Drive Like Hell: A Novel Read online

  Nick made me pose for a picture with the paycheck held up beside my face. Afterward, he took me out to dinner at the T-Bone King to celebrate my walk on the straight and narrow.

  It felt different from any other time I’d followed a hostess to the table. Nick and I were laughing and joking with each other, not even worrying about being too loud. It felt like we had the right, like there was nothing wrong with us that other people might see.

  Nick kept telling the waitress that I was picking up the tab. In the end, though, he laid down the cash. At the last second, I told him I’d cover the tip. I left a twenty, just like a high roller. The waitress hadn’t been anything special. She’d even fucked up our order, bringing our steaks out medium well instead of medium rare. But I could see that she was having a tough night.

  “Goddamn,” Nick said. “You’d go broke fast at a titty bar.”

  I walked out of the restaurant feeling like that good citizen of the world. Then, about halfway across the parking lot, Nick and I noticed the cop car that was blocking Nick’s Fury. A tall, uniformed figure stood there in the darkness, the sheriff of Green Lake County, Loyd Muskgrave.

  I recognized Muskgrave from his photos in the Green Lake Gazette. He was embroiled in a scandal concerning the treatment of prisoners at the county jail. He’d been accused of pulling them off their normal work duties to perform personal chores for him. They had supposedly bush-hogged his pasture, repaved his driveway, painted his house, cleaned the swimming pool, and washed and waxed his Thunderbird for a guarantee of conjugal visits from prostitutes and access to booze and marijuana. Of course, Muskgrave denied all charges.

  “Ah, shit,” Nick muttered, as if Muskgrave’s presence was only a minor nuisance. I wished I could have felt the same way, but my first instinct had been to turn and run like hell.

  Muskgrave was lanky and young, with thick blond Robert Redford hair and the sort of blue eyes that people tend to recall fondly in the voting booth. He was leaning back against his Crown Vic. The scanner in his car was squawking away like a bird.

  Nick took the initiative. “Hello, Loyd. What’s up?”

  The sheriff nodded. His eyes moved from Nick’s face to my own.

  “Lord help us,” he said. “It looks like I’m seeing double.”

  Nick grinned. “What is it they say in that chewing gum ad? Double your pleasure, double your fun.”

  Muskgrave shook his head and sighed. “Double your trouble’s more like it.”

  “Now that’s not a very nice thing to say,” Nick told him. “Young Luke here just collected his first paycheck from the Holiday Inn.”

  Muskgrave considered me. He was wearing this smirk on his face, like someone who knows that something bad is going to happen, only they don’t plan on sharing the knowledge with you beforehand.

  “So, I guess Dot Knox must have put the fear of God into you.”

  I couldn’t help but answer that one. It wasn’t like I’d exorcised all the smart-ass out of me.

  “I ain’t afraid of Knox and her flying monkeys.”

  It wasn’t exactly top-drawer material, but the sheriff’s badge had taken me off my game.

  “Good for you.” Muskgrave laughed. “That sort of attitude’s gonna serve you well when you’re under incarceration.”

  “I don’t have to go to jail to wash cars for a living.”

  Now that one was top drawer, if not exactly judicious. Muskgrave narrowed his eyes and took a step toward me. Nick was staring at me, too, his mouth open as though he couldn’t believe what I’d just said. Fortunately, he stepped between me and the sheriff.

  “So, you want to talk, or what?” Nick asked.

  Muskgrave and I were still eyeing each other over the top of Nick’s shoulder.

  Muskgrave pointed at me. “You had better watch your ass,” he said.

  Nick held up his hands and tried to calm Muskgrave down. “Listen, Loyd. Why don’t you and I just sit in the cruiser and talk?”

  Loyd finally turned his attention back to Nick. “No, I think it’s best we talk right here, where both of you can get the message.”

  Nick looked back at me and frowned. “All right, then. What is it you want to talk about?”

  “Business,” he said. “Namely, yours.”

  “You mean landscaping?”

  “Cut the shit, Nick. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Nick crossed his arms and sighed. He waited for Muskgrave to get to the point.

