look, people don't normally take knives from people's tables, and it would be irresponsible of me not to let somebody know. Somebody stabs somebody in the eye, it's on my conscience. But I've done my part now, and I'm going to leave you alone."

  He started to turn, and realized that his waiter was standing right there. "Is everything all right, sir?" the waiter asked.

  "Yeah, yeah, it's fine. She took my butter knife is all."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Nothing. Problem's resolved."

  Warren returned to his table and sat back down across from Julia. "Wow," he said.

  "What?"

  "She's totally insane. I took you to an asylum for our first date. Sorry about that."

  Julia laughed. "No problem."

  As Warren tried to think of a funny way to ask if she thought food prepared in an asylum was safe to eat, the waiter came over to their table. "Did you say she took your knife?" he asked.

  "Yeah."

  "While you were using it?"

  "No. It was on the table."

  "I'll get you another one."

  "I didn't go over there because it was so important to get my knife back. I just thought it was a weird-ass thing to do."

  "I understand that, sir."

  "If a woman sat down at your table and took your knife, you'd say something to somebody, right? I'm not trying to throw a fit or anything. All I wanted to do was bring it to somebody's attention."

  "Absolutely, sir. I appreciate you doing that. I'll go get you a new butter knife."

  The waiter left.

  "He thinks I'm a complete nutcase," Warren told Julia. "Right now he's telling a dishwasher that I'm being a total baby about the butter knife."

  "You may be right," said Julia with a smile.

  "It's okay. The incident's over. If she wants to come on over here and slurp soda right out of my glass, she can be my guest. Are the rolls any good?"

  "Delicious. Would you like to borrow my knife?"

  "No, no, I'm patient enough to follow the proper procedure and wait for my replacement to be brought to me. If the crazy lady comes up behind me, you'll warn me, right?"

  "Of course."

  "Thank you."

  "She's actually walking toward us now."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes."

  Warren looked back at her and sighed. She was indeed walking toward their table. "Great," he muttered. He turned around in his chair as she came up to him.

  "Lady, c'mon, we're trying to enjoy a—"

  She slammed the knife down on the table. "Here's your knife back. You happy?"

  "Yes, I'm very happy. Thank you."

  "I wouldn't want you to be without your precious knife."

  "And I appreciate that."

  "Maybe next time you should grow a pair and not have somebody else fight your battles for you."

  "I will. I promise."

  The woman glared at him one last time and then left.

  "This had better be the best salad I've had in my entire life," said Warren, turning back around in his seat.

  "This restaurant is bullshit," said Julia. "Wanna go someplace else?"

  "Yes, God, yes."

  They stood up as the waiter returned with Warren's knife. "I think we're finished," Warren told him. "Do we owe you anything for the drinks?"

  "You don't have to leave," said the waiter. "We'll happily reseat you, if there's an issue."

  "Nope, it's all good, we're just ready to go. Thanks."

  "Hold on, let me go get the manager."

  "No, I don't have any complaints. We just changed our mind, that's all."

  "We'd love to give you a gift certificate for your next visit."

  A gift certificate was always tempting, but right now Warren just wanted to salvage his date with Julia. "It's totally fine," Warren assured the waiter. "I promise I'm not going to leave a bad review online. It's cool."

  His next comment was going to be "Now please get the fuck out of my way," but he hoped he didn't have to say that.

  The waiter stepped aside. Warren followed Julia out of the restaurant, expecting to be attacked by a butter-knife wielding maniac at any moment.

  As they stepped outside, Warren breathed a deep sigh of relief. "I'm really sorry about that."

  "It's not your fault. I'm the one who stared at her in the first place."

  "You're right. Totally your fault. Where would you like to go?"

  "Anyplace is fine with me. I'd even be okay with fast food."

  "I think we can do a little better than that." Warren took her hand as they walked over to the valet station. He didn't think that was presumptuous; after all, they'd bonded over the shared encounter with a whack-job.

  The attendant, a kid in his early 20's, was talking on his cell phone, so Warren took out his claim ticket and waited patiently. Though he was not happy with the way the evening was going so far, at least he could stop worrying about maxing out his credit card.

/>   "I guess. Yeah. Uh-huh. Nah. Nah. Why? Are you kidding? That's crazy, dude. Yeah." The attendant laughed so hard that he nearly dropped the phone. "Sure. Nah. Sure."

