Free All Over Creation by Ruth Ozeki Page B

“Have we reached an agreement?”
    Y shook his head. The guy looked at Frank. “We want your oil.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYour french-fry oil. The old stuff from the deep fryer that you throw away.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œIt’s our fuel, dude. Biodiesel. We run off it.” The guy turned to the vehicle and raised his arm like a used-car salesman in a lot full of cream puffs. “This,” he said, beaming, “is the Spudnik!” He lumbered down the steps and stood next to Frank. “It’s a common diesel engine, modified to run on vegetable oil. Quite elegant, if I do say so myself. Fuel’s free. She gets twenty-one miles to the gallon on the highway, and on the interstates of America you’re never too far from a fuel source. Seems to prefer Mc-Donald’s to KFC, but she’ll run on just about anything, even Dunkin’ Donuts. Been across the country twice now.”
    Frank blew air. “Awesome.”
    â€œYou said it.”
    The guy held out his hand. Frankie shook it.
    â€œName’s Geek, by the way. Kind of goes without saying. That’s Lilith. You met Y. What’s your name?”
    â€œFrank,” said Frank.
    â€œNot just Frank,” said Y. “Not just any old Frank. This here’s Frank Perdue, but he’s no relation to the chickens.”
    â€œGlad to hear it,” said Geek. “So, Frank Perdue, how about the oil, then?”
    â€œIt doesn’t get changed until tomorrow.”
    Geek looked at Y, who cocked his head toward the door. Lilith banged on the side of the vehicle. “Char, le rat, s’il tu plaît!”
    A matted head poked out, covered with wild black hair that looked like it had been chopped with a hacksaw. Chunks of it curtained a small, pointed face. Dark brows. Large, animal eyes, liquid and quick. Looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old, Frank figured. Spooky.
    â€œThis is Char,” said Lilith.
    The kid peeled open the seal on a plastic freezer bag and pulled out something fur covered and dead.
    â€œVoilà.”
    It swung back and forth from a stiffened tail. Frank watched it, transfixed. He didn’t get it.
    â€œC’est un rat.”
    â€œWe’ll dip it in the oil,” said Lilith. “Then you can show your manager. Say you found it in the fryer.”
    Frank got it. “Is it frozen?”
    â€œYeah, but you can defrost it in the microwave.”
    â€œWhere’d you find it?”
    â€œChar sets traps down by the rail yards.”
    â€œHey, that’s sick,” Frankie said.
    The kid smiled shyly.
    Frank hesitated now. “We never had a rat in the fryer before.”
    â€œHey,” Lilith said. “Rodents happen.”
    He led them to the service entrance, unlocked the door, and flicked on the overhead fluorescents. The four of them filed in after him, carrying empty metal drums. Illuminated against the white tile, they looked mangy and sly. Frankie eyed them as he stashed his skateboard in the corner. He looked at the mud on the floor, dislodged from the deeply treaded soles of their combat boots, and he wondered if they were going to freak out and rob him and tie him up and stick him in the freezer, and if they did, would the police be able to trace them from the footprints? He’d heard about cults. Even hippie retards could lose it. They headed straight for the kitchen.
    â€œHey,” Frank called after them. “Just give me a minute, will ya?” He kept his jacket on and put on his cap. If he was going to get locked in the freezer, he wanted to be in uniform. By the time he got to the kitchen, they were draining the fryers. They even knew where the fresh oil was kept.
    â€œYou just go about your chores there,” Geek said. “We’ll take care of this.”
    The entire operation took less than half an hour. Frank held the door as Y and Geek hauled out three drums of old fry oil. Lilith followed,