Reg was a good natured kid from the street that had fallen under Fat Daddy’s control and become his right hand man. Reg grew up just outside the city proper in an old farmhouse that had lost its farm. Reg was the youngest of four and doted on by his mother and father, but picked on by the kids in the neighborhood for being a little slow. Reg wasn’t mentally retarded, but he would never go to college. Even he if he applied himself higher learning was out of his reach. If his house hadn’t lost its farm, if it was an earlier time , then Reg would have been a competent field hand. He could have planted and farmed a plot large enough to sustain his family and have enough left over to take to market and put some money away for the future. If his focus was narrow his amiable nature and outstanding work ethic allowed him to accomplish more than those who were born with considerably more intelligence. But he wasn’t born into an earlier time and there was no farm. Reg had fallen in with Fat Daddy when Reg was a freshman in high school. Fat Daddy was recruiting, looking for mules and dealers, in order to build his network, to increase his power, and to insulate himself from the legal hazards of working the street. He found Reg one day sitting on the curb with streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the dust from the ball field. There had been a pick up game and Reg as usual had been picked first. Reg was athletic and had been playing ball since he was old enough to walk, but Reg’s talent wasn’t universally admired and when he had tagged out a runner at home to win the game the other team, embarrassed by being beat by the slow kid, proceeded to taunt Reg calling him retard, asking him when the short bus was going to pick him, all the cruel, contrived age old things kids say to hurt one another. Reg’s team not wanting to be seen taking up for a retard joined in the taunting until punches were thrown. Reg was more than able to handle himself and the fight didn’t last long, but when it was over all the other kids went away laughing while Reg sat on the curb and cried.

Fat Daddy found him that way and took him under his wing. He didn’t send directly out on the streets and he didn’t have him deliver drugs. He took Reg out to lunch, had him meet people and talk to them. Reg was good at this he, he was a natural conversationalist. He laughed easy and was genuinely interested in what others had to say. He would talk to the receptionist at a hotel while fat Daddy snuck in a couple of prostitutes or he would talk to the driver of a truck while Fat Daddy off loaded a shipment of drugs. Reg didn’t know what Fat Daddy did at first he just knew that he got to talk to people then Fat Daddy would take him out to eat or buy him some new clothes. Now Reg was loyal to Fat Daddy. He had given Reg a life, made him important when others had cast him off. Reg was Fat Daddy’s right hand man and no one crossed fat Daddy. Reg made sure of that.

Paul and Reg greeted each other like brothers and Reg embraced Claire warmly. Claire liked Reg, even if he always made her a little sad.

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“Fat Daddy.” Paul addressed a corpulent immaculately dressed man.

Fat Daddy dealt drugs, had since he was twelve and he found that the older kids on the block were willing to give him ten bucks a tab for the pain killers he found his mothers medicine cabinet. After that he stole a Physician’s Desk Reference from the Library his parents used to take him to to check out Dr.Seuss, and with the PDR he was able to harvest forgotten prescription drugs from the medicine cabinets of his friends. After he had exhausted these resources he moved on to selling marijuana, ecstasy, cocaine, heroin, and meth. There wasn’t an illicit substance that hadn’t passed through the meaty hands of Fat Daddy Jones at one time or another. Now Fat Daddy was more of an executive or perhaps a middle manager with aspirations beyond his abilities, but he played the part. He arranged shipments, collected payments from his men on the street, sent muscle to straighten out accounts that were in arrears, and occasionally enforced discipline himself. Paul usually dealt with Reg when he needed to score, but Fat Daddy saw Paul’s studies in pharmacology as a potential future resource and would occasionally deal directly with him in order to cultivate a relationship. Paul in his part felt that by dealing directly with Fat daddy he was important, that he was an insider.

“Paul my man – and his beautiful girl, what’s going on.”

“Just gettin’ square.” Paul passed the folded twenties cupped in his hand to Fat Daddy as they shook hands.

“You’re alright. Listen I have some business to conduct, but why don’t you go and talk to Reg. He might have something special for you.”

“We really have to be going.” Claire voice shook.

“I told you that I wanted to see Reg and say hello.” Paul gave her a withering look. “Thanks man.”

“Don’t mention it.  And you take care of that little girl or I might eat her up.”

Paul and Fat Daddy laughed and exchanged another jovial handshake, but Claire didn’t see any humor in Fat Daddy’s comment. He said it in a benevolent voice and with a smile on his face, but she could see the sin in his eyes. The gluttony that had a hold on Fat Daddy’s soul was not limited to epicurean delights. And pleasure twisted by gluttony leads to perverse evil permutations of desire that resemble the original pleasure less the more the appetite is fed. Fat Daddy fed his appetite’s. The power and the drug’s gave him the avenue and no morality, no conscience existed to hold him back. Claire saw this in his eye’s, saw it everytime he looked at her. Every time his pink tongue flicked across his livid lips and he winked that glassy protuberant eye. She looked back and he was watching her go. He smiled and lifted his eyebrows.

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“Jesus, can you stop dragging your feet.”

“Where are we going The Cave is this way.” Claire had turned to walk toward the club district.

“Nothing’s happening at The Cave yet. The band doesn’t go on until eleven. It’s only Nine.”

“They’re playing music. I can dance. And Sasha’s going to be there.”

“I just want to go to Fat Daddy’s for a few minutes.”

Claire made a sound of exasperation and stopped walking her hands firmly on her hips.

“What the hell. We smoked a bowl before we left the apartment. And I hate Fat Daddy’s. I hate Fat Daddy. He creeps me out.”

“Come on. Reginald’s going to be there and besides I owe Fat Daddy.”

“I told Sasha I’d meet her. I haven’t seen her since term ended. You go to Fat Daddy’s and I’ll meet you at The Cave.”