  “I don’t know if you even pay attention to this sort of thing,” Muskgrave said, “but there was a report that came out a couple months back about the drug problem in this country. Morley Safer was talking about it on 60 Minutes the other night.”

  “I must have been watching Wild Kingdom,” Nick said.

  “Well, it’s a serious problem. Usage is up seventy percent across the board, eighty-two percent among teenagers. Hell, there’s even grade-school kids using.”

  He rattled off a bunch of statistics. It sounded like he was delivering a stump speech.

  “It’s a bad economy,” Nick said. “People are always gonna look for a way to get through when times are tough.”

  Muskgrave snorted. “Well, I’m building my reelection platform on cleaning up this problem. We’ve let a lot of shit slide around here for too long.”

  Nick smiled. “Somebody must be planning to run against you this time.”

  The sheriff wasn’t amused. “I’m not bullshitting you, Nick. You can play dumb if you want, act like you’re just this little ol’ pot dealer, Mr. Nickel-and-Dime, or whatever. But I know what goes on around here. I know all about the cocaine that’s been coming in lately.”

  Muskgrave fixed me with a stare, as though I might give something away. But this was the first I’d even heard of any cocaine trafficking.

  “Cocaine’s been coming through here for a long time,” Nick said. “It ain’t nothing new.”

  He shot me a glance, then set his sights back on Muskgrave. “Not that I’ve had anything to do with it.”

  Muskgrave chuckled. “Yeah, I know. You two have just been so busy earning those paychecks.”

  “Pretty much,” Nick told him. “Between the landscaping business and my golf game, my days are pretty much booked solid.”

  Muskgrave sighed and shook his head. It was amazing how young he looked. Take away the sheriff suit, and he could have passed for one of Nick’s friends.

  “You know, I play some golf myself.”

  “No shit?” Nick smiled as though he was genuinely interested. “So, what’s your handicap?”

  “I got it down to a six last fall. Started off four years ago with a fourteen.”

  “Damn, you oughta quit law enforcement and get your tour card.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a sweet life?” Muskgrave asked.

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Nick said.

  Muskgrave flashed a smug grin. “You ever played the Atlanta Athletic Club?”

  He might as well have asked Nick if he’d ever humped the queen of England. The Atlanta Athletic Club was almost as exclusive. It had been Bobby Jones’s home club when he was alive.

  Nick acted as though the jab had missed its mark. “Can’t say I have. I mostly stick to the public courses. I like a place where I can spit without getting fined.”

  Muskgrave smiled. “Well, I’m not a member or anything. I’ve just played there a couple of times as Senator McHugh’s guest.”

  This caused Nick to smile. “I hear McHugh’s retiring after his next term.”

  “That’s right,” Muskgrave said. “Sort of coincides with the end of my next term as sheriff.”

  “How convenient,” Nick said. “Hey, maybe you could go down to Atlanta and work under the gold dome.” They were both grinning now, clearly enjoying the give-and-take, each acting as though he held the upper hand. “Of course you have to get reelected sheriff first. Don’t forget that.”

  “Don’t you worry. I’m not taking anything for granted.�
��

  “I’m sure you won’t,” Nick said.

  Muskgrave finally opened his car door. And then, before departing, he looked my way. He’d kept one last comment in the bag for my benefit.

  “If I run into Dot Knox, I’ll pass along your regards.”

  He chuckled a little, ducked inside the cruiser, and slammed the door, leaving us to ponder what had just transpired. I was left with one question for Nick.

  “Are you really selling cocaine?”

  Nick pretended he didn’t hear me. He watched the sheriff’s taillights as they headed down the street.

  “Six handicap, my ass,” he said. “I bet he cheats like a motherfucker.”

  9

  The Holiday Inn’s dishwasher was chugging away, keeping a rhythm that reminded me of Dewey when he was banging out “Heartbreaker” on his drum kit. The machine even sweated like Dewey when he played, the heat and the steam pulsing over me as I set a tub of dishes atop the drain board.

  Stanley, the always-stoned room service waiter, stood there in the mist trying to eat a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. The steam melted the chocolate all over his hands and his wrinkled white shirt. I pointed out the stain, not sure that he’d even notice without a heads-up.

