Paydirt

by Bill Bernico

I sat across the table from my wife, who was reading the menu. “What are you having?” I said.

“I'd like to be having breakfast at Judy's Restaurant for a change,” she said. “We always come here. I'm ready for a change.”

“You know why we're here today,” I said. “Today's our lucky day.”

Sally studied the choices again before setting the menu down on top of mine. I'd long since made my choice. “Well,” I said, “are you going to tell me or do I have to guess? What are you having?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” She said smugly as if she was holding something over me.

I looked out the window and made an offhand remark about a car parked across the street. Then I turned back to Sally and said, “where do you want to go after this?”

“You snot,” she said in that irritated voice. “You're not going to ask, are you?”

“Ask what?” I said.

“What I'm having for breakfast.”

I smiled slyly. “Hey, I figured if you wanted me to know you'd have told me.”

“Eggs and toast with the potatoes,” Sally said, as if to bring closure to the subject.

I leaned to one side and extracted my wallet from my hip pocket. I pried it open and pulled out the two cards with the twelve holes punched around their perimeters. I held them up in front of Sally. “Today's the day,” I announced proudly. “Free breakfast for both of us.”

The waitress hovered over our table, pad and pen poised. “Have you decided what you want?”

“I'll have…” Sally started to say.

I interrupted her in mid-sentence and turned to the waitress. “Could you give us a minute yet?”

The waitress returned to the kitchen and Sally slipped into her puzzled look. “I thought we were ready,” she said. “You change your mind?”

I held the punched cards up again. “Free. Today's the day we collect the free breakfast. Remember?”

“So?” Sally said. “What's that got to do with my order?”

“Look,” I said, “we've been coming here every Saturday morning for the past three months and we've been ordering the same thing each time. When we pay at the counter they punch our cards. Pay for twelve and get number thirteen free. Remember? It's like a frequent flier card, only in our case we're frequent eaters. But you always get the two eggs over easy with toast and potatoes and I always get the three French toast.”

“So what,” Sally said. “I like it. You like it. Why switch now?”

“Don't you see?” I said. “Your regular breakfast always costs $2.29 and mine always comes to $2.10. That's less than four and a half bucks. Well, today breakfast is on them, so why not go with the most expensive thing on the menu?”

“Because I don't like their special,” Sally said. “Bratwurst with scrambled eggs and orange juice and hash browns and pancakes don't really trip my trigger.”

I waved the cards again. “Might as well go for the money meal. With these cards we can walk out free and clear on a bill for more than ten bucks. Pay dirt, baby.”

“After three months of this same place it's beginning to taste like dirt. And if you don't like the food, what good is it?” Sally picked up the menu again and motioned for the waitress. “I'm getting my usual. You can get whatever you like. More doesn't necessarily make it better.”

The waitress returned and waited for one of us to speak. Sally pointed to the same place on the menu where her regular choice was printed. “I'll have that.”

“And you, sir?” the waitress said, ready to scribble on her pad.

I picked up the menu and pointed to the deluxe super breakfast special. “I'm having that,” I announced proudly. The waitress sidled away.

I picked my wallet up from the table and began to slip the cards into the currency compartment. Sally looked down at my wallet. It was bulging with bills of all denominations. I thought about the punched cards. I'd be giving them to the waitress in a few minutes and it made more sense to slip them into my shirt pocket where I wouldn't have to dig for them.

“Why do you have to carry so much cash on you?” She said, looking around to see if anyone else noticed.

“It's only a couple of hundred,” I said. “I just got paid last night and we haven't been to the bank yet. We'll go there from here, all right?”

“Well for now just put it away and stop opening it up in plain sight.”

“You worry too much, you know that?” I folded the wallet and returned it to my hip pocket. “Besides, like I said, this is our lucky day.”

“Are you still going on about that free breakfast?” Sally said. “What's so lucky about free potatoes and toast with a wiener?”

“It's not just that,” I said, digging for my wallet again. I produced a ticket and handed it to Sally. “Last night's lottery,” I said. “I got four numbers.”

Sally studied the ticket. “And what does four numbers get you? Twenty-five dollars?”

I snatched the ticket from between her fingers. “Nope. Four numbers gets me five hundred big ones. How's that for lucky? We'll take it to the mini mart and cash it in after breakfast.”

