“This is the only place she had ground meat,” Kim said. “And she’s sick with E. coli and that comes from hamburger.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” Roger said emphatically. “But our burgers are all cooked well-done, and we’ve got strict rules about cleanliness. We’re inspected regularly by the department of health.”
As abruptly as the restaurant had gone silent, it returned to its high level of background noise. Conversations recommenced as if the collective judgment was that whatever Kim’s problem was, it didn’t concern them.
“Her burger wasn’t well-done,” Kim said. “It was rare.”
“Impossible,” Roger contended, with a roll of his eyes. “I saw it myself,” Kim said. “It was pink in the middle. What I’d like to ask..”
“It couldn’t have been pink,” Roger interjected, with a dismissive wave. “It’s out of the question. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
Roger began to turn away from the counter. Kim responded by lashing out and grabbing a handful of Roger’s Onion Ring shirt. With his powerful arms, Kim pulled the startled manager over the counter so that his face was inches from Kim’s. Instantly it began to empurple. Kim’s iron-like grip was restricting blood flow in Roger’s neck.
“A little remorse might be appropriate,” Kim snarled. “Certainly not uninformed blanket denial.”
Roger gurgled incomprehensibly while he ineffectually grappled with Kim’s locked fingers.
Kim rudely pushed Roger back over the counter and let go of him, sending him to the floor. The cashiers, the rest of the kitchen staff, and the people waiting in line gasped but stood rooted in shocked immobility.
Kim rounded the end of the counter, intending to talk directly with the chef.
Roger scrambled to his feet, and seeing Kim coming into the kitchen area. he tried to confront him. “You can’t come back here,” he said gamely. “Only employees are allowed ..”
Kim didn’t give him time to finish. He simply shoved him out of the way, slamming the manager into the counter. The collision displaced a plastic juice machine which crashed to the tiles. Juice sloshed out in a wide arc across the floor. Those nearest jumped out of the way. The restaurant again quieted. A few of the patrons left hurriedly, taking their food with them.
“Call the police!” Roger croaked to the nearest cashier as he scrambled to his feet.
Kim continued around the central island to confront the wizened Paul. Kim took in the leathered face and the tattooed arm and wondered about the man’s personal hygiene.
Like everyone else in the kitchen, Paul hadn’t moved from the moment Kim had pounded the counter. Some of the burgers on the grill in front of him were smoking.
“My daughter had a rare burger here just about this time a week ago,” Kim growled. “I want to know how that could have happened.”
Roger came up behind Kim and tapped him on the shoulder. “You’re going to have to leave,” he said.
Kim spun around. He’d had quite enough of the pesky manager.
Roger wisely backed up. He raised his palms. “Okay, okay,” he mumbled.
Kim turned back to Paul. “Any ideas?” he asked.
“No,” Paul said. He’d seen people go crazy on oil rigs, and the look in Kim’s eyes reminded him of these men.
“Come on,” Kim snarled. “You must have been the cook. You have to have some idea.”
“Like Roger said,” Paul asserted. “It couldn’t have been rare. I cook all the burgers well-done. It’s policy.”
“You people are really starting to piss me off,” Kim snapped. “I’m telling you it was rare. I didn’t get this secondhand. I was here with my daughter. I saw it.”
“But I time them,” Paul said. He pointed with his spatula to the smoking patties on the grill.
Kim grabbed one of a half-dozen completed burgers that Paul had put on the shelf above the grill for Roger to place on order trays. Kim rudely broke the burger open and examined the inside of the meat patty. It was well-done. He repeated this three more times, slapping the broken hamburgers back onto the plates.
“You see,” Roger said. “They’re all well-done. Now, if you’ll step out of the kitchen area, we can discuss this more calmly.”