Backtracker

Chapter 9

Chapter 9Billy lived in Barton, a rural area bordering Highland Township, the Confluence suburb in which Dave lived. The sprawl of fast-food restaurants and shopping centers and housing developments which blanketed Highland hadn't yet enveloped Barton, had only nicked it. Barton was still girdled with forests and rolling farmland, only interrupted occasionally by clusters of houses and trailers. Billy Bristol inhabited one such trailer, a metal box in a roadside clearing surrounded by woods.

The site wasn't far from Ernie Dumbrowski's home; in fact, Billy lived less than a mile up the road from Ernie. Originally, Billy had lived with his family in a house on the other side of Barton; in his junior year of high school, though, his father, an insurance salesman, had been transferred to Pittsburgh, and the whole family had gone with him...except Billy. Unwilling to leave all his friends and girlfriends behind, Billy had chosen to stay in Barton and had convinced his parents to go without him. A friend of his mother had agreed to rent him the trailer for a very small fee, and Billy had lived there ever since. With his wages from the Wild West Steakhouse, and occasional contributions from his parents, he'd gotten along just fine on his own. Though the trailer was old and rather shabby, he seemed to like it, if for no other reason than that it was his very own personal bachelor pad.

Glad to have escaped his feuding family, Dave Heinrich guided his brown Ford Torino up the short gravel drive to Billy's trailer. Lights glowed in the trailer's windows, and the silver Honda at the end of the drive also signaled that Billy was home. Since there were no other vehicles around, Billy was probably alone.

Parking behind the Honda, Dave plucked his knapsack from the floor and rose from the Torino. It was a cold night, cold enough for him to see the fog of his breath as he strolled to the trailer's front door, cold enough to let him know that Spring wouldn't arrive any time soon. At least it was clear and the moon was bright enough to cast up warning gleams from the patches of ice on the sidewalk.

Dave boosted himself up the set of cinder blocks which served as steps to the front stoop, a square slab of concrete atop more blocks. Knocking twice on the door, he immediately heard footsteps approaching from inside the trailer.

In a flash, the door sprang open and Billy appeared, dressed in his Wild West uniform. As always, he sported the patented Bristol grin, that easy-going, friendly smile with a stream of mirth and mischief glittering just beneath the surface.

"Hey!" chirped Billy, his grin widening at the sight of his pal. "Davey-boy! What's up, man?"

"Not much," said Dave. "What're you up to?"

"Just hangin' out, havin' a couple beers. What brings you out this way?"

"Aw, my family's going at it again," sighed Dave. "I needed to do some studying, and I needed some peace and quiet, so I thought I'd drop in."

"Peace and quiet?" laughed Billy. "Here?"

"Well," grinned Dave, "I figured maybe we could hash out some of this stuff together, you know? I mean, we both have tests coming up, so it wouldn't hurt to do some studying tonight."

"Hey, good plan," nodded Billy. "I was gonna' do some studying tonight, anyway. We'll have to hit the books later, though, 'cause I've got company."

"Oh, really?" said Dave, disappointment shading his voice. "I'm sorry. I should've called first. I was just in too much of a hurry to get out of the house."

"No problem," Billy said blithely, dismissing Dave's apology with a wave of his wiry hand. "It's no big deal."

Turning, Dave started for his car. "I'm sorry about this. I'll just call you later and maybe stop back then."

"No no," said Billy, slipping to one side of the doorway and gesturing for Dave to enter. "Come on in, man. It's okay."

"I can come back later," Dave assured him. "It's really no problem. I'll just head over to the library for a while."

"Get in here," smirked Billy, pulling Dave by the shoulder. "I told you, it's okay. It's just somebody from work, man."

"Well, if you're sure it's okay," Dave said hesitantly.

"Just come on," laughed Billy, yanking Dave through the doorway.

Awkwardly, Dave stumbled into the warm trailer. As Billy shut the door, Dave quickly scanned the place, only to be surprised by the familiar face in Billy's kitchen.

Seated at the kitchen table, a beer can in his hand, Larry Smith smiled back at him.

"Hey!" called Larry. "Dave! How're you doing?"

"Not bad," Dave answered with a smile, feeling a bit off-balance. Though he was happy to see the new co-worker, Larry was the last person he would have expected to meet in Billy's trailer. Larry had only been working at the steakhouse since the day before, so it was strange to see him already in the lair of the Wild West gang's inner circle.

"So, Davey-boy," said Billy, ambling into the kitchen space. "Larry was telling me how you guys beat that big rush yesterday."

"Right," said Dave. "It sure was a killer."

"Aw, it wasn't bad," chuckled Larry. "We could've handled it with both hands tied behind our backs. We're professionals."

