‘You know what you're doing, right?’
‘Kinda,’ I said. ‘More than you do, anyhow.’
‘I get what you're saying,’ he said, and went inside.
I worked slowly but methodically, which is the best way of dealing with the subversive ranks of inanimate objects. Ted proved to have a thorough selection of tools, which helped, as did having gone through the process of figuring out how to replace Gary's screen door a few months back. Security and good sense dictated replacing the door with something more robust, but Ted was adamant it needed to look the way it had, for tradition's sake. I'd specified that he at least buy super-toughened glass, also some metal strips that I intended using to strengthen the off-the-rack door.
While I was working through that portion of the job, Becki returned. I was ready for a break from hammering and sawing so I went to give her a hand with the cash drawer, which was not light. In the end she let me carry it by myself, though she hovered encouragingly in the background and went off to fetch me a soda as a reward, while I levered it into position and bolted it in place.
She got sidetracked with some issue in the kitchen, and I was back at work on the door by the time she returned with a Dr Pepper stacked with ice.
She stood around for a while and watched me working, without saying anything.
‘That was a nice thing you did,’ she said, after maybe five minutes.
‘What's what?’
‘You know. Signalling to the cooks that you thought they didn't have anything to do with it.’
‘They didn't.’
I concentrated on manoeuvring a pane of glass, making sure it was bedded properly before screwing a piece of the metal brace-work securely into place. When I turned round, Becki was still looking at me, one eyebrow slightly raised.
I smiled. ‘What?’
‘You haven't always been a waiter, have you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But it's what I am now.’
She nodded slowly, and walked back inside.
* * *
Midway through the day, the guy from the kitchen brought out a plate of food. I hadn't asked for this, or expected it. It was very good, too, a selection of handmade empanada-style things filled with spicy shrimp and fish.
‘That was great,’ I said, when he came back for the plate. ‘You should get Ted to put those on the menu.’
The cook smiled, shrugged, and I guess I knew what he meant. I stuck out my hand. ‘John,’ I said.
He shook it. ‘Eduardo.’
‘Got the dough ready for the young maestro yet?’
He laughed, and went back inside.
It took over six hours, but eventually everything was done. By four o'clock I'd replaced the frames on inner and outer doors, and fixed the other damage. Becki had the register back up and running, something I was surprised she was capable of doing. Her entire demeanour during the day had been something of an eye-opener. I hadn't figured her for capable and businesslike. The guys in back had meanwhile returned the kitchen to its spotless and socked-away state.
Ted came on an inspection tour, pronounced it good, grabbed a couple of handfuls of beers and took them out on deck. We all sat together, Ted, Becki and me with the guys out of the kitchen – and Mazy too, when she wandered in as if fresh out of some flower-scented fairy realm – and drank slowly in the sun, which wasn't very warm, but still pleasant. Fairly soon Ted got his head around the fact that though more than one of the cooks was called Eduardo, none was actually called Raul.
After a while Becki got up and went and fetched some more beers. She dispersed them around the crew and then offered one to me. I looked at my watch, realized it was coming up on five. I'd been working in direct sunlight half the day and my shirt was sticking to my back.
‘I need to get back to my place to change,’ I said. ‘Pretty soon, in fact.’
‘I'll give you a ride,’ she said, as I stood up.
‘This is good of you,’ I said, as we walked together to her car. She didn't say anything.
She waited out on deck while I took a shower. As I came out into the living room, I saw she'd taken a beer from my fridge and was sitting drinking it, looking out to sea. I sat in the other chair.
‘Going to have to head back soon,’ I said.
She nodded, looking down at her hands. I offered her a cigarette, which she took, and we lit up and sat smoking in silence for a moment.
‘How much trouble is he in?’ I asked, eventually.
She glanced up. The skin around her eyes looked tight. ‘How did you know?’
‘Why steal a battered juicer and leave a computer? The mess in the kitchen was overdone, and the cash drawer looked like it was attacked by a chimp. No one came there last night looking for money. So where was it? In the locker room?’
She nodded.
‘Dope, or powder?’
‘Not dope.’
‘How much?’
‘About ten thousand dollars' worth.’ Her voice was very quiet.
‘Jesus, Becki. How stupid do you have to be, to stash that much cocaine in your father's restaurant?’
‘I didn't know it was there,’ she said, angrily. ‘This is Kyle's fucking thing.’
‘Kyle? How did he even get that much capital? Please don't tell me you gave it to him.’
‘He got a loan. From … some guys he knows.’
It was all I could do not to laugh. ‘Oh, smart move. So now he's royally fucked, owing not just the back end of drugs he no longer has to sell, but the money he used to buy them in the first place. Perfect.’
‘That about covers it.’ She breathed out heavily, drained the rest of her beer in one swallow. ‘And if you're thinking of getting heavy about drugs, I don't need to hear it.’
‘No, drugs are way cool,’ I said. ‘Moral imbeciles making fortunes from fucking up other people's lives, staying out of sight while wannabes like your idiot boyfriend take all the risks.’
‘Better get you back. Going to be a busy night.’
‘Take it I'm going to be on pizzas?’
She smiled briefly, crooked and sad, and I realized how much I liked her, and also how close she was to seeing her life veer down a bad track into the woods. ‘I'm not sure where he even is right now.’
We stood together.
‘And
