Page 74 of Thug

I went to the swinging door and peered through the window. Gray was putting burgers on buns and adding the toppings. The pride she took in preparing the food was evident. It wasn’t as simple as throwing on a piece of cheese or a tomato slice.

The feelings I possessed toward Gray were genuine. The proof was in the pride I felt while watching her do something she truly enjoyed.

Although she didn’t see it, I gave Gray a parting smile. I turned around. Panzer was watching me watch her. I gave him a shitty look for meddling in my business. “Give me a pitcher of Bud for Keto.”

“Pitcher of Bud, coming right up.”

It was apparent Panzer was enjoying himself, too. I, on the other hand, wasn’t. Keeping a bar filled with screaming bikers happy was impossible.

I did my best throughout the night, focusing on whoever complained the loudest. The men’s demands continued throughout the night without a single lull. Most of the men ordered food until just after midnight. By one o’clock, my feet were blistered, my legs were numb, and my patience was shot to hell.

“Listen up, motherfuckers!” I bellowed. “Last call.”

Standing at the jukebox with Carp, Brisco glared. “Last call’s at 2:00. You’re an hour off.”

“Bar’s closing tonight at 1:30.”

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Other than the fact that I’m tired of looking at you?” I asked. “No.”

He flipped me the bird and turned around. Frustrated beyond comprehension and more tired than I’d been in a decade, I let it slide. Although Gray had yet to ask, I realized I’d be doing the same thing for the next two nights, at least.

On Sunday, the bar would be closed. Gray and I would have to get our heads together and figure something out. Working two more nights wouldn’t kill me, but beyond that I wasn’t interested in continuing.

After the last man left, Gray, Panzer and I gathered at the bar. Panzer had the food, beverage, and tip totals separated, with figures jotted down on a sheet of paper.

He lifted the pad and looked at Gray. “Want to hear it?”

She looked remarkable for being in the kitchen all night. “Hear what?”

“The totals.”

“Sure.”

“$462 in tips, $1,107 in food, and $604 in beverages.”

“A thousand dollars in food?” she asked. “How in the world—”

“Carp had three burgers,” I said. “Most of the guys ate two. Some had burgers and tacos. It was a fucking mad house.”

“Almost $2,200 in one night is insane,” Gray said. “For a week, that’s, what…”

“In a six-day week, it’s $13,038 at tonight’s figure,” I said. “Might not be a good waitress, but I’m good at math.”

“That’s nuts.” She looked at me and smiled. “The total, not that you’re good at math.”

“Doubt it’ll be that high on a normal day,” Panzer said. “Most nights you’re what, half this busy?”

“A little more than that,” she said.

“Two grand in business and I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” I said. “It’s not worth it.”

Panzer arched his back. He stretched his arms over his head. “I feel great.”

“Well,” I said with spiteful grin. “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow after you do the bitch work.”

“I really appreciate it, guys,” Gray said, glancing around the filthy bar. “I know it’s not much, but you can split the tips.”