"Dave? A professional?" winced Billy. "Are you sure you're talking about this Dave?"

"None other," nodded Larry, raising his beer as if in a toast. "He's a trooper, all right. He did most of the work."

"No no," Dave corrected modestly. "You did most of the work."

"Now that I can believe," ribbed Billy, smirking as he opened the refrigerator.

"Up yours, pal," cracked Dave, accepting the beer that Billy offered over the refrigerator door. "You've never done a hard day's work in your life."

"Oh yes, I have," grinned Billy. "Every time I work with you, I've gotta' work ten times harder to make up for your slackin'!"

"Ten times harder?" flagged Dave, dropping his knapsack onto a kitchen chair. "Big deal. Ten times zero is still zero."

"If you think I work zero," zapped Billy, "then you must be in the negative numbers!"

"Well," interrupted Larry. "From what I've seen so far, I'd say both you guys do a hell of a job. Seems like you two work harder than anyone in the place."

"I'll go along with that," laughed Billy, throwing himself onto one of the chairs. "You know, you're pretty smart there, Larry."

"I just call 'em like I see 'em," said Larry, scratching his sandy goatee. "I tell it like it is."

"Man, that's a switch," chuckled Billy. "Most people tell it like it isn't."

"Not me," stated Larry, wagging his head. "I always lay it on the line. I don't play head games."

"So, did you guys come right over after work?" asked Dave, cracking open his beer.

"No," Billy clucked sardonically. "We always hang around in our steakhouse uniforms."

"Aw, you know what I meant," said Dave.

"Yeah," nodded Larry. "Billy invited me over after we punched out. The steakhouse was dead, so Tom let us both go at seven-thirty."

"We just got here a couple minutes before you," added Billy.

"That's something, huh?" said Dave. "One night, the place is a madhouse, and the next night it's dead. Naturally, I got the busiest night."

"It must've been you," quipped Billy. "All those people showed up just because they knew you were working last night."

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Dave. "They probably all got together and decided to make my life miserable. Then when I'm not there, everybody stays away."

"Well, they probably knew I was cooking tonight," grinned Billy. "They knew their steaks would be like shoe leather."

"I wouldn't say shoe leather," Dave said thoughtfully. "More like, uh...tar paper. Either tar paper or emery board."

"Tree bark," Billy said decisively. "More like tree bark."

"You guys're nuts," laughed Larry. "Your steaks were the best I've had in a long time, Billy."

"Hey, how do you know how they tasted?" Dave shot with feigned suspicion. "You weren't eating company food on company time, were you?"

"I sure was," Larry nodded proudly. "The place was so dead tonight, Billy got bored, so he put his time to good use by practicing his cooking. He whipped up some great steaks, and he couldn't just throw them away, could he?"

"I couldn't waste all that meat," beamed Billy.

"I figured I'd do Billy a favor, so I ate whatever he brought back to the dishroom. It took some doing, but I managed to eat every single steak he practiced on."

"Well, gee," said Dave. "That was mighty decent of you , Larry. Not everybody would've helped Billy out like that, y'know."

"I believe in going that extra mile," smiled Larry. "If one of my co-workers needs a helping hand, I'll always be the first to volunteer."

"If it hadn't been for Larry," continued Billy, "I don't know what I'd've done. He really came through for me, man."

"It was my pleasure," sighed Larry, running a hand over his crew-cut. "That porterhouse was perfect. It just melted in my mouth."

"There, ya' see?" smirked Billy. "All that practice was worth it! It helped me perfect my technique, so I can cook even better for the customers!"

"Too bad the managers don't see it that way," Dave said wistfully. "If they'd just get with the program, we wouldn't have to sneak around behind their backs whenever we want to practice on some steaks."

"Y'know," said Larry, "restaurants are the same all over. Every place I've worked, people would take food when the bosses weren't looking."

"Why not, right?" grinned Billy. "I mean, considering what they pay us, we might as well chow down once in a while. It's a fringe benefit, man."

"Sometimes you just have to," added Dave. "If you're working a real busy night and you don't get a break, you need something to keep you going."

"Just so the managers don't catch you, right?" said Larry.

"Yeah, but they're pushovers," declared Billy. "If you know their routines, and you keep an eye on them, you can get away with almost anything."

"You've never been caught, huh?" Larry asked Billy.

"Nope, never," Billy replied nonchalantly.

"What about you?" asked Larry, turning his gaze to Dave. "Did you ever get caught?"

For a moment, Dave hesitated. Though Larry seemed like a nice guy, Dave wondered if it would be wise to tell him any more about swiping food at the steakhouse. For one thing, it seemed dangerous to reveal damaging information to someone closer in age to a manager than an employee. For another thing, Larry had said that he'd known Tom Martin for years; it was possible that Larry and Martin were better friends than Larry had claimed, and whatever Larry heard might eventually get back to Martin.

