Gary raised himself up on his elbows, his arms quivering with the strain. He lifted his shell-shocked eyes up to Bert. The bearded man swam in and out of focus. Gary squeezed his rheumy eyes shut, trying to clear his vision. He tried to speak but quickly clamped his mouth shut. His teeth had nearly severed his tongue in the fall; red-hot shards rushed in and stabbed his tongue with each breath. He felt the warm, coppery blood begin to well inside his mouth and leak from his pursed lips.
Turning to the waitress who now sat beside him on one of the counter’s stools, Bert frowned and asked, “Ooo, Mary, he doesn’t look so good, does he?”
She looked down at Gary. “Hm? Oh. No, I don’t suppose he does at that, Bert.”
“Shouldn’t have hit him that hard with the skillet.”
“Well, you see what he did, Bert? Tried to stiff me on my tip. You see him leave anything? I sure didn’t.”
“I’ll give you that one, Mary. That wasn’t the proper thing to do, no sir.”
“I mean, I work hard for my money. I shouldn’t be treated like that.” Bert looked back down at Gary, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought as he studied him. “She got herself a point there, friend. Should’ve tipped her, no two ways about it.”
“Damn straight,” Mary said, crossing her arms.
“You know,” Bert said, fingering his beard, “seeing as how he’s probably learned his lesson and all, maybe we should just get him cleaned up and let him go.”
“You think?”
“Well, I don’t suppose he’ll forget to tip again, do you?”
“No, I don’t guess he will. Still, it’s the principle of the thing.”
Bert shook his head. “No time to stand on principles, Mary. After all, running a restaurant’s a cutthroat business.”
The two locked eyes. Their mock frowns suddenly slipped from their faces and they burst out in laughter. “Oh Bert,” Mary said, gasping for breath, “you’re one wicked, wicked fella.” She leaned over and wrapped her fingers in his beard, pulling him toward her and kissing him long and hungrily on the mouth.
Gary’s eyes shot to the counter above him, searching desperately for any sign of his briefcase. There it was—a brass-gilded corner jutting out from the edge!
“Uh, Bert? Mary?” one of the men in suspenders called out. “You want us to...?”
Bert tilted back in his stool and patted Mary’s thigh. “All right, all right. Yeah, Leo, take him into the back. The smell’s starting to get to me anyhow. Junior, you keep an eye on the gal there,” he said, nodding to the young girl as she sat curled up in a corner booth, her horrified gaze frozen on the pantless corpse of her boyfriend. “And don’t touch her yet, you hear?”
“Don’t forget, Bert,” said Leo, “you promised to send your boy over to our place tomorrow night.”
Bert nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
The two men handed their shotguns to the large naked man and dragged Randy’s body into the rear kitchen.
Bert looked back down at Gary. “Sorry, friend,” he said, “looks like you’re gonna be keeping that date with Junior there, after all.”
“Damnit, Daddy,” the bloody, naked man growled, “I told ya not to call me that no more.”
Mary shot up from her stool. “Hey! Don’t you dare talk to your father like that, young man!”
“Sorry, Ma.”
“Wait—” The word gurgled in Gary’s throat. He knew he had to hurry and try for the briefcase, but strength was only now beginning to return and prickle in his arms and legs.
“Hey, I tried,” Bert said, throwing up his hands. “You heard me plead your case to Mary here, right? Right? Besides, now let me tell you the good news: you’re gonna be downright famous. Isn’t that the shits—famous and not even being around to enjoy it? So I’d like to thank you now, friend, for helping to soon make my little diner joint here the most famous restaurant in these parts. Least, that’s how me and the boy here have it figured,” he said with a proud smile.
Bert stood up off the stool and walked to the front windows of the diner, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the wet floor. He looked out into the frosted darkness with his hands clasped behind his back and shook his head. “You should see how much traffic that old rickety house up the road gets. Thousands of folks traipsing up and down that highway from all parts, every day of the week, every damn week of the year. And you know how much of that business we get lately? Hm? Any idea? Well, let me tell you, it ain’t much, it ain’t much at all.”
“Amen to that,” Mary said.
Confident that her attention was fastened on Bert, Gary slowly and quietly drew his knees up and off to the side. His arms and legs felt like coiled springs lubed by nervous sweat.
“Now all them folks are eating at the new fancy-shmancy cafe they got set up there, or else they come away too damn sick from the tour to do any eating at all. Hell, we’re lucky if we get much out of the Beast House at all anymore. Sure not like it used to be.” He turned around and walked over to his son and clapped him on his broad back. “It was Junior here, bless him, that came up with the fix—well, the idea, at least—to get us back on the map.” The large nude man blushed.
Jesus, Gary thought, guy tears apart Randy and stands there naked in a two-foot strap-on wooden penis and he’s blushing? This is insane, unreal...I’ve got to act, get out of here, get home and Linda will be bitching at me that I’m late again and Kelly will hug me with her small arms and everything’ll be fine and normal again and—
“Boy came up to me one day,” Bert continued, “and said, ‘Daddy, sure is a damn shame none of them Beast killin’s weren’t done here at our place, get some of those folks spendin’ the big bucks here ’stead of that eyesore up north. Then we could set up our own wax dummies right here in the diner. Tourists love that shit.’ You hear that? My boy!” Beaming, he clapped him on the back again.
Mary shifted on her stool and smoothed her skirt. Gary tensed. Waited for Junior to look away.
“And don’t forget this here Beast outfit I made, Daddy, to fool all them—”
“Shut up, boy—Daddy’s talking now.”
The young man lowered his cowed eyes. “Sorry, Daddy.”
Gary steeled himself. He had to do it. No choice.
Bert went on: “Sounded so damn good some friends of mine wanted in, too. Leo and his brother in the back there for their feed store that’s ready to go under. And Bobby, well, his towing company’s doing just fine—I think he’s just a little tweaked in the head myself.”
Gary shot from the floor with a stumbling lurch, his arms outstretched and flailing. His fingertips brushed the corner of his briefcase. It tipped and slid off the counter even as his legs gave way beneath him and he crashed to his knees beside it. His sweaty fingers fumbled at the locks and the latches snicked open and he thrust his hand in to grab the small Glock 36 .45 that’ll blast these maniacs to hell and—
His hand closed on nothing but brittle sheets of paper.
“About done there, friend?” said Bert, still standing in place and looking bemused. “Jeez, what do you think we are—stupid? Mary, show him just how stupid we are.”
Gary craned his neck up and felt a fresh wave of hopelessness and despair roll over him as he stared into the deep, black O of his gun’s barrel projecting from Mary’s steady hand.
“C’mon, Daddy, c’mon,” Junior whined. “Let me do ’im.”
“Damnit, Junior—”
“Junior’s right, Bert,” Mary cut in. “You’re talking too damn much. Let’s just get it done, all right? We been lucky so far, but someone might drive up.”
“Nah, not this late.”
“Damnit, Bert,” she said angrily, “this fella on the floor did. Who’s to say someone else won’t?”
Bert nodded. “Okay, Mary. You’re probably right. Just so damn proud of Junior I’m letting my mouth run off. Boy never had a lick of sense, and then comes up with something like this out of the clear blue...” Bert sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Damn allergies.”