Christophers Promotion
By
“Hey, mom, I've just been promoted,” proclaimed Christopher DeSoto, who ran into his parents' house one Saturday night. Behind him were his friends Scott Brice and Jeremy Kelly. While Scott listened to an Iron Maiden cassette in his Sony Walkman, Jeremy immediately walked into the living room to watch TV: “Hey, DeSoto, Macho Man's on with the Lovely Elizabeth? Look at the legs on that chick!”
Christopher opened the refrigerator door and pulled out three cans of soda pop. He continued, “I've gotten a perfect score on my review, and the store manager asked me whether I wanted to be a part-time manager at Clown Burger.”
Joanne spoke on the phone, trying to pay attention to the caller and her son at the same time. “ Roy is at work right now,” she said, writing something on the blackboard in block letters and feeding a Milk Bone to the DeSotos' dog Higgins, who sat next to her on the floor. “But he's really good at returning phone calls, so he'll get back to you as soon as he comes home tomorrow morning, around eight. Okay, bye now.”
She hung up and turned to her son, who now pulled a bag of Doritos from the cupboard: “Junk food again, Chris?” She took the bag out of Christopher's hand, then slapped on it an apple.
“Oh, mom,” said Chris. “Scott and Jeremy are in the living room. They're watching WWF on TV, and we can't afford to order pizza.”
“Didn't I hear that you've just gotten promoted at work,” remembered Joanne, showing an unusual talent of listening to two things at the same time. “That's great.”
“What's more,” smiled her son, “the boss gave me a one dollar an hour raise for the promotion. Now, I could afford to go to rock concerts whenever I want.”
“You should consider saving that money of yours for some half-decent outfits,” suggested Joanne. “I don't know how you could show yourself in public wearing tattered jeans, jean jackets and concert t-shirts.”
“Everyone else does,” protested Christopher, before leaving the kitchen. Higgins followed him into the living room.
The news of Christopher's rise in the fast food world soon reached everyone else in the DeSoto family circle. Fifteen-year-old Jennifer was the second person to hear about it.
“You, a part-time manager,” she snickered as she watched more rock music videos on MTV in the recreation room. “I wouldn't even let you take Higgins out for a walk, much less train junior high school students how to flip burgers without burning the place down.”
“Yeah, just because you couldn't get even a crew trainer's job at McTurd's,” mocked Christopher.
“I wouldn't work at Puke Burger if that's the last place on earth.” Jennifer remembered that half-cooked burger from Clown Burger that almost killed her when she was six years old. “I heard that Chet Kelly's kids got sick from eating at Puke Burger – especially little Merry. They'll be okay, though.”
“And I lot of people get sick from eating those disgusting Big Macs and Quarter Pounders,” snickered Christopher, who looked at the TV set: “David Lee Roth is so gay singing California Girls in that video. He should stick to singing real rock songs with Van Halen.”
Jennifer picked up her copy of The Taming of the Shrew before turning off the TV set. “The trouble with you, Chris,” she said, “is that you don't appreciate real music.”
Christopher left the room. His friends waited for him in the living room – Jeremy just popped a rented video into the DeSotos' new VCR.
Jennifer shook her head. Chris will be flipping burgers for the rest of his life.
Christopher's first day as a part-time manager came along two weeks later, after he spent a weekend at Clown Burger's Western United States head office training for the position. Teaching new employees the fine points of cooking French fries and chicken sandwiches, slogging Jumbos and Half-Pounds, and giving customers the best service possible was fun, especially when he had to mark off checklists on his subordinates' job performance. Christopher tried his best not to seem too bossy, especially when Sally Gage and her friends visited the restaurant one night and began a food fight in the dining room.
“Look at that metalhead DeSoto,” mocked Sally, as she lit her cigarette in the no-smoking area. “Hey, people, I'm smoking in a no-smoking area. Come out and fine me!” She gave out an evil laugh.
