Free Backtracker by Robert T. Jeschonek Page A

people at the steakhouse you can ' t trust , and then you won ' t tell us who they are. Thanks a lot , Larry. "
    " Personally, I can ' t think of anyone there who I might not be able to trust, " shrugged Dave. " Besides Mr. Martin, I mean. "
    " Then don ' t let me rain on your parade, " said Larry, returning to his seat. " You just go on the way you ' ve been, and forget my stupid hunches. "
    As Larry suggested, Dave indeed forgot the hunches, and the conversation soon turned to other matters, like who the best - looking girls at the steakhouse were. Dave forgot other things, too, like the studying which he'd planned to do; as the evening wore on and he soaked up more and more beer, he thought less and less about his upcoming exams and the preparations he had to make for them.
    After a while, he grew thoroughly drunk, and ceased to worry about his schoolwork altogether. Instead of sweating over textbooks, Dave relaxed and had a good time with his old friend Billy and his new friend Larry. Though he'd only met Larry the day before, Dave already began to look upon him as a pal and confidant; the discomfort and suspicion which he'd felt toward Larry faded further with each fresh beer.
    Though he was the new guy in town, and twice their age, Larry was accepted by Dave and Billy into the Wild West gang that night. Unofficially, without ceremony, he was admitted to the inner circle of that exuberant squad of kids.

    *****

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    Chapter 10
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    " Hey, Dave, we need bakes, " said Billy, dropping a metal tray on the counter of the fry cook station. " You got any done yet? "
    Nodding, Dave swabbed sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. " Yeah, " he answered breathlessly. " I just have to take them out of the oven. "
    " Well, hurry up, " Billy told him briskly. " I need seven right now. " Swamped with work in the middle of the hectic supper hour at the steakhouse, the zany and gregarious guy was now all business, focused and intense. The elfin grin which usually lit his face had been replaced by a rigid, determined expression.
    " They ' re on the way, " muttered Dave as Billy strode purposefully back to the broiler. Snatching the huge, padded mittens from the counter, Dave thrust his hands into them and tugged open the door of the top oven. There were two ovens stacked beside the fry station, and four racks of potatoes were baking in each of them.
    Swinging the oven door wide, Dave pulled one of the racks out a little ways and held it there with one mitt; with the other, he squeezed several of the foil - wrapped potatoes and found that they were soft enough to be served. Dragging the rack from the oven with both mitts, he lowered it to the metal counter of the fry station.
    Jerking open one of the long drawers under the counter, Dave dumped the potatoes from the rack into it. Dropping the rack on its side onto the floor, Dave slid it out of the way into the narrow space between the fry station and the ovens.
    Two more racks of potatoes were also done, and Dave deposited those in the drawer as well, then shut the oven door. Flinging the mitts from his hands, he then grabbed potatoes from the bin and arranged them in a layer on the tray that Billy had given him; when the first layer was done, he plucked a knife from the counter and slit the foil and skin of each of the baked potatoes, or " bakes " as the crew called them. Once the meal assemblers got hold of the potatoes, they could just push the ends of each one inward and the steaming white contents would flower out through the slits.
    After piling and slitting two more layers of potatoes, Dave hurried over and placed the tray on the metal lip along the front of the broiler. As soon as the tray touched down, Billy yanked bakes from it and slapped them onto platters which already held steaks.
    " Party of seven ! " he hollered, spinning around with four platters in his hands, turning so quickly that he barely missed colliding with a passing waitress. Depositing the platters