Backtracker

Chapter 11

Chapter 11It was payday at the Wild West Steakhouse.

Fresh from classes at Orchard College, Dave Heinrich pulled into the restaurant's lot and parked his car near the side door. As he got out of the brown Torino, his heart was flipping crazily in his chest, his palms were sweaty, his breathing rapid and erratic. Hesitating beside the car for a moment, he stared at the steakhouse door, considered hopping back behind the steering wheel and racing away from the place.

These were unusual reactions for him to have on a payday at the Double-Doubleyoo. Usually, Dave was happy on these biweekly occasions, pleased at the prospect of enjoying the fruits of his labors. Normally, he would bound into the restaurant with a grin, hurry to the office and snatch his small but vital paycheck from the fingers of a manager.

Today, though, he was anxious and jittery, pale and distracted. Getting his paycheck wasn't his only reason for going to the steakhouse; he also had to confront someone, a co-worker who had stabbed him in the back. He'd thought that the person was his friend, but she'd betrayed him, and now he had to give her a piece of his mind. Such confrontations always agitated him, because he had such a nervous, self-conscious disposition. He hated unpleasant scenes when strong emotions came into play; he was always afraid that his nervousness would show, that he would appear weak and silly, that he would say the wrong thing.

The phone call from Billy Bristol had come at around eleven o'clock that morning, when Dave was getting ready for school. His hand had tightly clenched the phone as Billy gave him the name, his voice dripping with acid contempt for the person whom he identified. When he heard the name, Dave had been stunned, shocked into a momentary silence; he hadn't been able to believe it, hadn't even considered the person a suspect. Doubting the veracity of Billy's information, he'd questioned his pal several times, only to end up convinced that Billy had indeed discovered the truth.

Ever since the call, Dave had been preoccupied with thoughts of the traitor. Alternately, rage and disbelief had stormed through his mind, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his classes. Over and over, he'd mentally bludgeoned himself for ever trusting the turncoat, for opening himself up to her backstabbing.

Dave had also remembered Larry's warnings, the prophetic advice that he'd dispensed at Billy's trailer. If only he'd taken Larry's words to heart, Dave would never have been subjected to Mr. Wyland's interrogation, wouldn't have been suspected of being a chocolate milk thief.

The more that he thought about Larry Smith's uncanny intuition, the more that Dave was impressed with the guy. In a remarkably short time, Larry had correctly assessed the character of the Wild West crew, seen duplicity lurking in quarters from which Dave would never have expected it to come. Dave cursed himself for shrugging off the guy's warnings and swore that he would listen more closely to what Larry told him in the future.

For now, though, there was nothing left to do but confront the double-agent. After lingering by the Torino for another moment, Dave pulled himself together and headed for his bout with the traitor. Taking deep breaths, fighting to calm his spastic nerves, he opened the side door of the restaurant, stepped through the vestibule and inner door which led into the dining room.

The place wasn't very crowded when he entered; about a third of the tables were occupied, and the rest were cleared of dishes. Looking around, Dave saw the afternoon busboy dusting ornaments on the far wall, the stirrups and wagon wheels which were supposed to give the steakhouse a Western atmosphere. In the middle of the dining room, a waitress sat at a table, transferring packets of sugar and sugar substitute from a cardboard box into wire condiment holders.

When Dave turned his gaze to the salad bar, he spotted his target. Standing in the walkway between the salad bar and the windows, she was hard at work and didn't notice him. She was tall and chunky, with an ample bust and large buttocks; she had short, coal-black hair, and wore glasses with thick, brown frames. Her name was Peggy Kutz.

She was the same Peggy Kutz whose trustworthiness Dave had defended two nights before in Billy's trailer.

Jumpy and flustered, Dave approached the traitor. Instead of entering the walkway behind the salad bar, he stayed in front of the thing, keeping a barrier of sorts between him and Peggy.

The girl was arranging crocks of salad items on a cart. Even when Dave came to a stop right across the bar from her, she didn't look up, didn't sense that he was watching her.

"Excuse me," said Dave, knocking on the metal frame that held the salad crocks. "Excuse me."

Peggy's face swung toward him, her expression unguarded and inquisitive; clearly, she thought that the interruption had come from a customer, and she wondered what assistance the person would ask of her.

As soon as she recognized Dave, her expression changed. Her eyes widened, her lips tightened, and she froze; she suddenly looked startled and tense, expectant and defensive.

