How Not to Close a Restaurant
The last few diners finally paid and left, and Kevin locked the door behind everyone. Edwina was already settled into a corner table with her textbooks, her apron stashed away in the kitchen. With a relieved sigh, Kevin went to get some cleaning supplies out of the cupboard behind the host stand.
“Did you notice anything unusual tonight?”
The rag in Kevin's hand went flying, and he barely caught the bottle of cleanser before it hit the ground. He spun around to face his brother. “By unusual, do you mean like someone sneaking up behind people and making them nearly jump out of their skin? Because otherwise, no, I did not see anything unusual!”
An annoyed shush hissed out from the corner. Edwina glared down at her notebook while writing.
“A fillet of tilapia is missing,” Alex continued in his flat tone.
Kevin grabbed another rag and sprayed down one of the tables. “It was probably just wasted. Todd doesn't keep records of the stuff he has to re-fire or toss out.”
Alex gave a disapproving snort. His thumb rolled over the beads of his mother's necklace, clutched firmly in one hand. “The inventory records still indicate how much was purchased and when. It's unlikely that exactly one fillet would have spoiled prematurely while the others are still in perfect condition. The receipts also show that no one ordered any tilapia since the purchase was made.”
Kevin paused in the middle of wiping the table. “We've had orders for fish,” he countered weakly.
“Salmon,” Alex replied. “Even Todd knows the difference between the two.”
“So...what, then?” Kevin finished the first table and moved on to the next. “Someone broke into the kitchen and just stole a piece of fish? What kind of nut would do something like that?”
A sharp banging at the windows made him look up. A man stared at him from behind the large glass pane.
Kevin shook his head. “We're closed!” He returned his attention to the crumbs on the table.
The banging at the glass resumed, coupled with a muffled shout. “No, you're not! I can see people inside!”
Kevin looked over to Edwina. Her disbelieving expression probably mirrored his own. Alex, meanwhile, now seemed to be more focused on investigating the contents of the lost-and-found bin.
“Listen, I just want some clam chowder!”
Edwina slammed her pencil down on her notebook and buried her face in her hands. “We don't even make that, here!”
The glass started to rattle as the man pounded on it harder, and Kevin winced. If his dad had to pay for another window... He went to the door and opened it just a crack, keeping his body in the gap. “Look, Sir—” The shove was unexpected, and Kevin automatically stepped back. By the time he looked up, the man had seated himself at the table Kevin had just cleaned.
“About time!” the man thundered, pulling a napkin out of the dispenser and tucking it into his collar. “This is terrible service!”
Edwina sighed, pushed her chair back from the table, and stood. With a tight smile pasted onto her face, she approached the newcomer. “Look, I know this may be a hard concept for you to grasp, but there is a little rectangle on the door—”she formed a quadrilateral with her fingers “—with letters on it! If you want to know what it says, here's a hint: that first letter is a 'C'...”
The man waved her off. “Go find someone else to bother, Girlie! I'm just here for my clam chowder! Where's the waitress?”
Edwina started seething.
Kevin coughed and stepped between them. “Actually, Sir, she is our waitress, and—”
“Then why isn't she taking my order?!” The man thumped a fist on the table, making it rattle.
“Because we are closed!” Kevin snapped. “That's what everyone is trying to tell you! We! Are! Closed!”
“Bull****!” The man thumped the table again. “You lazy brats don't want to work, is what it is! Now quit playing on your phones, and bring me my food!” He stood, grabbed a sugar shaker from the table, and cocked his arm back as though to throw it.
“Woah, hey!” Kevin raised his hands. “You said clam chowder, Sir? Coming right up! Just...give us a minute!”
The man snorted, slammed the shaker back onto the table, and resumed his seat. “You'd better hurry it up! I'm starving!”
Edwina caught up to Kevin as he approached the door to the kitchen. “Are you crazy?” she hissed.
“No,” he whispered back, “but this guy just might be!”
“We don't have any clam chowder!” she reminded him.
“I know! I know!” He scratched the back of his neck and thought for a bit. “Look, there's probably a store open...”
Her eyes widened. “You're not serious!”
“We're talking about one or two dollars for a can of soup versus however much this guy starts causing in damages,” Kevin pointed out. “Now, if you want to clock back in, one of us can keep him distracted while the other—”
“I SAID DON'T TOUCH IT!”
The shout from Alex snapped Kevin's head around. His brother was standing at the table. The man had grabbed onto The Necklace and was apparently trying to tug it from Alex's grasp. Alex, having none of that, swung a fist across the man's jaw.
The world seemed to shift into slow motion. The man stood with an angry roar, his own fist pulled back.
“ALEX!”
Too late; he was too far away. Even as Kevin pushed through the molasses to reach his brother, the massive fist shot forward, knocking Alex back. He fell to the ground before Kevin could catch him.
Edwina let out a piercing shriek.
Blood trickled from Alex's nose as he lay on the floor.
Kevin swallowed. “Edwina, run over and get my—”
“WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!” his father's voice thundered from the kitchen doorway.
“—dad,” Kevin finished. Alex was still breathing, but his eyes were closed beneath the forming bruise. Kevin lifted his brother's head a little and tried to remember if the advice for nosebleeds was “tilt forward' or “tilt back”. He was dimly aware of more shouting, Edwina's jumbled explanations, and a reprise of the man's demands for clam chowder. Even when apparently unconscious, the noise seemed to make Alex wince.
Then, a new voice added to the din: “Police! Hands where we can see them!”
Alex's eyelids flickered open.
At least four cops stood in the host area, guns drawn. “Put him down and back away,” one demanded.
Kevin's eyes widened as he realized that his dad had grabbed the front of the man's shirt and was holding him above his head. Unsure how possible that should be, he scanned the faces around him for any signs of shock. Between the stone-faced cops and Edwina's pre-existing panic, nothing enlightened him at all.
His father gently lowered the man back to the ground and, hands raised, came to stand by Kevin and Alex. “He hit my son!”
The intruder dusted himself off. “I just wanted—”
“—Quiet.” After a few minutes of determining that no one in the room was concealing any weaponry, one of the cops addressed Edwina. “Were you the one who called in an armed robbery?”
Her eyes grew huge. “A...what?!”
The chaos became a bit more organized as everyone was divided up and questioned. Eventually, the cops whisked their trespasser off to see if the police station was serving any clam chowder. Now, Edwina sat watching with a worried expression while their dad helped Alex apply a bag of ice to his darkening bruise. Apparently, “head forward” was the correct position for nosebleeds after all.
She bit her lip. “Alex, are you okay?”
“I found a book bag in the lost-and-found,” Alex replied.
Kevin rolled his eyes. “He'll be fine.”
His father looked up at him from where he knelt by Alex. His eyes narrowed. “So, what have we learned, here?”
Kevin fidgeted under the glare. “Never unlock the door after closing time.”
“And?” his father pressed.
He squirmed further. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Come and get you before things get this bad?”
His dad nodded. “Being responsible is not the same thing as trying to shoulder everything yourself. Now let's get Edwina home and get some dinner; we'll finish cleaning up in the morning.” Alex took the ice from him as they rose to their feet.
Kevin nodded and untied his apron. “What are we having?”
His father's eye glinted in the light. “Well, how do you feel about clam chowder?”
THE END