Three of her friends, all of whom were dressed in khaki and black clothes that suggested they were punk rockers, jumped into the kids' playground. Ignoring signs that prohibited persons over age 10 or heavier than 120 lbs from using the equipment, they pushed aside younger kids and spun around the merry-go-round: “Wheeee! This is fun!”
“I'm about to puke! I'm about to puke!” That was Lindsay Stanley, who jumped off the merry-go-round and pretended to throw up into the corner of the indoor playground. Jamie Reed, who was home from military school for the summer, jumped off afterwards: “My Half-Pound's giving me indigestion. Give me some Pepto Bismo shakes!” He clenched his abdomen, feigning illness.
It wasn't long before a customer approached Christopher, who worked his first closing shift without a senior store manager. Christopher then heard Sally and her friends shouting, “Fire, fire!” There was smoke coming from the no-smoking area, and Christopher raced to the no-smoking area, carrying a fire extinguisher. There, Sally and her friends laughed in a ridiculing fashion.
“Since when did you become manager,” laughed Sally. “Nice uniform!”
“I have no time for your games right now,” said Christopher. “Either you extinguish that cigarette or I'll have to throw you out of the restaurant.”
Sally blew cigarette smoke into Christopher's face. “Make me, burger boy,” she sarcastically remarked.
“Your old man's a fireman,” laughed Sally's boyfriend, Tim Howlett, a skinny teenager wearing a Mohawk haircut with rainbow dyes. “Call the fire department and make him deal with it.”
“You either leave now or I'll call the police.”
Sally stood up, smoking her cigarette some more. “You wouldn't call the police on us, buddy,” she smirked. “You wouldn't throw your friends out of this dump.” To her friends in the playground, she cried, “Let's get out of here, guys. That manager's job is getting to Christopher DeSoto's head.”
At least I haven't been fired from every job, thought Christopher, as he reflected back on Sally's checkered work record so far: fired from Clown Burger for wearing too much makeup and spiky hair against its appearance policies; fired from J. C. Penney for insubordination; and fired from that too-trendy clothing store for stealing $100 worth of merchandise. Right now, Sally was without a job, much to the chagrin of her uncle John Gage, who expected her to work part-time to pay for part of her college education. Her new Aunt Carrie, on the other hand, encouraged Sally to “just be a kid” and didn't mind her occasional flouting of societal and corporate policies, even if the Los Angeles County Police Department had to accompany her home once in a while.
After ridding himself and Clown Burger of Sally Gage and her equally weird friends, Christopher walked back into the “employees only” area of the restaurant. Another teenaged worker approached him: “Chris, Mike still doesn't know how to assemble the Cluck-Cluck chicken sandwich.”
Christopher DeSoto always reported his eventful work nights to his father Roy DeSoto, who more often than not spent his nights at Station 18, where he worked as Fire Captain and Paramedic. Since Roy worked as a part-time manager at Clown Burger nearly 25 years earlier, Christopher found that he had a sympathetic ear and understood the demands of a management job.
“You're always going to deal with jackoff customers,” said Roy over the phone the night that Sally Gage and her friends visited Clown Burger. “When I was at Clown Burger, there were hoods that hit on the roller-skating waitresses and threw malts at the nerds.”
“I know what you're talking about,” related Christopher – he knew that hoods were to Roy 's generation what rebels were to the mid-1980s. “But people today are ruder and nastier than they were in the Stone Age – I consider any year before 1968 the Stone Age. My workers often get customers who yell at them for the most retarded things, and one woman threw a tray at one of the cashiers in front of her kids because her hamburger was overcooked.”
“That was not called for,” said Roy DeSoto. “Would that woman rather be served undercooked hamburgers that could make her kids sick? Dr. Brackett, Dr. Early and Dr. Morton deal with enough food poisoning cases already. And, why would she show her kids a wonderful example of bad behavior? No wonder why kids today act the way they do.” Roy remembered something about Dr. Early: “Did you hear that Dr. Early's retiring this year, after 45 years on the job?”
“How old is Dr. Early?”