After a brief deliberation, Dave finally brushed aside his suspicions. Chiding himself for worrying too much, he answered Larry's question with a shake of his head.

"You've never been caught either, huh?" said Larry.

"Not yet," affirmed Dave.

"So what do you guys like most then?" quizzed Larry, leaning back in his chair. "What's the best thing for a snack at Wild West?"

"Sirloin tips," announced Billy. "They're easiest to sneak. You throw a bunch on the broiler with the regular orders, and the managers can't tell you're cooking anything you shouldn't be. You can even pop 'em in your mouth right there at the broiler when nobody's looking."

"Chicken fingers are good," contributed Dave, pulling over a chair and dropping onto it. "Shrimp, too. Anything small is good, because it's easier to hide and you can eat it quicker."

"The shrimp we get is excellent," nodded Billy. "A couple pieces of shrimp, some chocolate milk, and you've got yourself some good eatin'."

"Chocolate milk, huh?" said Larry.

"Yeah," grinned Dave. "There's nothing like ice-cold chocolate milk when you've been sweating in front of a hot broiler for six hours."

"They keep that back in the walk-in cooler, right?" asked Larry.

"Yup," said Billy. "It's perfect, 'cause that's the best place to go for a snack. You just grab one of those half-pint cartons off the rack and chug it right down."

"Black gold," chuckled Dave. "That's what we call it at the Double-Doubleyoo."

"Double-Doubleyoo?" frowned Larry.

"Wild West," explained Billy. "You know, like there's two W's in 'Wild West,' right? So it's 'W-W'-Double Doubleyoo."

"Brother," smirked Larry. "You guys have nicknames for everything."

"It's our secret code," Billy whispered loudly. "Don't tell the managers!"

"Don't worry," grinned Larry. "They'll have to kill me first, and that'd take some doing."

"Black gold!" Billy said in a clownish stage whisper. "The password is 'Black gold'!"

"This 'black gold'-do we get it free like soda?" asked Larry.

"Nope," Billy replied after swallowing some beer. "Soda, coffee, and iced tea are the only drinks we're supposed to get free. Milk's off limits, but we drink it anyway. Everybody drinks it."

"Well, not everybody," qualified Dave. "Just a lot of us. We've gotta' watch, y'know? We can't take it too often, or the managers might catch on when they do inventory."

"Right," agreed Billy. "If there's a lot of cartons back there, help yourself, but if there aren't many, don't take any. It's easier for the managers to keep track if stock's low, so it's more likely they'll notice if some disappears."

"Sounds like you guys have it all figured out," observed Larry.

"Yeah, we've got a system," smirked Billy. "We've been at it so long, we oughtta' have it figured out."

"So does everybody cover for everybody else?" asked Larry. "I mean, aside from the managers, is there anybody to watch out for?"

"Nah," negated Billy, sweeping a hand through the air. "It's like, everybody grabs a snack sometime or other, so we're all in it together. No one's gonna' rat on you, 'cause they know they'd only be ruining things for themselves."

"Honor among thieves, huh?" said Larry, a sly smile drawing up his mustache and goatee.

"Right!" laughed Billy. "One for all and all for one!"

"So, in other words," said Larry, "if I have a snack in the prep room or walk-in or wherever, and one of the other employees happens to stroll in and see me, I shouldn't worry about it."

"Exactly," nodded Dave. "If it isn't a manager, don't worry. Just the other day, for example, I was drinking chocolate milk in the freezer, and Peggy Kutz walked in. She just laughed, and we kidded around about it."

"Peggy Kutz, Peggy Kutz," muttered Larry, narrowing his eyes. "I think I may have met her. What's she look like?"

"Well, she's tall," described Dave. "About six-two, six-three, and she's got black hair and glasses."

"And a big butt," Billy added with a cruel gleam in his eye. "A really big butt. Bigger than this table."

"I remember now," sparked Larry, snapping his fingers. "She was doing the salad bar this afternoon. I talked to her a little bit."

"She's cool," said Dave. "We get along pretty well."

"She's okay," grinned Billy, "as long as that big butt of hers doesn't knock you over. You gotta' watch out for that thing, man."

"She's the one who saw you with the chocolate milk, huh?" Arms crossed, Larry tilted his chair back on its rear legs and stared thoughtfully at Dave.

"Yep," nodded Dave. "Like I said, she didn't care."

"You sure of that?" asked Larry.

"Oh, yeah," said Dave. "I've known her a long time, and I know she'd never turn me in."

