Tiny drippings of water fell from the grey sky, reflecting light across the concrete jungle that was the city of Maples, South Carolina. Rain wasn’t an unusual sight for the sprawling metropolis, as the mountains surrounding three-fourths of the city acted well upon keeping cloud moisture in the area, ensuring the Chattanooga River never ran dry as it ran though part of the city. The residents had long since become used to water and knew how to deal with it in any form, whether that be rain, floods, ice, or snow.
That didn’t make it any more pleasant to walk, something Jack understood keenly as he stared at the drops falling against the window to his left. He sighed, regretting once again that he’d forgotten his umbrella at home and knowing the walk back after his shift would be another wet one.
“Order in!” came a loud voice that broke the young man out of his thoughts.
“Thank-you!” Jack called back before reaching up to move the new order slip down the line in front of his face. Reading the order for an original hamburger, just tomato with ketchup, the young man got to work pulling out the pre-formed patty he’d made hours ago and slapping it on the blacktop grill before reaching over and buttering a pair of burger buns that soon joined the patty.
“One tomato burger, squared, with extra sugar coming right up,” Jack muttered under his breath.
A snort to his right didn’t warrant Jack’s attention. “Geez kid, where the heck do you pull jokes that from?” asked the larger and portlier cook to Jack’s right. “With those kinds of jokes, you ought to take up comedy at the Laugh Club.”
“Pretty sure being a cook pays more than a comedian on average Hank,” Jack pointed out dryly, “and I’m not sure my kind of humor would be welcome outside the kitchen.”
“Well, doubt the customers would appreciate having what goes in their meal pointed out to them,” Hank chuckled. “The boss certainly told you that last time she heard you, heh heh.”
“That’s why I muttered it,” Jack rolled his eyes. “With hearing like yours, it’s no wonder I can never find you when the boss needs overtime.”
“20 years in the kitchen’ll give you those instincts,” the older man said sagely. “That, and enough cynicism to salt a 20-course meal with the occasional spice of life.”
“You never fail with your food metaphors,” Jack noted dryly.
“If you let those burgers cook any longer on that side, you might fail this meal,” Hank pointed out.
With a grumble, Jack turned his attention back to the blacktop and took care of his charges. Though rarely ever a customer would complain about a grey, well-done burger, he’d surely be given crap if he served a dry piece of meat. It helped they made their patties fresh in the morning, allowing them the option of cooking medium or even medium rare burger meat, enough stigma from the media and frozen patty scandals often insured that only the meat connoisseurs or regulars ever ordered one.
‘In a way,’ Jack thought to himself, ‘that applies to everything, huh.”
Half-baked things never seemed popular. Whether it was the occasional puff piece on some happy occasion, the occasional break in the clouds, or even taking a break from college to raise tuition money, people tended to get annoyed when things didn’t stay consistent or finish up. People liked a sense of ‘normalcy’, after all. Probably Jack would have to, if life hadn’t forced him off the usual path.
“Order up!” Jack called out of the kitchen as he slid the completed burger onto the serving rack.
“Thank you!” came the voice of one of the waitress’ on the other side, Jack wasn’t sure which one. The waiting staff tended to rotate more frequently than the other restraint positions, likely related to the lower pay and burn out from dealing with certain types of customers. Speaking of, judging by the raised voices coming from the floor a few moments later, another one had appeared.
Jack took a moment to peer out to see the cause of the commotion. He spotted one of the new waitress’, Penny, struggling to respond to a non-regular, who was talking with a raised voice and exaggerated hand movements. The poor girl, not quite 18 yet, seemed to be drawing close to tears.
“Hank, think you might be needed for this one,” Jack noted.
“Aight, on it,” the older man grunted as he washed his hands and cracked his knuckles. Since the line was clear, Jack watched from the back as Hank, with his large bulk of muscle and fat courtesy of continued workouts and drinking, marched over to the table to see what was going on. It was likely this secondary responsibility that had granted the man his extended work life here with livable pay. Needless to say, the intimidating stare down from the much larger and muscular man put a stammer into the rude customer, but not enough to make him back down. A curious sight to be sure; few wanted to continue making an ass of themselves once Hank came out of the kitchen.