“He'll be 70 in October. He still looks as strong as an ox, but he thinks that it's time to move on and enjoy his retirement. I heard that his daughter's been hired as Rampart's new hospital administrator and, boy, she's a tough cookie. Your Uncle Lloyd makes fun of her whenever she's not around, and even makes the pediatric ward kids make faces at her whenever she is. Meanie Jeannie Early, that's what they call her.”
Christopher checked the clock on the wall. It was close to midnight, and Clown Burger's dining room was to close for the night – only its drive-thru was open 24 hours a day. An overnight manager, a college student, greeted Christopher: “Hi, Chris. Heard that Sally Gage and her weirdo friends paid us another visit tonight?” Then, he walked into the office, putting his college textbooks on the desk.
Chris had to end his phone call. “I have to drive the kids home now,” he said. “Talk to you tomorrow morning, okay.”
Roy DeSoto was right about the customers who Chris had to deal with on every shift. Meanie Jeannie Early did visit Clown Burger one morning, ordering a bacon and egg biscuit with hash browns, coffee and cream cheese danish for herself, and sausage and cheese biscuit with orange juice and fruit bowl for her father, since Joe Early didn't like eggs and avoided deep-friend foods since his open-heart surgery 10 years earlier.
“These biscuits are as hard as a rock,” Meanie Jeannie Early complained, slamming both sandwiches onto the counter, half-unwrapped.
“I've had to deal with her monsoons every day since 1947,” said Joe Early, who seemed cowed by his daughter's constant complaints about everything, large or small. “I thought my biscuit was just fine.”
“Fine – if you like eating rocks that taste like cheap 98 cent flour mixed with water taken out of a storm sewer,” snapped his daughter, who looked overwhelming in her grey power suit with football player-sized shoulder pads and matching spiky heels. “Just get me something that taste like food, or I want my money back and I'll buy myself and my father something half-decent at the hospital cafeteria. Chris, is it?”
“Yes,” said Christopher DeSoto. What he really wanted to call her was bitch. Instead, he took the two sandwiches to his teenaged short-order cooks and said, “One of our guests complained about the quality of the biscuits. She says they're as hard as a rock.”
One of the boys, who cooked round sausages on the grill, remarked, “I bet it's that bitch Jean Early again. She's always complaining about something.”
“I hope she didn't hear you over there,” admonished his manager. “If you've got something to say about our guests, please tell us either in the office or the crew room, okay. You don't mouth off about them during working hours, or I might have to write you up.”
As the grill boys continued cooking breakfasts, Christopher picked up a biscuit and took one bite. He took a napkin and spit the biscuit into it: “What did you put into the biscuits, guys? They're really as hard as a rock.”
“I poured one cup of water into a bowl containing a whole package of biscuit mix, as our crew chief told us,” answered the grill boy.
“I could see that,” said Christopher, throwing the napkin and the bitten biscuit into the garbage. “The directions call for two cups of water and three eggs, not one cup of water and God knows what else. They look overcooked, too – you're supposed to keep them in the oven for twelve minutes or until fluffy and golden brown.”
“The owner won't like that,” cried the grill boy. “He's gotten so cheap that he tells us not to use eggs for our biscuits.”
“No wonder why our customers are complaining to the hilt,” said Christopher DeSoto, as he put two new biscuit sandwiches onto the tray. “The second batch of biscuits looked better, so I'll take a chance with them.”
As he took the tray to the counter, Meanie Jeannie Early had her cup of coffee in front of her. She still complained: “My coffee is cold, and I shouldn't be drinking regular coffee – I should be drinking decaffeinated.” Joe Early rolled his eyes back, exasperated. I wish that the Missus and I left that terminal PMS case at the hospital.
Dixie McCall stood behind the Earlys in front of the till. “Jean,” she said, “you're holding up the line again.”
“Those fast-food places can't get good help these days – they rely on those teenagers and Mexicans for cheap labor,” snapped Jeannie.