"Never say never," said Larry, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" asked Dave, frowning slightly.

"I just mean maybe you oughtta' be more careful," Larry said slowly. "Maybe you shouldn't assume that no one's going to turn you in."

"How come?" wondered Billy. "Are you planning on finking on us, man?"

"No," Larry said flatly, shaking his head. "I've never been a backstabber, and I never will be. In my opinion, backstabbers are the lowest form of life on the planet."

"Then what are you talking about?" pressed Dave, feeling a fresh tingle of suspicion.

"I don't think you should take it for granted that everyone's going to cover for you," explained Larry, his eyes coolly meeting Dave's. "You can't always depend on people to keep secrets, especially if the secrets give them some kind of power over you."

"Sure you can," clipped Billy. "I've been at Wild West almost six years now, and the whole time I've worked there, no one's ever turned anyone in for swiping food."

"We're all pretty tight," added Dave. "We all look out for each other."

"People are funny," said Larry. "They can turn on you in a second."

"Not at Double-Doubleyoo," asserted Billy. "Most of us have been working together for years, and we don't sell each other out."

"Hey," said Larry, crumpling his empty beer can in one hand. "All I'm saying is that it doesn't hurt to cover your ass. You never know when someone's gonna' have a change of heart."

"Well, we appreciate the advice," Billy said sincerely, crushing his own empty can as well. "It makes sense, but it just isn't something we have to worry about."

"Okay," shrugged Larry, letting his chair fall forward so that all four legs touched the floor. "If you say it's all clear at Wild West, that's your call. I'm still gonna' be careful, though."

"You mean you don't want any more snacks?" asked Billy, his eyes glittering impishly once more. "You don't want any of those delicious porterhouses?"

"I didn't say that," smirked Larry, rising from his chair.

"I mean, if you really don't want to chance it, I won't send back any more 'practice' steaks. I don't want you to get busted or anything, Larry." Grinning like a leprechaun, Billy sounded obliging, as if he were truly concerned about Larry Smith's well-being.

"No no," chuckled Larry, walking around the table. "You just keep those steaks coming. There's no need to be too careful here."

"Okey-doke," laughed Billy. "As long as you're sure you can trust me."

"Oh, I know I can trust you two," announced Larry as he flipped his mangled beer can into the trash bucket beside the refrigerator. "I'm not worried about you guys at all."

"How come?" wondered Dave.

"Because I know I can trust you," said Larry as he opened the refrigerator. "I can read people pretty well, and I can tell you two are okay."

"So how often are you right about people?" asked Dave.

"Always," said Larry, reaching into the refrigerator for a beer. "It's a knack I have."

"Did you meet anybody at Double-Doubleyoo you don't think you can trust?" queried Billy, his voice laced with amusement.

Larry nodded. "Just a few, but then I haven't met everyone who works there yet."

"So who are they?" asked Billy.

"Tom Martin, of course." Larry tugged a beer from the refrigerator and waved it at Billy, who nodded.

"That's an easy one," said Billy as Larry lobbed the beer to him. "Who else didn't you like?"

"I'd rather not say," evaded Larry, drawing his own beer from the refrigerator and closing the door.

"Aw, c'mon," coerced Billy. "Who else?"

"I won't say," insisted Larry. "I don't want you avoiding certain people just because I have a hunch about them."

"Yeah," said Dave, "but you told us you're never wrong."

"There's a first time for everything," countered Larry.

"Oh, great," muttered Billy. "First you tell us there's people at the steakhouse you can't trust, and then you won't tell us who they are. Thanks a lot, Larry."

"Personally, I can't think of anyone there who I might not be able to trust," shrugged Dave. "Besides Mr. Martin, I mean."

"Then don't let me rain on your parade," said Larry, returning to his seat. "You just go on the way you've been, and forget my stupid hunches."

As Larry suggested, Dave indeed forgot the hunches, and the conversation soon turned to other matters, like who the best-looking girls at the steakhouse were. Dave forgot other things, too, like the studying which he'd planned to do; as the evening wore on and he soaked up more and more beer, he thought less and less about his upcoming exams and the preparations he had to make for them.

After a while, he grew thoroughly drunk, and ceased to worry about his schoolwork altogether. Instead of sweating over textbooks, Dave relaxed and had a good time with his old friend Billy and his new friend Larry. Though he'd only met Larry the day before, Dave already began to look upon him as a pal and confidant; the discomfort and suspicion which he'd felt toward Larry faded further with each fresh beer.

Though he was the new guy in town, and twice their age, Larry was accepted by Dave and Billy into the Wild West gang that night. Unofficially, without ceremony, he was admitted to the inner circle of that exuberant squad of kids.