Page 73 of Thug

I made eye contact with Carp and gave a nod. He nodded in return. Although it was easy for him to see that I was disappointed in Brisco’s decisions regarding Gray, I doubted he knew the magnitude of my anger.

I turned toward the kitchen. The bar was a fucking mad house. Guys screaming over the jukebox just to be heard, half-drunk patches sloshing beer on the hardwood floor—making a fucking mess when it wasn’t at all necessary, and men who couldn’t seem to keep from dribbling French fries on the floor beside their tables. Frustrated more with the men’s lack of compassion than their actions, I worked my way through the crowd.

“Can I get another burger, just like that one?” Chin shouted as I passed.

I spun around. “I thought you wanted Pepper Jack, or some shit?”

“I did, but that Swiss was good shit.” He lifted his empty plate. “I thought I didn’t like Swiss. Must have been something else.”

I gave him a look. “Seriously? You want another burger?”

“Yeah. Just like that one.” Plate in hand, he extended his arm. “Here.”

I looked at it like it was a dog turd. “I don’t want that dirty fucker.”

“Tables pretty cluttered, Boss.”

There were two empty pitchers, two empty plates, and four glasses, two of which were full of beer. I glanced at the bar. Panzer was mouthing the words to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama.

I nodded toward the bar. “Take all your dirty shit up to Panzer. That’s how it works.”

He looked at me like I’d asked him to give me a hand job. “Gray always takes our dirty shit.”

I glared. “I told you two fuckers the last time I was here. I’m not Gray.”

I spun on my heel and stomped to the kitchen. Once through the door, I jotted down Chin’s order, making sure to write his name on the ticket.

Gray was standing over the grille, tending to six burgers. “Some of these guys are ordering doubles. I didn’t think of that.”

“These fuckers are pigs, I can tell you that much,” I said, surveying the mess. “Sloshing beer all over the place. Looks like they got in a French fry fight, too. Damned sure got more on the floor than they did in in their mouths.” I shook my head. “We’re going to talk about this in the next meeting, I can tell you that much.”

“Always takes me about an hour to clean up after close,” she said. “Sometimes a little less.”

“When do you sleep?” I asked.

“3:30 to 9:30,” she replied. “Most days. Sometimes I get up at 7:30 or 8:00.”

I couldn’t imagine maintaining a schedule that required me to be up until 3:30 am, six days a week. I stayed up later and got up earlier than Gray mentioned, but I hadn’t done it with any degree of consistency.

“You’re doing a damn fine job,” I said.

“With the food?”

“The bar. Waiting tables. The food. Life. Attitude. Everything.”

She pressed her spatula against the burgers and smiled. “Thank you.”

I admired her for a moment and then turned away. “Be back in a minute.”

“Okay.”

Exhausted, I stumbled into the bar. I wondered how much of the changes I’d seen in my myself over the past week were a product of feeling sorry for Gray over what happened, and how much was genuine attraction.

There was no doubt I was attracted to her prior to Brisco’s clusterfuck. Her absence forced me to realize the depth of that attraction. Her presence in my home proved how much I’d missed the feeling of affection, and that it differed greatly from being attracted to someone.

“Where’s my pitcher of beer?” Keto hollered.

I raised my index finger. “Gimme a minute.”