“Well, this boy in front of you is Mexican, and a very nice one,” cried Joe Early. “He's trying to do his job, and you're holding him and other customers up.” He took his sandwich and carried it to his table.
“Well, he doesn't look Mexican.”
“Can it,” cried Dixie . “What you said was racist and makes you, not Chris, look like an idiot.” She switched lines, so she could place her order of sausage and egg biscuits, French toast and coffee with another cashier.
Instead of appearing upset, Christopher walked to the coffee maker and poured Meanie Jeannie a fresh cup of decaffeinated coffee, hoping that she wouldn't complain again.
At home, Christopher DeSoto reported his encounter with Meanie Jeannie to the rest of his family. Fortunately, Roy didn't have to work that night, and was at the dinner table with the rest of the family.
“All Meanie Jeannie cares about is the Almighty Dollar,” said Roy . “She doesn't give a damn about her staff, much less her patients. You know, that woman has cut back her staff at a time when Baby Boomers are having their own kids and the economy's doing great. I'm sure that she'd bring back that supply nurse to keep a lid on operating expenses. That's just crazy.”
Christopher DeSoto asked, “How could a nice man like Joe Early raise a bitch like that?”
“Joe Early lost his wife when Jeannie was seven,” answered Roy . “She was killed by a hit-and-run driver, and Jeannie had to witness the whole thing. I don't think Jeannie ever recovered from this, and that's why she's turned out the way she has.”
“I know Jeannie's two kids,” chimed Jennifer, who put her fork on the plate. “Cheryl Early-Packard is one of my fellow Senior Scouts, but she's such a snob – she even said once, ‘some people have no class – their fathers are firemen.' Her twin sister's no better.”
“Both of those chicks work at my Clown Burger,” announced Christopher. “They are useless. Instead of cleaning as they go, they sit on the countertop and gossip about school, boys, other workers, and their crushes on that guy on Miami Vice . I've wanted to fire them, but their father's a friend of the owner, who has to be the cheapest bastard who ever lived.”
“You should try getting a job at McDonald's,” suggested his sister. “My franchise owner's cheaper than Jack Benny and Ebenezer Scrooge combined.”
“No thanks,” said Christopher, “I'd rather live on welfare.”
Just then, Uncle Lloyd stepped behind the front door. Instead of the long hair and hippie wardrobe of old, he wore his hair short, and his outfit suggested a new fashion sense: two-toned grey plaid jacket, pink shirt, solid grey tie, and baggy white pants. The former hippie looked quite handsome. “Hello, hello, my good people,” he smiled, putting a shopping bag containing toys for the hospital on the floor.
“Hey, Lloyd,” greeted Roy . “I've just ordered the family some roasted chicken and all the fixings. Joanne's working late again and Chris is talking about his work problems again.”
“I heard that Meanie Jeannie gave the young chop a hard time at Clown Burger this morning,” said Uncle Lloyd, as he sat between Christopher and Jennifer. “Just today, she forced Brackett to drink coffee at some fancy yuppie coffee place instead of the hospital cafeteria, and Brackett's not the kind to drink stuff like Mocha Java, espresso, cappuccino and all that jazz, you dig? And, now, Nurse Dixie is trying to figure out that fancy new computer program that Meanie Jeannie's just ordered in, saying it would reduce paperwork and shorten our patient's waiting times. Nobody could figure out that thing – and Dr. Early came from the typewriter age. He's scared of computers – no wonder why he's retiring before those things kill him.”
“Joe Early's almost 70 years old,” described Roy . “He's been working in medicine for 45 years, and the new corporate approach to hospital procedures goes against his people-first approach – hell, he still waives medical fees for poor patients because he grew up poor himself. He was the first person in his family to go to college, and on his dad's wages as a factory worker.”
“Joe told me that he rated 4-F in the Army because of a heart murmur,” discussed Uncle Lloyd. “So much for his involvement in World War Two, not that war is the answer to anyone's problems.” He started into his roasted chicken. “So, when is your next shift, Chris?”
