Page 37 of Thug

“Appreciate ya,” Brisco said.

Keto wagged his index finger at me. “Ditto.”

Carp did what he always did. He grinned a shallow—but quite mischievous—grin.

I smiled in return. “Enjoy, gentlemen.”

I catered to the rest of the men in the bar one table at a time, grateful that they chose not to drink the dollar drafts just because they were available. Their choices differed greatly from the Rebels—in addition to guzzling the wide range of craft beers I had in stock, they gobbled up the picked bar snacks like a bunch of wild animals.

The income stream was nice, but I realized Price could turn off the faucet at any moment. The next time I pissed him off, I’d likely be scratching my head, contemplating where things may have gone wrong.

“What about that kitchen,” Panzer asked, nodding his head toward the bar. “What’s it going to take to get it goin’?”

“Just like everything else,” I said in passing. “Time and money.”

“Slow down,” he said. “What’s the rush?”

He was flirtier than the other men. He was tall, tattooed, and handsome, but he wasn’t Price. I wondered if he was present for the “she’s off-limits” speech Brisco gave on the first night the men were in the bar. So far, his remarks were harmless, but it seemed every time I walked past his table, he had something to say.

“Just trying to keep everyone happy,” I said over my shoulder.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

Holding a bucket of beer in each hand, I paused and turned around. “Plumbing’s junk, exhaust fan doesn’t work, and there’s some other stuff.” I turned away. “Like I said, time and money.”

“Swag’s a plumber, the prospect does concrete work, and I’m a half-assed electrician,” he said. “I’d bet we can get that fucker whipped into shape in no time.”

According to the inspector, I needed an exhaust hood and fan, and to resolve several plumbing issues that wouldn’t pass a code inspection. My first—and only—bid to get the work done was in excess of fifteen thousand dollars. It just as well been a million. Paying my rent and keeping the lights on took creative financial measures.

The buckets were getting heavy. I didn’t want to be rude, but I couldn’t stand and talk forever. “I need to get in a little better financial shape before I even think about doing that.”

“Boss man said to patronize the establishment and do what we could to bring in business. Suppose that means looking at the kitchen, too.” He stood. “You mind?”

“Patronize the estab—” I stammered. “What?”

“Price said this place was our new club hangout,” he replied. “Can’t have a hangout that doesn’t have a good burger.”

Maybe Price wasn’t so much of a prick, after all. “Sure, have a look,” I said with a smile. “It’s on the other side of the bar. You can’t miss it.”

“C’mon, prospect,” he said to the guy seated at his side. “Let’s go look.”

I delivered the beer to the far table while You Can’t Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones was playing. I laughed to myself at the irony. Maybe I was getting just what it was that I needed, and not so much what I wanted.

With a little reluctance, I meandered to the kitchen to see what Panzer and his prospect thought of the situation. When I walked inside, Panzer was standing on the prospect’s shoulders with his head poked above an opening in the ceiling. Another man I didn’t recognize was on his knees, surveying the water lines. A fourth was inspecting the gas cooktop.

“Sorry I don’t have a ladder,” I said.

“No problem,” Panzer said in a muffled tone. “Brace my legs, prospect.”

The prospect lowered him to the ground. After dusting himself off, Panzer pointed toward the 3-compartment sink. “Sink needs shit-canned, so does the ductwork above the ceiling. Insulation’s rotten. Needs an exhaust hood, fan, new ductwork, and all the plumbing redone. Somebody cobbled this shit together. We’ll have to cut the concrete, patch it back, and see about getting that gas grille going. Probably take a week or so to get it done. Maybe two, depending on how things go with the inspector. He’s a prick.”

“He is,” the prospect agreed. “A real asshole.”

It was a word for word recital of the quotation I’d already received right after buying the bar. Even if Panzer gave me a good deal, I couldn’t afford it. If business stayed the way it was, I might be able to consider doing something in a few months.

“Let me know what it’s going to cost,” I said. “But it’s going to be a while before I can afford it.”

Panzer looked at the two men, and then at me. “We’ll take care of it.”