Paul looked at Claire and looked down the street and saw two guys walking down the street glance her way, and for the first time since they left the apartment he realized how beautiful she was.

“Hell no.” The look on Claire’s face stopped him from continuing. He stopped and reconsidered for a moment. “Listen it won’t take long. I’ll just drop in and say hello to Reg and pay Fat Daddy for that bag that I bought from him. The bag we’re both smoking.”

“Fine, but I want to get to The Cave before the band goes on.”

The rest of the way to Fat Daddy’s was uncomfortable, though the night was fine. There was a gentle breeze blowing that kept the sweet humid air from becoming oppressive and carried with it a hint of the ocean, marsh, and river. They reached Fat Daddy’s shortly and descended the five steps that led off the sidewalk and down to the basement apartment. They were greeted at the open front door by four unwashed and unkempt thugs smoking and shooting the shit. Paul greeted them all by name and shook hands as they eyed Claire hungrily. Inside the apartment the air was thick and hot. Smoke from drugs and cigarettes hung in the air. The music was loud and there were people lying on a couple of junkyard couches. A faceless partially clothed couple was progressing toward intercourse in a duct taped and lousy recliner. Claire kicked a beer can out of her way and put her arm around Paul’s waist.

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Tim trained Paul in the dish room while Francisco ran the kitchen. Tim was a fair teacher, his knowledge and exacting nature were hindered by his natural assumption that everyone was capable of learning as quickly as he did. Paul’s ability to learn was superior to Tim’s and soon the two of them joined Francisco in the kitchen and took advantage of an after diner lull to sit on the freezers and bullshit with each other and any passing wait staff.

“So is this what it’s like every night,” asked Paul.

“Sundays are usually pretty slow, but not like this. All the side work and prep are done and everything’s clean. That happens when my man here works before you.” Francisco slapped Jeff on the back.

“I didn’t feel like being social today so I just stayed back here and got things done.”

“I saw you were drinking hard last night at the party. My guess is today was a Blues recovery day.”

“It was.”

“What party? I hit two or three last night?”

“Tim, here, and his roommate Jimmy throw a little party at the end of every quarter to blow off steam and ready our minds for the next quarter.”

“Your roommate’s name is Jimmy.”

“Yeah.”

“Timmy and Jimmy.”

“Yeah Tim here was pretty lit up last night and seemed to be having a pretty good time with Kim.”

“Kim who? What were we doing.”

“Kim Matthews. I think you were playing hide and seek or freeze tag, I don’t know, but there was a lot of giggling and running and touching.”

“Shit.”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“That’s the least of the things I don’t remember, though it seems familiar now.”

 The rest of the evening passed quickly. The addition of a new person and his initiation into the family at The Cup made for an interesting evening there were soakings with the dish hose and the soaping of a floor, and the subsequent clean up of a dozen broken glasses after the prank claimed Julie, the head waitress, as its unintended victim. At midnight the restaurant closed and Tim’s shift ended.

“Tim what kind of beer do you want? It’s George’s night to buy.” Julie was in better spirits after closing her till and counting her money.

“None for me tonight. I’m going to go home and study, try to get a jump on my reading for this quarter.”

“Why the hell are you taking classes over the summer? This is time to relax.”

“Double major. History and philosophy. This quarter I start my major philosophy classes.”

“Two Majors. You think you could have picked one that would get you a job.”

“I’ll get a Job. Don’t worry.”

“Tim I need to see a beer in your hand.” Francisco walked out of the kitchen wet, and stinking of cleaners and food.

“Not tonight – Paul you can have my beer.”

“Thanks I need it after cleaning the grease trap.”

“You made him clean the grease trap?”

“Yeah, and now you need to have a beer with us. He’s been through the initiation and now we get to the good part, the after party.” Francisco laughed.

“I woke up this afternoon naked in my front yard. I’m taking the night off.”

“You what?”

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They spent the rest of the afternoon feasting on eggs, pancakes, and coffee at The China Cup Café. The China Cup had opened with aspiriations to be a European style bistro and bakery, but the only things left of those aspirations were the stale pretension of its name and some old dingy lace doilies that were stored behind the dishrags. The China Cup failed to achieve a refined atmosphere, but it found success serving breakfast to people who were not awake at breakfast time. Tim started work at The China Cup his freshman year as a waiter and soon found that he was not well suited for the job. He did, however, find a home in the dishroom and later in the kitchen. The China Cup had become home to him, a place to eat after a long night of drinking, and a place to drink after a long night at work. He also managed to do some studying at the bar when he needed coffee and when the silence at home was more distracting than the noise of the restaurant.

The sun streamed through the windows of the restaurant, the angular rays visible in the dusty, smoky atmosphere, but the dark polished wood work and the dark tile floors absorbed the light before it could penetrate the depths of the restaurant. This baroque scene, the dramatic effect on such a mundane scene put Tim in an introspective mood that lasted after the sun had advanced past the window, and left the restaurant in a melancholy shade, the world outside still shining happily beyond the window. Sunday afternoons were slow and Jeff was alone between the kitchen and the dishroom. Robert Johnson wailed an incantation from a small tinny radio and drove the wait staff out of the kitchen in search of more hospitable company, and left Tim to work lazily and happily, his thoughts seldom interrupted. The dinner shift brought with it more business and an end to Tim’s solitary existence, in addition to the second person that was normally scheduled on a Sunday evening there was a new guy to train, Paul. Paul had also just finished his sophomore year, and was working toward a career in pharmacology, whether as a pharmacist or researcher he had not yet decided. What he had decided was that going home to his parent’s house for the summer wasn’t an option. So when he was forced to leave the dorms at the end of the quarter he got an apartment. His parents agreed to pay the rent, but all living expenses were his responsibility. So he got a job.

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