“Friday, 4 p.m. until dining room close, around midnight.”
“Do you have an adult present during the time?”
“Only until 8 o'clock, then I'm on my own.”
Uncle Lloyd turned to Roy . “Do you know about this,” asked Uncle Lloyd, sounding concerned. “Your son is under 18, and he's without adult supervision at night.”
“I know that he's one of the managers,” replied Roy , “but I know nothing about his working late without an adult.” Then, he turned to Chris: “Chris, why didn't you tell me or your mother anything about this?”
“I know how mom would react,” snapped Christopher defensively, before mimicking his mother's voice and concern: “‘Chris, you know it's dangerous to work closes without adult supervision.' I am almost 17 years old, have a driver's license, will be leaving home in a year or two to go to college or the Army, and I do most things without my folks' help, thank you very much.”
“It's just that your mother's looking out for your safety,” said Roy . “There's just too much going on in America these days – punks shooting 17-year-old 7-11 clerks and McDonald's employees at night, kids killing each other in schoolyards, the whole bit. And, all this time, your bosses and school boards do nothing to stop all this from going on, even putting kids in danger by scheduling them night jobs without adult supervision.”
As Christopher angrily marched upstairs to his room, Uncle Lloyd added, “It seems to me that Christopher's bosses are saving tons of money by not employing adults in management jobs.”
“It's just not right,” continued Roy . “They don't think about the higher costs associated with being sued because they put their teenaged workers in danger. It's bad enough that kids get hot grease splashed on them or slip on the kitchen floor, but what if the place gets robbed one of these days? How would Christopher handle it? I don't think he's got the training or the experience to know how to handle a robbery – there was another one at a fast-food place here in Carson last night.”
Lloyd dipped his chicken into the gravy. He said, “I read about that one in the paper: the 16-year-old manager was forced to give the thieves nearly $2,000 from the tills and the safe, then they locked him and his crew in the walk-in freezer. Apparently, they stake out burger places for teenagers working alone at night, then sneak in one night and rob the place blind.”
“Because they know they could get away with it,” answered Jennifer. “At my burger place, there is a robbery prevention program, but everybody ignores it, and that's not right. One of these days, we'll get robbed, and what then?”
“Too many kids will resist the robber, which only makes matters worse,” said Uncle Lloyd.
“I hope that Chris knows enough to handle something like that,” resigned Roy DeSoto, before cutting into his lemon meringue pie.
That Friday night, Christopher DeSoto managed another closing shift at Clown Burger. It was a busy night, replete with food fights in the dining room, a complaining customer or two, and a few punks smoking in the no-smoking area again.
“Sally would you please put out that cigarette,” demanded Christopher, as he made his rounds in the restaurant's dining room.
Sally blew cigarette smoke into Christopher's face. Tim Howlett threw a half-eaten Jumbo onto his uniform shirt. Jamie Reed uttered a sarcastic “Oooh! We're in deep doo-doo again.” He also blew cigarette smoke into Christopher's direction.
“Did that military school teach you how to ignore what other people say, Reed,” snapped Christopher.
“No,” laughed Jamie, “but it taught me how to do this.” He stood up and grabbed his crotch in front of Christopher. “Throw me out of this fucking joint, you faggot. I've got a big, fat one! I'm ready to shove it up your ass.” His laugh sounded crazy, even evil.
Christopher shouted loudly to his crew chief, “Lisa, call the police!”
Lisa was about to run to the manager's office to call the cops when three rough-looking men wearing toques, jean jackets, plaid shirts and Levi's entered the restaurant. Stopping in front of Cheryl Early-Packard's till, the men introduced themselves: “I'm Larry, this is my brother Daryl, and this is my other brother Daryl.”
Although the man sounded nothing like the hicks she recognized from Newhart , Cheryl thought they were harmless men who wore clothes that weren't appropriate for the balmy weather of Los Angeles County . She rung in their orders: “We'd like three Double Jumbos with everything but the pickles, three super-sized curly fries with chili and cheese, three super-sized Cokes, three apple turnovers – and, all your money.”