Jack turned his attention away from the spectacle to check the time. His shift was almost done according to the clock, and he needed to get some cleaning done in the dish room before he left. Anything leftover would just be waiting for him the next day in the morning, after all.
Walking into the nicely air-conditioned room, the young man got to work cleaning after putting on his gloves and placing his phone in the safe box above the splash zone. He whistled a tune quietly to himself as he blasted off food gunk with the strong water pressure of the hose and filled up the wash tray, sliding it once full into the industrial cleaner and lowering the lid before loading the next tray. It was a literal rinse and repeat for him, a mindless task anyone with half a brain could do.
To that thought, Jack sighed. Working at the restaurant day in and day out, he never felt fulfilled or challenged by his work. What should have been a single medical semester off had turned into more, leaving him with bills to pay and not much to show. The few friends he had had long since moved away to pursue their own dreams and careers, leaving his free time without much to show when he wasn’t spending time with his girlfriend, Emily.
The thought of the smiling, blond-haired woman couldn’t help but make Jack smile. They’d met freshman year in intro to biology, and hit it off smoothly with their shared interest in the natural world. Even after his road bumps, she’d stayed with him and even moved in to help him with rent. They had been dating for a few years, and he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was for having her. Jack loved Emily deeply, but even with that he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to do something more with his life.
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The smack of the dish room door made Jack jump as an irate Hank stomped in.
“The balls on the asshole,” the older man scoffed angrily, waving his hands in the air. “Even after showing him the ticket, the receipt he signed, and offering a free fix, he still has the nerve to threaten me and the business. Crazy bastard must think the world revolves around him.”
“So, its handled?” Jack ventured.
Hank shrugged. “Telling him the manager was out at a supplier made him leave in a huff. I told Penny to clock-out early so she could recover at home. You seem to be about done in here anyway, so punch out when you’re done. I’m going to stay behind tonight and do inventory.”
“You sure you don’t need any help?” Jack asked, more out of politeness than an actual desire to stay longer at work.
Hank waved him off. “Naw, it’s faster if I just do it. Catrine hasn’t signed off on you doing inventory yet, but the day’s coming. You’ll probably get a raise after that, which is why she waits until someone has proven their value here and likelihood of working for a while.”
Jack perked up at the mention of a raise, but scowled at the notion he’d be working here for the foreseeable future; which likely wasn’t wrong. Hank patted his back in understanding before returning to the kitchen.
Jack returned to the dishes and took his frustration out on their cleaning. His unnatural efforts led to the job getting done faster than usual, and he finished up by mopping the floor clean of any grime or dropped crud. Washing his hands, he walked out and plugged in his employee ID into the punchout machine, getting a beep of confirmation he’d worked his 8-hour shift.
“I’m done and punched out Hank,” Jack called into the kitchen.
“Aight, have a safe walk home!” came the answering reply.
With that, Jack walked out into the light of the setting sun as it peaked over the mountains surrounding Maples. Due to said mountain range, nights tended to be longer in the city as the sun vanished sooner and appeared later and, coupled with the usual rain, meant darkness was generally the condition outdoors. Jack grumbled as he did his best to avoid the lightly sprinkling rain, sticking the building walls when he could as he navigated the sidewalks and roads toward his apartment.
It was Thursday, which meant it was his turn to cook. Emily wouldn’t be back for another few hours from college, which meant Jack had plenty of time to whip something up for them both. As he mentally went over what ingredients they had at home, he reflexively reached for his pocket to text Emily and ask if she felt like anything in particular. His fingers felt empty space as he paused, his brain processing the facts.
Pocket empty. No phone. Where is phone? Phone last used. . .
Jack’s shoulder slumped. He’d once again forgotten to retrieve his phone from its safe place above the splash zone in the dish room. He’d already almost reached the apartment, which meant another fifteen minutes of walking to get back to the restaurant, and another fifteen to return home. A waste of thirty minutes he could have used for cooking.
‘You idiot,’ Jack scolded to himself as he turned and retraced his steps. “You’ve only worked there for more than a year; not like you haven’t done this at least once a month.”
By the time Jack reached the restaurant, the sun had gone dark and the streets were only faintly illuminated by streetlights. The business was dark too, save the small light in the back where Hank was working in the kitchen. Jack knew the older man didn’t lock the back door on inventory day, so he didn’t bother slowing down as he reached the door and pulled it open.
