Episode 012 Previous Episode	Next Episode
“We’re all one big family Throughout the cities and the towns We don’t reach for handouts We reach for those who are down And every local chapter has a seven day a week Available consultation For your frustration It’s called the American Honky-tonk Bar Association.” Garth Brooks, American Honky-tonk Bar Association “The Rose, huh?” Edgar said, the first of the group to speak. He looked away, sipping his water in the lively restaurant. “I had a feeling this would be coming up sooner or later.” He put the water down, staring at it thoughtfully. “I have to admit, I thought it was going to be the police that presented us with this little enigma and not one of us.” “Black and red,” Everett said across the circular table to Edgar. “That alone will get fingers pointing at us eventually.” He sipped his water. “Let me start,” he said with a hint of indignation, “by actually asking, straight up, if anyone knows anything or has any particularly important information about the Rose. Given that fiasco we had with the Knightsnet,” he said glaring at Roland and Ledger, “I don’t want to trust to voluntary disclosure. If you have had any contact, even the slightest bit, I need to know it now. We all need to know about it.” He looked around the room, waiting for reactions. “Okay,” he said. “Now, I want to begin by…” “Everett,” Edgar said with a pausing motion. “I don’t mean to be rude and I don’t mean to be inconsiderate, but could we wait to delve into this discussion until after we’ve ordered.” “We’ve been here for at least ten minutes and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of our waitress,” Ledger said. “I don’t know if she forgot us or what.” “It’s pretty busy,” Sydney said, looking around. “Busy-shmizzy,” Roland said firmly. “Ten minutes is a long time to wait just to place our drink orders.” “Yeah,” Armand agreed, still studying the menu. “She could at least come by and say ‘hey, I’ll be with you guys pronto’ or something.” “It’s Tuesday,” Everett said. “Most restaurants train on Tuesday.” “Excuses, excuses,” Ledger declared. “How’s the masters’ thesis coming?” he asked to Sydney with a yawn. “Wonderful,” she said with a giant smile. The smile suddenly disappeared into a ponderous look. “Oh wait. No. No, no. What’s the opposite of ‘wonderful’? Oh yeah, my thesis defense.” She went back to her menu. “Crappy, old farts and their bloody history department.” “Departmental rules,” Edgar reminded her out of the corner of his mouth. The purple hue of the wind-swept horizon captured Everett’s attention immediately. He stopped as the doors behind him closed, staring into the distance. Over the parking lot and suburban land, the far-off trees swayed with the evening wind, as if fanning the descent of the evening into night. “Yeah mom,” said Ledger next to him. Everett turned to find Ledger sitting on the outside seat, rolling his eyes into his cell phone. “Yes mom,” he repeated. “Yes, I’ll tell Roland hi.” He listened for a moment more, glancing at Everett and holding up a finger. Everett waved it away patiently. “I love you, too. Bye.” He flipped the phone shut and leaned back. “I love my mom, but she just can’t get off the phone sometimes.” “The manager said the waitress that was supposed to be covering our table quit suddenly,” Everett reported, sitting down next to Ledger. “As such, our drinks and two appetizers are on the house. Given how swamped they are, he’s asked us to be patient and he’s calling in a couple of girls to help out.” “What appetizers?” “Potato skins and mozzarella sticks,” Everett said. “Roland and Sydney,” Ledger nodded. “Respectively.” Ledger looked out at the sunset and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, man. Things seem, they seem too calm, too real, you know? Graduation and how quiet it’s been of late. Crimson Rose aside, of course.” “You’re going to graduate at the end of the winter right?” Everett asked. Ledger nodded. “That’s exciting. Any idea what you’re going to do?” Ledger snorted. “No,” he half-laughed. He shook his head in thought. “My sifu asked me if I wanted to start taking the advanced Dim-Mak classes.” “You’re just going to move into that school,” Everett chuckled. Ledger didn’t respond; he simply continued to stare out at the horizon. Everett shared the twilight silence for a moment, then hit Ledger on the leg. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” Roland didn’t even look at the paper napkin as he marked on it with his pin. He slid it back across to Armand. Armand picked it up and looked at it, then slammed it down, staring in annoyed awe at Roland. “How do you keep doing that?” “I’m just smarter than you,” Roland said with false pride, holding his hands out innocently. “He also wastes a lot of his time, so he’s got lots of practice at tic-tac-toe,” Everett added as he sat down. He picked up a still-warm mozzarella stick, popping half of it into his mouth. “Any sign of our waitress yet?” “Not yet,” Edger said, doodling on his napkin. “It hasn’t been that long.” “Long enough for my stomach to start growling,” Sydney complained. “Be patient,” Armand said as he drew another tic-tac-toe board. “We’ve all worked jobs like these before. The hours suck and tips rarely make it worthwhile.” “Blah blah blah,” Roland dismissed as he trumped Armand again. “So how’s school?” he asked to Everett in a condescending, paternal tone. “Its swell, dad,” Everett countered as Leave-it-to-Beaver-esque as he could manage. “Me and the guys are thinking about getting together tomorrow in the chemistry lab and experimenting. Ever since the school board banned freedom of speech and freedom of thought and that pesky individuality thing, and used all the tax dollars which were meant to buy us books on a new football stadium, meaning we’re stilling having to use books with the sun revolving around the earth, me and the guys have just been itching to blow the crap out of Principle Johnson’s new BMW.” “BMW?” Roland said, looking up. “What are you? An anti-Semite?” “Yeah, Ev,” Ledger agreed. “You got something against Jews?” “What the hell are you two going on about?” Everett exclaimed with a laugh. “BMWs are made in Germany.” “No they’re not,” Ledger argued. “BMW. British Motor Ways.” “BMW,” Edgar said loudly as he considered the menu. “Bayerische Motoren Werke. They’re German. They allegedly used Jews in World War II as slave-labor, so if Everett and his group of school hoodlums were going to blow a BMW, they’d be anti-Nazi, not anti-Semite.” “You’re anti-Nazi,” Roland grumbled childishly under his breath. Edgar paused, looking up at Roland. He moved to speak several times, each time, his words catching in his mouth. Roland just shrugged, embarrassed, and the two went back to their menus. “Everett, why did you want to eat out here?” Sydney asked, eyeing the alcohol menu. “They don’t even have a decent vodka.” “It wasn’t my call; Armand wanted to,” Everett defended, holding his hands up. “It’s new; I wanted to try it,” he said. “It’s a dangerous place for us to go,” Edgar said, closing his menu and sitting back. “The walls have got too much stuff on them. It gives Roland too much stimulation and he gets hyperactive. I mean, more so than he already is.” “Kiss my ass!” Roland exclaimed. As he spoke, a figure appeared behind him. Dressed in the wait staff uniform of the restaurant, the young woman held up her notepad, ready to take orders when she froze in petrified horror. The others all turned, one by one, up to her, each of them freezing as they stared at Marilyn. “Oh no,” she sighed. “Oh no,” Everett sighed as well.
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