  “Jesus, Stan. It looks like somebody wiped their ass on your shirt.”

  Stan gazed downward, considering the situation with only the slightest concern. “It’s cool. I’ll just button my blazer.”

  He shook his hair out of his eyes, licked his fingers, and stared up at the ceiling in a thoughtful way. “I’ve been reworking the letter a little bit.”

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “Well, what if the woman in the room were an amputee? Some people are into that shit.”

  Stan had been composing a letter to the Penthouse Forum ever since I’d started bussing tables at the hotel six weeks earlier. It involved the sexual escapades of a swollen-membered room service waiter and a busty hotel guest who looked like Cheryl Ladd.

  “I think I’d lay off the amputee stuff,” I told him. “Whenever I see those kinds of letters, I usually skip to something else.”

  Stan sighed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to go over the top.”

  About that time, there was a commotion at the other end of the kitchen. Stan’s eyes widened. “You might want to take cover,” he said. “Fay’s got a knife.”

  Before I could even turn around, I heard Fay’s loud voice.

  “Cough it up, you goddamn bitch!”

  Fay was a tall blonde waitress who suffered from an affinity for blue eye shadow. She also had a temper, hence the butcher knife presently cocked behind her ear. She was blocking the double doors that led to the dining room, apparently ready to carve up a smaller, red-haired waitress named Eileen.

  Eileen stood in front of Fay holding a tray with a couple of shrimp scampi dinners on top of it. She was overmatched but standing her ground like a left tackle.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Eileen asked.

  “You know what I’m talking about, you ugly little slut. You lifted my tip off table twelve. I did everything but give that guy a hand job. He wouldn’t stiff me like that.”

  Eileen let out a snort. “You’re crazy,” she said. “Look at your fucking eyes. You’re so high, I bet you picked it up yourself and forgot about it.”

  Eileen took a step toward the door, but Fay blocked her path and gave her a shove to the chest. Eileen staggered backward. She grabbed the tray with both hands to keep the dishes from falling.

  We had all stopped what we were doing to see if the tip dispute would result in bloodshed. Yuri, the executive chef, even turned his back on the grill to check things out. He gripped his spatula extra tight, as though he might whip some ass if need be, his ever-present Macanudo clenched in his teeth. Meanwhile, the burgers and steaks cooking behind him were slowly sizzling their way toward the grayer side of medium well.

  Fay and Eileen sized each other up like a couple of heavyweight boxers. The shit hit the fan when Eileen threw the tray of scampi right at Fay’s head. It sounded like a car wreck, all clanging metal and busting glass. Amid the clatter, Eileen let out a banshee wail and went in after the knife.

  Stanley could barely contain himself. “Bitch fight,” he said. “Hell, yeah.”

  We all looked to Yuri. He was a wide-bodied Russian with a full dark beard, and he lorded over the kitchen with the iron fist of a communist strongman. Fay had dubbed him “the Dictator,” and the nickname had stuck to him like his shrunken chef smock.

  However, Yuri didn’t appear all that eager to wade into the scuffle. He began to scout the kitchen staff for help. His eyes quickly landed on me. He looked me up and down, then waved his hand in the direction of the melee.

  “Come, beeg boy!”

  Fay was straddling Eileen and still clutching the knife. Eileen had both hands wrapped around Fay’s arm, trying to fend her off. Both women were grunting and straining, the muscles in their arms and legs flexed tight and shining from the garlic butter that coated the checkerboard floor. Fay’s green polyester waitressing jumper had ridden up over her panties. They were the same light shade of blue as her eye makeup. The whole scene was like something out of a women’s-prison movie.

  I took up a position behind Yuri. Nick and I had been working out in the mornings, so it felt good to have Yuri pick me out as his henchman, even if he hadn’t remembered my name.

  “Stop this fucking madness!” Yuri screamed. “I will fire both your asses, tu twi!”

  He reached in from behind and tried to grab the knife from Fay. But Fay struck like a coiled rattler, taking a backhanded swipe at Yuri. The shiny blade caught the meat of his spatula hand.