  Warren thought it might be appropriate to politely clear his throat, and did so.

  "What? Jesus, asshole, give me a second, okay?"

  "I beg your pardon?" Warren asked.

  "I said, just give me a second. Do you need to get her back to her pimp or something? Just chill."

  Warren and Julia exchanged a very bewildered look.

  What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just let some punk kid talk to Julia like that. He didn't want her to think he was the kind of guy who got into fights...but he had to do something, right?

  "I think," he said, keeping his voice calm but firm, "you should apologize."

  The attendant gave him a look of such ugly hatred that Warren suddenly wished he had his butter knife back. "And why the hell would I do that?"

  "Because when you insult a woman, it's the right thing to do," Warren told him. He was pretty sure that if it came down to a fight, it was his own ass that would be kicked, but there was no way he'd allow himself to be intimidated by some punk kid. At least, not when he was trying to impress a date.

  The attendant rolled his eyes. "It's the right thing to do," he said, mimicking Warren's words in a baby-like tone.

  "What are you, three?" Warren asked. "Does your boss know you behave like this toward customers?"

  "I don't know. You'd have to ask him."

  "Maybe I will."

  "That's real brave. Call my boss. See if he docks my pay for kicking your teeth out."

  What was going on tonight? A psycho lady in the restaurant, a belligerent valet attendant...Denton's gave off some kind of aura that turned people into assholes.

  "It's okay," said Julia. "If that's the way he wants to act, let him. He's not worth ruining our evening. Let's just go."

  This would have been the perfect opportunity for Warren to give the attendant a steel gaze, pretend that he was weighing the pros and cons of punching him in the face, and then reluctantly walk away with Julia. Unfortunately, he still needed his car.

  "Can we talk privately for a second?" he asked the attendant.

  The attendant shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

  "Thanks." Warren stepped away from the valet station and beckoned for him to follow. The attendant chuckled, as if amused by the sheer stupidity of the situation, then walked over to him.

  "What?" he asked.

  "You've put me in a bad spot here," said Warren. "That lady you insulted? It's our first date. When I'm making first impressions, I can't have another man insult her like that. It just doesn't work for me. In a fight, you'll win; I'm twice your age. I'm okay with that. If I have to take a punch, I'll take a punch, but it's really stupid for you to lose your job and do some time for assault over something so petty, when you could be a man, do the right thing, and apologize."

  "You're the one talking about getting violent," said the attendant. "Not me."

  "You said you were going to kick my teeth out."

  "Yeah. I did say that."

  "All I'm asking you to do is give a quick apology. Then nobody's night is ruined and everybody keeps their dignity. Sound okay to you?"

  "All right. Whatever." The attendant looked over at Julia. "Hey, I'm sorry! Real sorry. I could not be more sorry. I'll go home and hang myself if you want. I'll go right home and do some autoerotic asphyxiation just to make up for the bad thing I said. Will that make you happy?"

  "That's not necessary," said Julia. "Apology accepted."

  Warren and the attendant walked back to the booth. Another man left the restaurant and headed toward the booth as well.

  "Can I have my keys?" asked Warren.

  The attendant shook his head. "No. I'll get your car."

  "I'd rather just get it myself."

  "You're not allowed back there, sir."

  "Well, I'm not letting you drive my car."

  "Why? Were you hoping to be a valet when you grow up?"

  "Are you really going to make me go in there and grab a manager?" asked Warren. "Seriously? That's the way you want this to play out?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  "Hey, while he gets the manager, can you get my car?" asked the man who'd joined them. He was a big hairy guy who looked like he spent most of his life at the gym. He could probably knock out the attendant with a pinky punch.

  "I don't want to get the manager," said Warren. "I just want him to give me my keys so I can get my car."

  "That's my job," said the attendant.

  "I don't trust you."

  "Is he drunk?" asked the hairy guy.

  "No," said Warren. "Just a dick. If I let him in my car he'll damage it."

  "I hadn't even thought about messing with your car until you said something. But now I'm totally going to. I'll take a dump right on your steering wheel."

  The hairy guy let out an incredulous laugh. "And you work for tips, huh?"

  The attendant ignored him and focused on Warren. "I'm not allowed to let people into the parking lot. It's a safety hazard. But I will happily go get your car."

