Page 72 of Thug

“Starts at the jukebox corner with one,” she said. “Goes left to right, toward the bar. Lowest on the far-left corner, highest on the right, closest to the bar. You can call ‘em whatever you want to, as long as you remember it.”

I thought I could remember everything. Looking at the mountain of prepared food, it was obvious I couldn’t remember anything. I tried to look confident. “Got it.” Knowing I couldn’t get Reubens or tacos mixed up, I grabbed one of each. “Be right back.”

I walked backward through the kitchen door, because I’d seen waitresses do it in the past. Once into the seating area, I lifted the two plates. “Who had a Reuben or tacos?”

Twenty people yelled. I was clearly in over my head. I handed the two plates to the closest table. I returned to the kitchen and got another sandwich and a plate of tacos. When I was out of sandwiches and tacos, I started on the burgers.

I stopped at Chin’s table first.

“Reuben’s killer,” Swag said. “Dressing’s awesome.”

“House made,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “No shit?”

“Would I lie about something like that?”

I handed Chin his burger. “Here you go. Hot off the grille.”

He took the plate and gave a nod. “Thanks.”

I looked at Swag. “I’ll tell her what you said about the Reuben.”

“This burger’s got swiss on it,” Chin said. “I ordered Pepper Jack.”

“Stop fucking whining.” I waved my hand toward the packed bar. “One of these other pricks will end up with a burger with Pepper Jack on it. Here in a minute you can go find it and swap him out.”

He raised the burger and gave it a good look over. “Hell of a way to run a railroad.”

“Be grateful you got something,” I said. “I forgot Stoney’s order altogether.”

“Price!” Panzer bellowed. “Stop bumping your gums and get up here. Beer’s getting hot.”

I rushed to the bar. “You keep treating me like a fucking servant, and I’ll bust your ass in the jaw.”

“Fuck you,” he said, nodding toward the pitchers. “You are a servant. Now, go serve this beer. One on your right goes to Carp. One on your left goes to Stoney’s table.”

“Stoney?” I gave him a shitty look. “I just took Stoney a pitcher.”

He glanced at the clock. “That was forty-five minutes ago.”

“Jesus,” I said. “He’s flat going through this shit, isn’t he?”

He flipped the tip of the bar towel at me, making it pop! when he pulled it back. “Less talk, more work.”

I hustled to Stoney’s table, sloshing beer all over the floor on my way. “Here you go,” I said, sliding it onto the edge of the table as I passed.

“Having fun?” Creek asked, laughing as he spoke.

“Fuck you, River.”

Brisco and Carp were sharing a table, and I had no desire to talk to Brisco. I meandered to the table adjoining his and set the pitcher down in front of Shady. “Giver this to Carp.”

He tilted his head to the side. “He’s right there.”

I narrowed my gaze. “I know where he is, you little prick. Hand him that putcher.”

He swallowed heavily. “You got it, Price.” He lifted the pitcher and turned around in his chair. “Carp. Here you go.”