“Well, at least one thing is going right today,” Sally said.

“Two,” I said. “I get the big breakfast free while you get the same ol' same ol'.”

“Yeah,” Sally said sarcastically, “that's real lucky. Twelve orders of gut bomb food just to get another gut bomb free. Aren't we blessed?”

“Six bucks is six bucks,” I said. “And I'm going to enjoy every bite.”

Sally glanced over toward the kitchen. “Where the heck is that waitress with our order? I'm hungry.”

“Maybe they know there's no tip in it for them today and they're purposely being slow.”

“What do you mean, no tip?” Sally said.

“How much will today's meal come to?” I said, lifting the punched cards half way out of my shirt pocket.

“Nothing,” Sally said. “Today's the freebie.”

I smiled. “And what's fifteen percent of nothing?”

“Nothing.” Sally had to admit. “I guess it is lucky in that sense anyway.”

A minute later the waitress returned and set two plates down in front of us. I'd just dug my fork into the wiener when the front door opened and two men in their early twenties strode in. There was a confidence in their manner and a purpose in their step. One of them remained just inside the front door while the other marched over to the counter where our waitress was ringing up someone's total on the cash register. The customer stood directly in front of her.

“I'll be right with you in just a minute,” she told the young man.

The man reached into his jacket and produced a small handgun and pointed it at the waitress. “You'll be right with me right now,” he said, pushing the waiting customer out of his way. “Empty the cash drawer into this,” he said, producing a white pillowcase from inside his jacket.

At the other end of the room a middle-aged balding man got up to leave. The young man standing just inside the door produced a pistol of his own and motioned to the chair that the balding man had recently vacated. “Sit down, pop. Nobody's going nowhere.”

The waitress emptied the contents of the cash register into the pillowcase and handed it back to the gunman. He stepped over to our table and held the bag open. “We'll start with you two. Drop your wallets in the bag and be quick about it.

Sally nervously dug into her purse and pulled out the brown leather wallet. She snapped the changed compartment open and reached in.

“Just throw the whole thing in the bag, lady,” the gunman said, waiving his gun in our general direction.

Sally frowned at him. “You don't have any use for my mother's ring. I'm keeping it. You can have the wallet.”

The gunman bent over and snatched the wallet, ring and all, and dropped it into the bag. Sally started to stand up but a sharp rap from his gun on top of her head sat her back down again. I dropped my wallet into the sack without resistance. He pointed to our wrists with his gun. “Watches, too,” he said.

Sally and I slipped our watches off our wrists and dropped them into the bag. He moved on to the next table and repeated the procedure. After a few minutes, he'd collected wallets and watches from almost everyone in the restaurant. Some people weren't wearing watches, but everybody donated their wallets.

The first gunman called over to his partner who was still guarding the front door. “Hey Vic, look at this,” he said holding up the bulging sack. “Looks like we hit pay dirt.” He backed out of the front door with the sack and followed his partner out to their waiting car.

Our waitress collapsed on the floor behind the counter. The short-order cook hurried to her side and patted the tops of her hands and shook her. He reached up onto the counter and grabbed a water glass. He stuck his fingers into the glass and flicked them in the waitress's face. She remained unconscious. He emptied half the glass onto her face before she came around.

Some customers scrambled out the door while others peered over the counter, curious as to the waitress's condition. Still others remained seated and simply waited, not sure if the two thugs would return.

The short-order cook stood back up and reached for the phone on the counter. He dialed 9-1-1 and almost shouted into the phone before hanging up again.

Sally sat there, at a loss for words. The loss was short-lived when she remembered her mother's ring and the other contents of her wallet that had disappeared out the door. She couldn't decide whether to cry or yell. She yelled.

“Lucky day, huh?” She said. “I had seventy-three dollars in my wallet. They got my mother's ring. They got our credit cards. Your wallet's gone with the two hundred bucks in it. Still think it's a lucky day?” Her face sank when she remembered. “Your lottery ticket,” she said. “Five hundred bucks down the drain. Gees, what else can go wrong today?”

I picked up my napkin and wiped my brow. My shaking hand sank into my shirt pocket and plucked the two punched cards from its depths. “Well,” I said, “at least we still get the breakfast free.”

Sally snatched the cards from my fingertips and tore them both in half and then in half again. She threw the pieces in my face.