  He smiled, then punched Warren in the stomach.

  Warren let out a loud grunt as he doubled over, gasping for breath, unable to believe how much this hurt. Then, embarrassingly, he dropped to his knees.

  Julia let out a soft, quick scream.

  Warren's job took him into bad neighborhoods and he often took verbal abuse from the families he was trying to help, but he had not taken an actual punch since his days of being tormented by bullies on the school playground. He vaguely recalled the sensation, but even with slightly more padding around the belly, he didn't remember it being anywhere near this painful.

  He heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and opened his eyes in time to see the attendant fall onto the concrete.

  For an instant he thought that Julia had knocked him down, which would have been simultaneously humiliating and awesome. But it was the big hairy guy, who was already comparing his claim ticket to the board of hanging keys.

  Julia eased Warren to his feet. The attendant had his hand to his face, and blood was already trickling between his fingers. Warren reached out and patted the hairy man on the shoulder. "Thanks."

  "No problem. Asshole deserved it."

  "Should we go get somebody?"

  "I'm sure not going to." The man took his key from the board.

  Warren took his own set of keys off the board, then yanked his foot out of the way as the attendant, still on the ground, grabbed for his ankle.

  "What's the matter with you?" Warren demanded.

  The hairy man crouched down beside the attendant. "You want some more? Is that it? You want me to bash your face into the sidewalk? Would that feel good?"

  The attendant took a swing at him. He struck the man's knee, delivering a pathetic blow that bounced off with no visible impact.

  "You just want to make this hurt, huh?" asked the man. "I can do that for you. I'll be happy to make this hurt. I'll put you in the hospital if you want to keep it up. You want to keep it up?"

  The attendant apparently did want to keep it up. He lashed out again, striking the hairy man with a punch that was even less effective than the first.

  The man stood up. "This isn't even funny in a 'so bad it's good' way. I've got better things to do than waste time with this piece of garbage." He nodded at Warren and Julia. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, folks," he said, and then headed off toward the parking lot.

  "What do we do?" asked Julia.

  Warren glanced down at the attendant, who was still bleeding and even crying a little. "Let's just get out of this place." He figured the date was pretty much over at this point, but he'd prefer not to have it conclude with him kicking the rotten creep in the skull.

  Julia nodded. "I think we should call the police, but we'll do it from the car."

  "Good idea."

  Warren took her hand and they wal
ked toward the parking lot, not quite running but certainly walking more quickly than they would normally leave a fine dining establishment. The hairy guy had already gotten into his car.

  There was the sound of shattering glass.

  They both looked around, trying to figure out where it had come from. Somewhere in the valet lot.

  Three rows away, in the far corner, a thin old man who might have been eighty years old was standing next to a car. They could only see his shoulders and head, and then his hand as he drummed his fingers on the roof of the vehicle.

  He walked over to the car next to it. Three loud thumps, and then more shattering glass.

  "Jesus, what now?" asked Julia, as they hurried over to that row. The old man had a fist-sized rock in his hand, which had a streak of red on it from his bleeding fingers.

  He walked to the next car and bashed the rock into the rear windshield. This car was alarmed, but the man didn't flee at the sound of the annoying wail. He slammed the rock into it once, twice, three more times, until his hand broke through the glass.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Warren called out to him. What was going on? Did Denton's have a contaminated water supply or something?

  "Mind your own business!" shouted the man, barely audible over the car alarm. "This doesn't concern you!"

  He moved on to the next vehicle.

  "Do you see my car?" asked Warren, looking around.

  Julia shook her head, but then nodded and pointed. "It's right there."

  It was parked—badly—three cars away from the old man's path of vandalism.

  "Crap," said Warren, as he and Julia ran over to the car. He unlocked her door and opened it for her, and as she scooted into the passenger seat he ran around to the other side. He could hear the old man shatter another window.

  Warren closed his door, fumbled with the keys for a moment, then started the engine. A chain-link fence prevented them from going forward, so he put the car into reverse, then slammed his foot on the brake as Julia shouted "Watch out!"

  In the rear-view mirror, he could see that the old man stood right behind the car.

  Warren honked the horn and turned around in his seat. "Get out of the way!" he shouted.

  The old man just stood there, still holding his bloody rock.

  Warren rolled down his window and leaned out. "Hey! Are you trying to get killed? Get away from the car!"