"This is the only place she had ground meat," Kim said. "And she's sick with E. coli and that comes from hamburger."
"Well, I'm sorry," Roger said emphatically. "But our burgers are all cooked well-done, and we've got strict rules about cleanliness. We're inspected regularly by the department of health."
As abruptly as the restaurant had gone silent, it returned to its high level of background noise. Conversations recommenced as if the collective judgment was that whatever Kim's problem was, it didn't concern them.
"Her burger wasn't well-done," Kim said. "It was rare."
"Impossible," Roger contended, with a roll of his eyes. "I saw it myself," Kim said. "It was pink in the middle. What I'd like to ask…"
"It couldn't have been pink," Roger interjected, with a dismissive wave. "It's out of the question. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."
Roger began to turn away from the counter. Kim responded by lashing out and grabbing a handful of Roger's Onion Ring shirt. With his powerful arms, Kim pulled the startled manager over the counter so that his face was inches from Kim's. Instantly it began to empurple. Kim's iron-like grip was restricting blood flow in Roger's neck.
"A little remorse might be appropriate," Kim snarled. "Certainly not uninformed blanket denial."
Roger gurgled incomprehensibly while he ineffectually grappled with Kim's locked fingers.
Kim rudely pushed Roger back over the counter and let go of him, sending him to the floor. The cashiers, the rest of the kitchen staff, and the people waiting in line gasped but stood rooted in shocked immobility.
Kim rounded the end of the counter, intending to talk directly with the chef.
Roger scrambled to his feet, and seeing Kim coming into the kitchen area. he tried to confront him. "You can't come back here," he said gamely. "Only employees are allowed…"
Kim didn't give him time to finish. He simply shoved him out of the way, slamming the manager into the counter. The collision displaced a plastic juice machine which crashed to the tiles. Juice sloshed out in a wide arc across the floor. Those nearest jumped out of the way. The restaurant again quieted. A few of the patrons left hurriedly, taking their food with them.
"Call the police!" Roger croaked to the nearest cashier as he scrambled to his feet.
Kim continued around the central island to confront the wizened Paul. Kim took in the leathered face and the tattooed arm and wondered about the man's personal hygiene.
Like everyone else in the kitchen, Paul hadn't moved from the moment Kim had pounded the counter. Some of the burgers on the grill in front of him were smoking.
"My daughter had a rare burger here just about this time a week ago," Kim growled. "I want to know how that could have happened."
Roger came up behind Kim and tapped him on the shoulder. "You're going to have to leave," he said.
Kim spun around. He'd had quite enough of the pesky manager.
Roger wisely backed up. He raised his palms. "Okay, okay," he mumbled.
Kim turned back to Paul. "Any ideas?" he asked.
"No," Paul said. He'd seen people go crazy on oil rigs, and the look in Kim's eyes reminded him of these men.
"Come on," Kim snarled. "You must have been the cook. You have to have some idea."
"Like Roger said," Paul asserted. "It couldn't have been rare. I cook all the burgers well-done. It's policy."
"You people are really starting to piss me off," Kim snapped. "I'm telling you it was rare. I didn't get this secondhand. I was here with my daughter. I saw it."
"But I time them," Paul said. He pointed with his spatula to the smoking patties on the grill.
Kim grabbed one of a half-dozen completed burgers that Paul had put on the shelf above the grill for Roger to place on order trays. Kim rudely broke the burger open and examined the inside of the meat patty. It was well-done. He repeated this three more times, slapping the broken hamburgers back onto the plates.
"You see," Roger said. "They're all well-done. Now, if you'll step out of the kitchen area, we can discuss this more calmly."
"We cook them to an inside temperature higher than the one proposed by the FDA," Paul said.
"How do you know the inside temperature?" Kim asked.
"We gauge it with a special five-pronged thermometer," Roger said. "We take the temperature randomly several times a day, and it's always the same: above a hundred and seventy degrees."
Paul put down his spatula and rummaged in a drawer below the grill. He produced the instrument and offered it to Kim.
Kim ignored the thermometer. He took another hamburger and broke it open. It too was well-done. "Where do you store the patties before they're cooked?"
Paul turned around and opened the refrigerator. Kim bent over and peered inside. He knew he was only looking at a small portion of the meat the Onion Ring had to have on hand.
"Where's the bulk of them?" Kim questioned.
"In the walk-in freezer," Paul said.
"Show me!" Kim commanded.
Paul looked at Roger.
"No way," Roger said. "The walk-in is off limits."
Kim gave Paul a shove in the chest with both hands, propelling the man toward the back of the kitchen. Paul stumbled backward. Then turned and started to walk. Kim followed.
"No you don't," Roger said. He'd caught up to Kim and pulled on his arm. "Only employees are allowed in the freezer."
Kim tried to shake Roger off his arm, but Roger hung on. Frustrated, Kim backhanded the manager across the face with significantly more force than he'd intended. The power of the blow snapped Roger's head around, split his upper lip and sent him crashing to the floor for the second time.
Without even a glance at the fallen manager, Kim followed after Paul who now had the freezer door open. Kim stepped inside.
Fearful of Kim's size and impulsiveness, Paul gave him a wide berth. Paul looked back at his manager, who was now sitting on the rubber kitchen mat dabbing at his bloodied lip. Unsure of what to do, he followed Kim into the freezer.
Kim was looking at the cartons lined up on the left side of the walk-in. Only the first was open. The labels read: MERCER MEATS: REG. 0.1 LB HAMBURGER PATTIES. EXTRA LEAN. LOT 2 BATCH 1-5. PRODUCTION: DEC. 29. USE BY MARCH 29.
"Would a hamburger last Friday night have come from this carton?" Kim asked.
Paul shrugged. "Probably, or one similar."
Kim stepped back into the depths of the freezer and saw another open carton nestled among the sealed ones. He opened it and looked in. He could see that the wrapping was also broken on one of the inner boxes. "How come this carton is open?" he asked.
"It was a mistake," Paul said. "We're supposed to use the oldest patties first so we never have to worry about the 'use by' date."
Kim looked at the label. It was similar to the previous one except for the production date. This one said "Jan. 12" instead of "Dec. 29." "Could a patty have come from this one last Friday?" he asked.
"Possibly," Paul said. "I don't remember the day it was mistakenly opened."
Slipping a pen and piece of paper from the pocket of his white coat, Kim wrote down the information on the labels of the two open cartons. Then he took a single patty from each. This wasn't easy because the patties were frozen in stacks separated by sheets of waxed paper. He pocketed the patties and the paper.
As Kim exited the freezer, he was vaguely aware of the muffled sound of a siren whining down. In his preoccupied state, he ignored it. "What's Mercer Meats?" he asked Paul.
Paul closed the freezer door. "It's a meat-processing company that supplies us with hamburger patties," he said. "In fact, they supply the entire Onion Ring chain."
"Is it in the state?" Kim asked.
"Sure is," Paul said. "It's right outside of town in Bartonville."