Part 15 (1/2)
”Laugh all you want. I think he looks like a rock star,” Mildred stated proudly, taking J.B.'s arm.
”Oh, h.e.l.l,” J.B. said from between clenched teeth.
The Armorer's discomfort was eased when Mildred noticed Dean's new attire. The boy was wearing a black T-s.h.i.+rt featuring a ma.s.s of silvery storm clouds and lightning superimposed over a large, unblinking single eye. The Truth Is Out There was at the bottom of the s.h.i.+rt's hem, and on the back, in a broken-typewriter font, another slogan read Trust No One.
”Krysty and Dad liked this one,” Dean said, turning and modeling for J.B. and Mildred.
Krysty shrugged. ”What can I say? The message struck me right funny. Guess if you keep looking long enough, you can find anything.”
”Well, I liked the back,” Ryan said, picking up the lull. ”Trust No One might seem paranoid to some, but I decided that was a sentiment I could agree with without any debate.”
J.B. agreed. ”d.a.m.n good advice for any halfway intelligent citizen of Deathlands.”
Mildred wrinkled her nose. ”True, most of the time. Otherwise it's kind of negative, don't you think?”
”h.e.l.l, it beat the other s.h.i.+rts that fat guy was selling. What were they, Dean?”
”Um, most of them had a yellow mutie with a spiked head saying Eat My Shorts. He had a lot of those. None of them had ever been worn, he said. Had a few with a man dressed like a bug. Some with guys playing predark sports, like basketball. Triple dull. This was the best of the bunch.”
”I can attest to that,” Doc agreed. ”That store owner was an idiot, and his collection of moldy paper useless.”
”Tried to get Jak to take him a s.h.i.+rt, but he wasn't interested.”
”Like clothes no message,” Jak replied. ”Wanted black s.h.i.+rt. All had stupid s.h.i.+t pix.”
THE INTERIOR of the eatery had been designed to replicate what some predark advertising executive had distilled into being a Mexican dining experience. There were no primary colors to be seen. The dominant hue was brown. All shades of brown. Dark brown walnut. Light brown walls hinting at adobe stone. Off-white flooring with a grit pattern of brown dots broken up by horizontal and vertical chestnut brown lines.
The tables matched the decor, but the chairs, which were standard-issue steel folding chairs, had obviously been replaced at one time or another. The front counter was made of stainless steel, low slung, with indentations where automated cash registers once rested. Now hungry patrons waited in line to verbally give their order to a single cas.h.i.+er.
Both cas.h.i.+er and her small comp console were encased inside a ma.s.sive armagla.s.s sec booth.
A slot allowed the pa.s.sing of jack. After payment the order was called back to the hidden cooks in the rear. Once the order was given, a customer then was allowed to go down the counter to await his or her food.
”This d.a.m.n well better be good. I hate waiting in line,” Ryan announced.
”Where are the menus?” Doc asked.
”Up there. Above the woman taking the orders,” J.B. said, pointing out the hand-lettered displays hanging from the ceiling. ”Nice to be able to read fine print from a distance again.”
”At least the selection is generous,” Doc remarked, his lips moving as he read off some of the offering on the day's menu.
”Hey! Glazed ham!” Dean said eagerly.
”Pricey,” Ryan said, reading the listed amounts for various meals. ”Still, I guess we're ent.i.tled to one good meal. I know I am. Order what you want.”
”Bless my fragile soul, but is that a listing for a bowl of pinto beans?” Doc asked.
As the group looked over the menu, Ryan took in the rest of the restaurant. The interior was crowded to near bursting, and filled not only with a wide variety of customers, but with their overlapping conversations, as well, all of which seemed to blur together into a single ma.s.s hum that phased in and out between being uncomfortable and unnoticeable.
There wasn't an empty seat in the house. Older men seemed to have claimed the long metal counter-top bar that ran along the left windowless wall, all of them busy at their plates, shoveling forkfuls of food into their mouths. The tables and booths were also all occupied with people of all races. While the food appeared to vary, the only beverages being offered seemed to be water or coffee sub.
