with those glittering blowfly eyes of his and that didn’t make it any more appetizing, either.
But, surprisingly, the burger actually tasted pretty good. It was tender, with just the right amount of crunchiness on the outside, and it was well-seasoned with onion and salt and pepper and the tiniest touch of chili, and there was another flavor, too, that really lifted it.
“Cumin?” I asked Mr. Le Renges.
“Aha. That would be telling. But you like it, don’t you?”
I cut off another piece. “Okay, I have to confess that I do.”
Mr. Le Renges whacked me on the back so that I almost choked. “You see, John? Now you know what I was talking about when I told you that I was called to enrich people’s lives. I keep small farmers in business, and at the same time I give the people of Calais a very important community venue with the best food that I can economically serve up. Well, not only Calais. I have Tony’s Gourmet Burgers in Old Town and Millinocket and Waterville and I’ve just opened a new flagship restaurant in St. Stephen, over the river in Canada.”
“Well, congratulations,” I coughed. “When do you want me to start?”
I dreamed that I was sitting by the window of Rocco’s restaurant on Drusilla Lane in Baton Rouge, eating a spicy catfish poboy with a cheese fry basket and a side of brown gravy. I had just ordered my bread pudding when the phone rang and the receptionist told me in a clogged-up voice that it was 5:15 in the morning.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked her.
“You asked for an alarm call, sir. Five fifteen, and it’s five-fifteen.”
I heaved myself up in bed. Outside my window it was still totally dark. It was then that I remembered that I was now the
I stared at myself in the mirror. “Why did you do this to yourself?” I asked me.
“Because you’re a nitpicking perfectionist who couldn’t turn a blind eye to three mouse droppings at the Cajun Queen Restaurant, that’s why. And they probably weren’t even mouse droppings at all. Just capers.”
“Capers schmapers.”
It was so cold outside that the deserted sidewalks shone like hammered glass. I walked to North Street where Chip had just opened up the restaurant.
“Morning, Chip.”
“Yeah.” He showed me how to switch off the alarm and switch on the lights. Then we went through to the kitchen and he showed me how to heat up the griddle and take out the frozen bacon and the frozen burgers and mix up the “fresh squeezed” orange juice (just add water).
We had only been there ten minutes when a young mousy-haired girl with a pale face and dark circles under her eyes came through the door. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Anita. You must be John.”
“Hi, Anita,” I said, wiping my fingers on my green apron and shaking hands. “How about a cup of coffee before the hordes descend on us?”
“Okay, then,” she blinked. From the expression on her face I think she must have thought I said “whores.”
But they were hordes all right, and once they started coming through that door they didn’t stop. By a quarter after seven every booth and every table was crowded with businessmen and postal workers and truckers and even the sandy-haired cop who had first flagged me down as I walked into town. I couldn’t believe that these people got up so early. Not only that, they were all so
They not only looked hearty and talked hearty, they ate hearty, too. For two hours solid I was sizzling bacon and flipping burgers and frying eggs and browning corned-beef hash. Anita was dashing from table to table with juice and coffee and double orders of toast, and it wasn’t until 8:00 that a sassy black girl called Oona came in to help her.
Gradually, however, the restaurant began to empty out, with more back-whacking and more cheery goodbyes, until we were left with nobody but two FedEx drivers and an old woman who looked as if she was going to take the next six months to chew her way through two slices of Canadian bacon.
It was then that one of the FedEx drivers put his hand over his mouth and spat into it. He frowned down at what he had found in his burger and showed it to his friend. Then he got up from the table and came over to the grill, his hand cupped over his mouth.
“Broken my darn tooth,” he said. “How d’you do that?” I asked him.
“Bit into my burger and there was
He held up a small black object between his finger and thumb.
I took it from him and turned it this way and that. There was no doubt about it, it was a bullet, slightly flattened by impact.
“I’m real sorry,” I said. “Look, this is my first day here. All I can do is report it to the management and you can have your breakfast on us.”
“I’m going to have to see a darn dentist,” he complained. “I can’t abide the darn dentist. And what if I’d swallowed it? I could of got lead poisoning.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll show it to the owner just as soon as he gets here.”
“This’ll cost plenty, I bet you. Do you want to take a look?” Before I could stop him he stretched open his mouth and showed me a chipped front incisor and a mouthful of mushed-up hamburger.
Mr. Le Renges came in at 11:00 a.m. Outside it was starting to get windy and his hair had flapped over to one side like a crow’s wing. Before I could collar him he dived straight into his office and closed the door, presumably to spend some time rearranging his wayward locks. He came out five minutes later, briskly chafing his hands together like a man eager to get down to business.
“Well, John, how did it go?”
“Pretty good, Mr. Le Renges. Place was packed out.”
“Always is. People know a good deal when they see one.”
“Only one problem. A guy found this in his burger.”
I handed him the bullet. He inspected it closely, and then he shook his head.
“That didn’t come from one of our burgers, John.”
“I saw him spit it out myself. He broke one of his front teeth.”
“Oldest trick in the book. Guy needs dental work, he comes into a restaurant and pretends he broke his tooth on something he ate. Gets the restaurant to stump up for his dentist’s bill.”
“Well, it didn’t look that way to me.”
“That’s because you’re not as well-versed in the wiles of dishonest customers as I am. You didn’t apologize, I hope?”
“I didn’t charge him for his breakfast.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, John. That’s practically an admission of liability. Well, let’s hope the bastard doesn’t try to take it any further.”
“Aren’t you going to inform the health and safety people?”
“Of course not.”
“What about your suppliers?”
“You know as well as I do that all ground beef is magnetically screened for metal particles.”
“Sure. But this is a bullet and it’s made of lead and lead isn’t magnetic.”
“They don’t
“Of course not. But anything could have happened. Maybe some kid took a potshot at it when it was standing in a field, and the bullet was lodged in its muscle.”
“John, every one of our burgers is very carefully sourced from people who are really
