The Box, Jeremy Brown [big ebook reader TXT] 📗

same feeling. A couple farmers in there looked me over, but they weren’t hostile or alarmed or anything. I was just another new face passing through.”

“And you’re sure these were Romanians?” Bruder said.

“They were speaking Romanian.”

Bruder stood up.

“I want to get a look at them.”

“Both of us?” Rison said.

“Yeah. It’ll be familiar to the staff. Marie was still working when you left?”

Connelly nodded.

“The dinner rush was picking up and she was hustling around.”

Bruder grabbed a set of keys off the dresser and walked out the front door.

Rison followed, and before he got outside Connelly said, “What am I supposed to do?”

Rison shrugged and gave him a wolfish grin.

“Take a shower. Rest up. Marie’s gonna need a foot rub tonight.”

“Fuck you, buddy.”

Chapter Six

Bruder and Rison took the rental car down the road and backed into a spot in the dirt lot behind Len’s.

The car was rented under Bruder’s false set of identification and credit cards, which he’d also used for the motel. They walked in through the back door and started to wade through the tables to get to the front, where they could officially wait to be seated, but Marie cruised past them with a tray full of food and told them to sit wherever they liked.

Bruder picked the last booth along the wall, closest to the back exit, and sat facing the room. Rison sat across from him and could watch the back door and bar.

The place was already half full, and a blast of orange evening sunlight came through the front door when it opened and a group of six walked in. The conversation was loud and the speakers hung near the ceiling played classic rock about two steps too loud for the space.

Marie hustled past, going the other way.

“Be with you in a minute boys!”

They nodded at her, and Bruder scanned the room without lingering on anyone in particular.

“See them?” Rison asked.

Bruder nodded and looked down at his menu.

“Four of them, like Connelly said. They’re close to the front, first table you get to coming out of the corral up there.”

“Should I look?”

“No need. They’re all big with thick necks. I can see at least one tattoo coming up out of a collar, some kind of snake or serpent.”

One of the Romanians raised his voice, telling what seemed like the punchline to a joke or story, and the rest of the table burst into laughter.

Rison squinted.

“That’s them?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, I hate loudmouths. If I sit down at a table in Vegas and some asshole sounds like that, putting on a display, I’m moving on. It’s not worth the headache. The guy making the others laugh—he’s in charge?”

Bruder looked up at one of the TVs and risked another glance at the table of Romanians. The four-top was a cluttered landscape of empty burger baskets and wax paper and wadded napkins and beer bottles.

“Hard to tell. None of them look like upper management. I’d say they’re muscle. But that guy might be in charge of them, or at least the alpha. He’s the largest.”

He checked the tables around the Romanians, looking mostly at the food like he was trying to decide what to get, but scanning faces and posture as well.

“Nobody appreciates the show they’re putting on.”

“Anybody look scared?”

Bruder went back to his menu.

“There’s a family right next to them and nobody is looking over, even though one of the Romanians is pushed back and practically bumping into their table. An older couple, at your nine o’clock, you can see the man’s jaw muscles working while he stares down at his beer. Go ahead.”

Rison turned, casual, just looking around.

“Oh yeah. That guy’s seething about something. But his wife’s playing a game on her phone while they’re at dinner, so that might be it.”

Bruder didn’t see any benefit in further speculation.

Marie slapped a palm on their table and shooed Rison toward the wall.

“Slide over, I gotta sit for a minute.”

She bumped in next to him and blew a strand of hair out of her face.

“How are my drug dealers doing this evening?”

Bruder gave her a smile of acknowledgment and Rison barked a laugh.

“Drug dealers, that’s good. I tell you what—we’d make a helluva lot more money, that’s for sure.”

At lunch the day before they’d told Marie they were in the pharmaceutical business, and when she broke the news that they were too ugly to be drug reps they had to come clean and admit they were on the packaging side, selling boring stuff for the production lines like fillers and cappers and torquers and shrink wrappers.

They’d flown from New Jersey to Omaha for a site installation and the equipment was delayed, so they were driving around the heartland for a few days, seeing the sights, and couldn’t resist trying the Lenburger.

Now Marie said, “You guys doing the Len again?”

Bruder nodded. “With a beer, please.”

“Same kind?”

“Sure.”

She nudged Rison in the ribs.

“What about you?”

Rison made a turtle face at the menu.

“How’s the New York strip?”

“Better than anything you’ll get in New Jersey.”

“That’s outrageous. Now I have to try it.”

“Rare? And any other answer is wrong, by the way.”

Rison gave Bruder a look of fear.

“Rare it is, then. With whatever beer you think goes best with it.”

Marie approved the trust.

“It comes with broccoli and the loaded baked potato. I’ll put extra bacon on it for you.”

“I’m in love,” Rison said.

She laughed and pulled herself out of the booth.

“I’m impressed, by the way. Most folks who try the Lenburger are too scared to try anything else.”

She shot a judging look at Bruder and said, “But when you come all the way from New Jersey, you gotta try the steak. See what you’re missing.”

Bruder suspected they weren’t just talking about steak anymore, but he said, “What’s the furthest anyone’s come for the burger?”

Marie looked at a blank spot on the wall.

“I had a couple from Australia once. They were cycling across the country and had us marked on their map as one of the spots to try. Some folks from China, but I think they were