“Just me Hank, left my phone again!” Jack called out. He didn’t hear a response, likely because Hank was in the bathroom or in one of the storage rooms deeper inside. Honestly, if Jack could retrieve his phone without alerting the older man, he’d be happy to avoid another round of nagging about his attentiveness.
The short walk into the dish room was uneventful, and Jack retrieved his phone without trouble. He paused a moment to check if he’d missed any messages while the phone had been out of his hands, but found nothing. Sighing in relief, Jack slipped the phone into his pocket and began walking toward the exit.
Thump
Jack paused as he heard something just as he reached the door. Had something fallen?
“Hank, everything alright back there?” Jack called out again. Again, no answer. Jack clicked his tongue, but decided risking a nag in case Hank needed help was worth it. He walked through the kitchen and looked around. No sign of Hank, and the lights were off on the floor and entrance. Still, Jack thought he saw the outline of something on the floor.
“Hank?” Jack asked carefully as he pushed open the door leading from the kitchen to the floor. “You okay old man?”
All that Jack got was a low moan, prompting the younger man to move quickly over to the source of the noise. He nearly tripped over the collapsed form of Hank, the older man lying on the floor appearing to have suffered a blow from behind. Suddenly feeling cautious and alert, Jack fell to his knees and scanned his surroundings. Nothing stirred in the darkness.
“Hank,” Jack whispered, gently, but firmly, shaking the cook. “Hank, wake up.”
“Hurr-zat,” Hank mumbled, “I, Jack?” The older man blinked a few times as he started to get his bearings. “Bast-d, hit me?”
“I don’t know who hit you,” Jack whispered. “I don’t see anyone. Can you move?” He waited for Hank to give a bleary nod, then helped the older man move back into the kitchen. There, Jack looked around the for the first-aid kit while asking, “Did you get a good look Hank? What happened?”
“I, uh,” Hank muttered as he shook his head, pointing out the first-aid kit for Jack. “No, didn’t, I didn’t see. How long was I out?”
“I don’t know, I just got back to pick up my phone,” Jack confessed as he took out the triple antibiotic and some bandages. “Look, we need to call the police and an ambulance. Is there anything specific you can tell me about who attacked you?”
The clatter of something in the dish room falling caused both men to freeze. The dish room was close to exit, and the front door was locked, meaning they had an issue. Hank gestured for Jack to move slowly, and the two quietly made their way to the front of the kitchen, opposite the door to the dish room. The whine of the door opening echoed through the silent room, followed by the sound of several slow, but heavy, thumps. Jack felt the hair on his arms stick up when something sniffed loudly. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Hank tugged at his arm, pointing at the back exit. The two quietly shuffled around the other side of the kitchen while the assailant made its way toward the front, moving in time with its footsteps to hide any noise.
They made it to the exit side, though they’d have to cross the walking path to reach it. Carefully, Jack moved his face until his left eye could peek around the corner of the food warmer box. He could faintly make out the dark form of, something, at the other end of the kitchen. The dim light and distance didn’t help, but strangely enough Jack couldn’t help but think the figure was a lot darker than it should have been. The figure was sniffing again, and as it turned around the bend Jack and Hank carefully moved over to the exit door. It didn’t squeak as they opened and moved through the doorway, quickly closing it behind them.
They didn’t hesitate in moving away from the restaurant while Jack whipped out his phone and called 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?” came the calm voice over the phone.
“Hello, uh,” Jack stammered as he looked over Hank in better lighting. Now that he could see, it almost looked like the older man had been sliced with a large fork. “I found my boss after he was attacked. He’s up and moving, but he’s hurt and bleeding. The attacker is still in the restaurant, uh, Rosetta’s Diner on 4th street. We barely made it out.”
“Understood sir, emergency dispatch is underway,” came the voice over the phone. “Is there… zzz… you… zzz… see?”
“Hello, you’re breaking up?” Jack asked, only for the line to go dead. Before he could react, Hank suddenly tackled Jack to the ground as, with a bang, the back door of the restaurant suddenly was blasted over their heads.
“Holy shit kid, run!” Hank yelled as he rolled off and pulled Jack to his feet. The two ran into the closest alley as a guttural scream echoed after them.