Last Call

Everyone always complains that Pete should have done something when Louis dragged her into the kitchen in Last Call. Here's my idea of what happened.

Pete switched on the light as soon as she passed through the swinging door of the kitchen. Louis was right behind her, breathing loudly. He would be a mouth breather, Pete said to herself. She looked around the kitchen and quickly scanned the familiar room, searching for anything that she could use as a weapon. She also checked to make sure that there was nothing for Louis to use on her.

The chef had cleaned and locked the room up tight. The Health Department never had a problem in her kitchen. Pete glanced at the cutlery drawer. She would not dare open it in front of a knife freak like Louis. He would get too many ideas from the profusion of shapes and sizes of sharp edges there.

Pete walked to the large refrigerator. "Steak did you say?" She flung the door open.

Louis walked up behind her and peered into the large, food filled interior. He pressed himself up against her back. "My, my," he purred, "lots 'a goodies in here," he said, whispering into her ear. "And not a green rotted steak in sight," he snickered.

Pete calmly grabbed a wrapped package of steaks and broke away from him. "I'll just pan broil these. OK?"

Louis followed her every move with a large smirk on his face. Pete lowered a large frying pan from its hook. She calculated its heft and the distance she would have to cover in order for it to make contact with Louis' thick skull and put him out.

Before a second had even gone by, and just as she was getting ready to swing the heavy pan, Louis jumped away and pulled open a plastic bag of bread that had been sitting on one of the tall baker's racks. Damn, Pete thought, and set the pan on top of the stove. She turned the flame up high.

Constantly moving, Louis stuffed a few rolls into his mouth. Pete looked away from him and started to open the wrapped package of steaks. Out of habit, she put it on the cutting board and started to season it.

"Hey! What are you puttin' on it?"

"Seasonings." Pete said flatly, "We use salt, pepper and paprika for a pan broiled steak."

"Well, I don't want you to put nothing on my food," he sneered. "How do I know you ain't puttin' poison on it?" He put the large knife he had picked up in the bar to Pete's throat.

"I'll wash it off. OK?" Pete said as calmly as she could.

"NO!" Louis shouted. He reached out, pulled the steak off of the board and flung it across the room, "Gimme some of the food that's already made that's in the fridge. If you was gonna serve it to your payin' customers, then I guess you didn't put poison in it. Right?" He sounded delighted at his cleverness.

Pete hoped she might get a chance to slam the heated pan upside Louis' head. She started to move toward the stove.

"Where're you goin?" Louis screamed.

"I'm going to shut off the flame under the pan," she explained. "You don't want the fire alarm to go off now? Do you?"

Louis snickered, "Naw. I'll shut it off. You get the food."

Pete sighed. Damn, she thought, even though this guy isn't too bright, the small brain he does possess works toward his survival. Just like in an animal.

She opened the door of the refrigerator again and looked at the display of opaque containers there. She didn't have the slightest idea of what was in any of them. She bent down and reached for a large container that she guessed held the leftovers that would be used for stew the next day. The container was big and she needed both of her hands to pick it up.

Before she knew it, Louis was behind her again. "You know," he said, folding his body over hers, "you ain't too bad lookin' for an older broad," he crooned.

Disgust washed over Pete, but her training took hold and she held her tongue. She forced herself to keep her voice flat. "Thanks Louis." She stood up and turned to face him, "I can call you Louis, can't I?" she asked, holding the large plastic container between them. If this container was metal, she thought, I would have pounded his skull into a pulp by now.

"Yeah," he said. "You're still a looker. I like 'em younger, you know, but you still got a nice caboose," he said, running his eyes up and down her body. He was enjoying himself a little too much for Pete's comfort.

He looked around and wet his lips. He started playing with the large knife in his hand.

"We can have some fun over there." He used his head to indicate the large table in the middle of the room. "You know what I mean?" He was grinning.

Eeeuucchh, Pete thought, I've just got to kill this disgusting piece of...

"But I'd better check on my dim-witted little brother first." He looked Pete up and down again, "I got some ideas for you," he leered. "And it might take some time. I better make sure we won't be disturbed." He went through the kitchen door into the bar.

Pete was just about to pull open the knife drawer when, from the bar, she heard Mickey cry out in pain.

"My God, what now?" she gasped aloud. She ran through the door.