82
JASCHA KESSLER
and varicosed legs and clackety teeth. One was whining "Where's
my
specials?"
and the other echoed "Where's
my
specials?" Tilly
and Riva, terrorizers of the dining room floor. But not here, not
chef: "Look girls, I don't give no specials today. Just what's on the
bill a fare, you hear? I tell you before, and once is all I tell you."
Mr. Acker watched Hermann. He knew well why he wasn't
giving out specials tonight. But the question was, would his face tell
him anything? Pooh!
If
it
was
Hermann, he'd been a head chef
too many years to get caught so easy. A lot that nazi cared for the
spot Acker was in. A crazy man, always banging his chopper down
an inch from you. All he h ad to do was let that Hermann think he
thought it was him, and bam! a collection of fingers, a hand even,
lost; you know-by accident? Accident! Up and down Schulze was
known as a maniac, a no-good nazi butcher. And only Gruber was
such a bad manager as to hire him at top chefs pay, busy season or
no. So it might be Hermann. Very simply it might.
The headwaiter came in and hurried past him, followed by the
angry Tilly who had run out to fetch him to the kitchen. It could
be this nasty, rotten, skinny, chainsmoking horseplayer, very easily
it could be
Israel-Mister
Israel, if you please!-with his bookie,
and all his new suits, even for a headwaiter much too many suits
and shoes, and, moreover, mind you, not one but
two
apartments in
Long Beach, each with a tomato in it. So, you might be a sure win–
ner
if
you bet Israel could use a little extra, like, for example, a
couple or three tons of beef a week? Somebody should feed
him
the
nags that ate up his lettuce. He watched him go to complain to
Schulze in his soft suave voice about not getting those specials for
his best-tipping guests: it meant trouble with the waitresses, and
tedious explaining to his customers, who would give so much less a
chair in retaliation. Well, if it
was
Israel, he couldn't have it both
ways. He, Acker, provided enough specials
and
extras enough.
If
it
was missing it was missing. He couldn't procure twice. And would
not. But would Israel be so stupid as to give his girls slips for
extras and specials if he himself knew there was nothing in the box
tonight? No. Yet he might! Yes, he might! Would it not make
Mister Israel appear innocent? Therefore,
you too,
Israel!
Finally, there was that Gruber himself. He could (and he was
the type), he could very easily be stealing out of his own pockets.
