Now They Call Me Gunner

by Thom Whalen

  * * *

  On Thursday morning, I was waiting for Randal to arrive when I heard a teeth-rattling roar coming around the corner.

  Every morning, I came to Elsa’s at ten sharp and waited for Randal to show up. Waiting was boring but I didn’t want Randal to arrive first and have to start the prep by himself. That flag wouldn’t fly. If he told Mrs. Everett that I wasn’t working out, she’d fire me on the spot. Nobody ignored Randal. Especially not Mrs. Everett.

  Usually I had a fifteen-minute wait, but sometimes I had to wait for almost forty-five minutes.

  Today, it was only five after ten when the roar of a big motorcycle with a small muffler heralded him.

  Randal appeared astride a chopper: a custom Harley with ape-hanger handlebars, extended forks, and a sissy-bar seat. Everything was chrome and leather, except for the red and orange flame painted on the gas tank.

  “Nice bike,” I said when he killed the throaty roar and restored a measure of peace to the neighborhood.

  “Just got it.”

  “It’s loud.”

  “Dual tuned pipes.” He nodded back at the chrome exhaust pipes that rose high beside the fat rear tire. “Plays a nice melody when you’re blowing down the highway. A lot of bass.” He kicked the stand to the ground and dismounted. “Been a couple years since I rode. It’s good to be back in the saddle.”

  “I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle.”

  “You’re a virgin in so many ways, it’s sad.” He shook his head morosely.

  His comment stung.

  “You got to build your skills.” That was another of Randal’s rules. I’d heard him say it a lot while I was learning to cook.

  “Right,” I said. I really wanted to build my lovemaking skills, but lacked opportunity. He didn’t have any rules about how to get a girl. I was going to have to figure that out for myself.

  “Let’s get cooking.” He unlocked the door and we got to work.

  The lunch was no different than usual until there was a shout and a crash from the front. Randal didn’t turn to look, he just said, “Burger, chilidog, fries, and rings. Get the dog down and I’ll start the rings and bag the fries. We’ll give her the next burger off the grill.”

  A minute later, Gwen was at the counter, saying, “I need a replacement burger, chilidog, fries, and rings.” She looked upset but Randal was already giving her everything but the rings.

  “Rings will be three more minutes,” he said.

  “You didn’t even look,” I said when he returned to the grill.

  “That was the last order out. The crash was too big to be just a drink. Had to be the whole order.” As he was talking, he was already pulling the next order from the wheel and plating it.

  Mrs. Everett came back and told me to get a mop out front and make sure all the grease was off the floor. “Sprinkle a little TSP right on it,” she said.

  It was kind of weird being out front in my greasy apron and tee shirt and paper hat. All the customers watched while I rolled the bucket out to where Mrs. Everett was standing and made sure that the soiled patch of floor was clean enough to eat off.

  Gwen’s face was red and Katie was keeping a low profile, wiping down the soda fountain with a rag.

  An hour later, while I was in the office with Katie, cashing her out, I asked, “What happened out there? Tray slip?”

  “No. Some dirty-looking guy said something to Gwen. I couldn’t hear what. But she said something back to him and he must of not liked it because he dumped her tray. Just reached out and slapped the bottom. Swept it right off her hand. There were burgers and fries flying. It was lucky that it all went to the floor and not all over some customer. The chilidog was the worst. It smeared. So Gwen told the jerk to get out and never come back. I don’t know if it was someone she knew already or if some tourist was getting fresh with her and she shut him down. I asked but she didn’t say. Just that it was just some guy and I shouldn’t worry about him because he wasn’t ever coming back. Anyway, I cleaned up the worst of the mess and Mrs. Everett went back to get you. After that, it was business as usual.”

  When she left and I returned to the grill, Randal asked, “She say what happened?”

  “Some guy dumped Gwen’s tray.”

  “Accident?”

  “Deliberate.”

  Randal said no more to me but when Gwen was cashing out that night, he cornered her in the office for a few minutes. I couldn’t hear everything that they were saying, even though I about strained my ears trying, but I pulled the name, Billy, from their dark muttering.

  As she opened the door, Randal said, more loudly, “If you wait a while, I can take you home on the bike.”

  She laughed dryly. “On that hog? I’d rather walk.”

  “Then I’ll walk you home.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. It’s as good as over.”

  “As good as isn’t the same as over.”

  She gave a jaunty salute and walked out into the darkness.

  “I can finish up here if you want to go with her,” I said. “You can give me the key and I’ll be here in the morning to let us in. I always get here first.”

  He looked tempted for a minute then said, “Naw. It’ll be okay. No one’s going to mess with her again. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Who?” I dared ask.

  “Nobody,” he said. His dark expression discouraged me from pressing the point. Curiosity kills more people than it does cats.