  “Aaahh!” Yuri dropped to his knees and crawled over to the gas range. He cowered there, yelping like a hound. “Take the knife, beeg boy! Take the knife!”

  The sight of blood gushing from Yuri’s hand made us all go quiet. It looked like he’d stashed a bottle of Heinz up his sleeve. Even Fay paused for a second. She appeared surprised by what she’d done.

  One thing the Augusta incident had taught me was that, in a dire situation, it’s best to act first and think later. So, I jumped right in and tried to take the knife. My heart thumping like the dishwasher, John Bonham, and big Dewey all rolled into one, I grabbed hold of her wrist.

  Fay grit her teeth and tried to jerk away. But then, she calmed down and hardly offered any resistance at all.

  Once I had the knife under control, I tossed it onto the drainboard. Stan immediately picked it up. He studied the crimson stain on the blade and started grinning like he’d just hauled in a prize fish.

  Another waitress handed Yuri a stack of white napkins. Yuri tried wrapping one of them around his hand, but the blood quickly seeped through. It was a serious bloodletting. The way Yuri was bleeding, someone might have thought that we’d gutted a deer in that kitchen.

  Fay eventually climbed off Eileen. She stood up and pulled her dress back down over her panties. At first, she appeared to be embarrassed, but that feeling must have quickly passed.

  “Well, what the fuck are all y’all staring at?”

  She kicked at a couple of the shrimp lying on the floor. Then she put her fingers to her temples like she was fighting some kind of god-awful headache.

  “Jesus Christ,” she said, “I need a fucking cigarette.” And with that, she headed down the hallway to the employee dressing room.

  “Don’t come back to my fucking kitchen,” Yuri shouted. “You are fired now.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You can go to hell, you fat-ass.”

  Eileen was still lying amid the wreckage of shrimp and garlic butter. A sprig of parsley lay on her jumper like she was the nightly special, with prawns on the side. I asked her if she was all right. I was expecting a thank-you for taking the knife from Fay. Instead, she looked at me like I’d been the cause of all the trouble.

  “What do you think, shit head?”

  She held out her hand, a
nd I helped her to her feet.

  “That’s it,” she said. “I quit. This place is a fucking lunatic asylum.”

  She pulled her tip money out of her apron pocket and stuffed it into the top of her jumper, then she untied the apron and spiked it on the floor.

  “You can’t queet,” Yuri said. “I am too shorthanded. Get your ass back to here, now.”

  He was half demanding and half begging, still down on his knees, looking like a casualty of war. But Eileen showed no mercy. She gave him the finger and kicked open the heavy back door. Before she walked out, she called down the hallway to Fay: “By the way, bitch. He only left you three dollars. Maybe you should’ve given him that hand job.”

  Yuri jumped up and intercepted Fay before she could head out the door and catch Eileen.

  “No, no,” he said. “Don’t be rash. Maybe we can give you second chance. We can call this verbal warning. I cannot lose two waitress people.”

  Fay gave Yuri the once-over, clearly skeptical of his proposal. She gestured toward his hand, which was still wrapped in the bloody napkin. “So you’re not gonna call the cops?”

  Yuri sniffed at the air. He spun toward the grill and pointed to his spatula. “Beeg boy,” he said, “flip the meat. I have to talk, now.”

  I went to work, even though the cause was a lost one. The burgers and steaks were past well done, working toward a nuclear singe. Another piece of flesh that I couldn’t even begin to identify was smoking like an overturned tractor trailer at the back of the grill. I pried it loose from the scalding surface and flipped it to the less burnt side. I believe it may have been a chicken breast.

  Yuri and Fay hashed things out, and then Fay stepped out back to smoke her cigarette. Yuri finally returned to the grill and reassumed control of his spatula and cigar. None of us had the gall to tell him he shouldn’t have been handling food with that bloody napkin wrapped around his hand.

  I gazed up at the big clock on the wall, surprised to see that it was already eight-thirty. Almost a half hour had passed since Fay drew back the blade. It hadn’t even seemed like five minutes. I’d really come to enjoy working in the service industry.