In that instant, Dave knew that Billy had been right about Peggy.

There was a brief pause before either of them spoke. Taking a deep breath, Dave donned a dark frown, did his best to look menacing instead of nervous. He felt cold, knew that he was probably pale, but it couldn't be helped.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward and glared through the Plexiglas sneeze guard over the salad bar. "Well, Peggy," he said tightly. "You'll never guess what happened to me the other day."

Crouched and wary, Peggy kept her mouth shut.

"Fred called me into his office," continued Dave. "He said somebody told him I was ripping off chocolate milks." As he spoke, Dave started to feel less nervous; anger was taking hold of him, gradually superseding his anxiety.

"Now who would've told Fred I took some milks?" asked Dave. "Who could've done such a shitty thing? You have any ideas?"

Dave paused for a beat, waiting for Peggy to say something, but she remained silent. Like a mannequin, she stayed frozen behind the salad bar, gaping over the crocks of croutons and dressing.

"Y'know, I wonder," said Dave, shifting his gaze away from Peggy. "Who could hate me enough to tell the managers something like that? I mean, I could've gotten fired over that."

Dave glanced back at the girl, and she flicked her eyes downward.

"Then again, maybe it was someone who was just trying to kiss up to Mr. Wyland. Maybe they're up for that new Shift Supervisor job, so they just wanted to score some points. You know anybody who's up for Shift Supervisor?" Surprisingly calm after the terrible case of nerves that he'd suffered earlier, Dave crossed his arms and glared. His heart was pounding, but he was no longer short of breath.

"Hey, wait a minute," he piped then, snapping his fingers. "You're up for the job, aren't you? Then again, I know you'd never do something as low as turning in one of your friends, right?"

"Listen," Peggy said at last, wincing apologetically. "I couldn't just lie to them. They asked me if I knew who was doing it, and I couldn't lie."

"So it was you," Dave snorted disgustedly.

"When I told them I knew who it was, they asked me who, and I had to tell them! I told them there were other people, though! You were the only one I knew for sure, but I didn't make it sound like you were the only one." Peggy sounded genuinely sorry and upset, as if the situation was as troubling for her as it was for Dave.

"Gee, thanks," clipped Dave, rolling his eyes sarcastically. "Thanks a lot, Peggy. At least you didn't tell them I was the only one."

"I didn't know who else was doing it," she winced. "I couldn't lie, and you were the only one I knew!"

"Too bad, huh?" snapped Dave. "If you'd known some of the others, you could've busted them, too. You could've taken down half the steakhouse, huh? Then you'd've really gotten a lock on that Shift Supervisor job."

"That's not why I did it," she insisted, shaking her head. "I just couldn't lie! I'm not a liar!"

"Maybe not, but you're a damn good actress," Dave swung angrily. "All these years, you acted like you were my friend, but you were really just waiting to stab me in the back."

"That's not how it was!" she winced. "I didn't want to get you in trouble!"

"Well, geez," scowled Dave. "That makes me feel a lot better."

"If they hadn't asked me, I wouldn't have told them," said Peggy, a note of desperation in her voice. "I didn't go in there on my own and say 'Hey, I know who's been taking chocolate milks!' I didn't want to tell them!"

"I don't care," Dave said grimly. "All I know is that you told Fred something that could've gotten me fired. Friends don't do that to each other. If you were the one who'd done something, and they called me into the office and asked me to nail you, I wouldn't've said a damn word."

"Well I'm sorry!" sputtered Peggy. "Fred didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"No," growled Dave, "but he could have. He could've canned me right there."

"But he didn't!" said Peggy. "When I talked to him, I told him what a hard worker you are, and how you're always helping me! I begged him not to fire you or anything, because you do so much and you don't deserve to lose your job over a few chocolate milks!"

"Wow," sneered Dave. "Thanks for putting in a good word for me, Peggy. I guess I'm supposed to thank you for saving my job now, huh?"

"No!" shot Peggy, grimacing with frustration. "I didn't mean...I just...I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about this, Dave! I want you to understand that I didn't mean for you to get in trouble!"

"Yeah, right," curdled Dave. "Well, I want you to understand that I think you're a b***h, and you better stay the hell out of my way from now on!"

"Look, I'm sorry!" she said pleadingly.

"By the way," said Dave, his voice coarse with contempt. "Congratulations on your big 'promotion.' "