Unlike any other ville Ryan had ever visited, none of the inhabitants had paid attention to a new group of seven walking into the eatery. Jak got a curious glance or two, and that was all.
A table filled with the forest greens of the mall sec force occupied a corner table, a good location Ryan would have chosen for himself if there had been room. From the vantage point the sec men had chosen, they could see anyone who came into the place, as well as having a good view of the dual kitchen doors to the back. Two of the men stared back at Ryan as the one-eyed man gave them the once-over.
”No good, this,” Jak griped. ”Many people. Hard see, hard hear. Dangerous.”
”My daddy always used to tell me, the more people in a restaurant, the better the food was,” Mildred said. ”And I'm starved.”
”So let's eat,” Ryan stated, striding across the floor to the line waiting for service at the counter.
WHEN THEIR ORDERS were delivered, the friends decided to go into the central food court outside. Carrying their trays carefully, they looked for a place to sit. Ryan chose a table near a wall so they could be guaranteed of having one section safe. J.B. sat on his left and Dean on his right. Krysty took the chair next to Dean. Jak, Doc and Mildred completed the circle. Their meals showed off variety. All of them drank coffee sub or water or both, but they differed in food selections. Ryan had gone for a hunk of steak smothered in thick brown gravy, with mashed potatoes and green peas, while Krysty asked for and got a ma.s.sive salad covered in dressing and bread crumbs. Dean had selected his glazed ham and fried apples. Mildred chose breakfastscrambled eggs, strips of bacon, spicy hash brown potatoes and dark toasted bread. J.B. also got eggs, but had his fried, with a side of chewy sausage patties and more of the bread.
Nothing elaborate, but it was all good, filling food.
Docfor some reasonhad selected his bowl of pinto beans smothered in onions with a generous helping of corn bread on the side.
”I've never had a tastier platter of beans,” Doc said with relish once his meal was done. ”This re minds me,” he started out, ”of another fine occasion”
”No, no reminders,” Dean said hastily. ”Doc, I like it fine here. Let me enjoy it!” he pleaded.
”Are you saying my company is less than stellar, young Cawdor?” Doc responded haughtily over the rim of his coffee cup. ”And I thought I contributed to the boy's education,” he added with a hurt air to Ryan.
Krysty spoke up quickly. ”Dean's a growing boy, Doc. He needs more in the way of nightly entertainment than another discussion of the Crusades or the finer points of whether that Poe fella's poetry was as good as his short stories.”
”They were. Perhaps his verse was even superior to his prose,” Doc said crisply through sips of the brew. ”The good Mr. Brody only started Dean's education. Alas, I fear the majority of the knowledge he needs to be well-rounded must come from within our merry little band of rogues. As the only educator here, I must accept my responsibility for his future development.”
”Wish I had another cup of this coffee,” J.B. said, looking down through his new specs at the bottom of the empty mug. ”But I sure as h.e.l.l don't feel like getting back in that line for a refill.”
”Me, too. Times like this, I miss having a waitress,” Krysty mused.
”Yeah, like that Sandy girl. The one we ran into back in Florida at that weird-a.s.s Tuckey's roadhouse,” J.B. said.
”Don't remind me,” Mildred said with a laugh. ”I still carry visions of that horrible orange decor.”
”And of the mysterious pecan-nut log,” Doc said wistfully. ”If only I'd been allowed a taste”
”One bite and you'd probably still be back down in Florida, six feet under,” Mildred told him. ”I told you those d.a.m.n things were probably over 150 years old.”
”But preserved, perfectly preserved in their s.h.i.+ny red-and-white-plastic wrappers. I still wonder what treasures were hidden inside.”
”A salty brown lump hard enough to bash a man's skull inor break out a few pearly white teeth.”
”Good Tuckey's! Yum! Real stickie meat!” Dean added, getting caught up in the humor. ”Visit Our Pettin ZooReal Live Mutents!”
”I see it left an impression on one of us, anyway,” Krysty commented.