Stunned, Cheryl didn't know whether to hand over the money and get into trouble with management – or, resist and possibly get in trouble with management. Nervously, she looked for Christopher, who was on his way to the counter, dragging Sally Gage and her friends in for a citizen's arrest, or something like that.
“Don't stall me, blondie,” shouted the suddenly agitated “Larry”. “Put the money in your bag and nobody'll get hurt, you hear?”
Cheryl's sister, Candice, happened to be stocking ketchup, vinegar and relish packets in the shelves underneath her neighboring till. She whispered, “Do what they say or else.”
As Cheryl stuffed one dollar, five dollar, 10 dollar and 20 dollar bills into a large Clown Burger bag, one of the “Daryl's” shouted, “Stand up, kid, open that fucking till, and give me all your money. If you don't, then I'll make Jumbos out of you and everyone else in here.”
Candice opens the largest Clown Burger bag she could find and begins stuffing bills and spare change into it. Just then, Christopher stepped into the counter area, checking up on his cashiers. “Larry and the two Daryls” jumped over the counter and pointed their guns at Christopher's head. No wonder why we don't own a gun , he thought, adding that his days were numbered.
“Are you the baby-faced asshole who's running the joint,” shouted the second “Daryl”.
“Well – um, yeah,” stammered Christopher, too frightened to articulate his words fluidly. Nobody had ever pointed a gun in his head, much less robbed his store, before.
“Larry” pushed Christopher roughly into the kitchen. Christopher's hand dipped into one of the hot tills, allowing a huge scream to come out of his mouth. But the robbers showed no mercy. Instead, they dragged the injured young manager to the safe: “Open the safe, kid. With your burned hand, okay?”
Christopher was in pain. Slowly and ruefully, he turned the dial on the safe: Turn twice right to number six, then turn a full left once to number nine.
“Hurry up, kid. We don't have no time for your shit!”
Christopher's eyes squinted in pain, as he turned right to number two. It opened the door, revealing five tills containing $200 each plus petty change totaling $100.
“Stuff all the money in this,” shouted “Larry” as he shoved an empty garbage bag onto Christopher's face. Painfully, Christopher stuffed all the money into the bag. Nervously, he tied it from the top.
Still, the robbers weren't satisfied. Noticing Sally and her friends in the office, the robbers shoved them into the storage area, along with Chris, Lisa the crew chief, his grill person, Cheryl and Candice, and two maintenance workers. When they arrived at the door enclosing a walk-in freezer, the robbers opened it – and pushed the workers into it. They locked the door with a key that they somehow located in the safe.
Outside Clown Burger, the parents of the teenaged workers gathered in the parking lot, clogged with police vehicles, a Squad 51 truck, and a sheriff's car.
One of the parents was Roy DeSoto who, with Joanne, sat in the police car.
“I was so proud when Chris got the promotion,” sobbed Joanne. “I didn't know that he would do a shift by himself, without adult supervision. Had I know this, I would never have let him take the job.”
“I hope the State takes care of those bozos really good,” said Roy . He turned to a police officer in the driver's seat: “When did the robbery take place?”
“About 20 minutes ago, around a quarter to midnight,” she said.
Roy was more concerned about his son's well-being than about the timing of the robbery, but he had to ask that question to break the ice with that officer.
Outside Clown Burger, the Reeds and the Gages gathered.
“My niece is one of the hostages in that restaurant,” cried John Gage, as the sheriff stepped into Clown Burger, which had a posting that read “closed due to robbery.” “I need to find her.”
“No dice,” said the sheriff. “This is a police area. No off-duty emergency personnel allowed.”
As the sheriff, three police officers and a SWAT team entered the restaurant, Jim Reed lowered his head. His son was one of the young hostages, and by now could be dead. Time was critical in a robbery – a mere 20 minutes often meant death for a hostage who didn't do what they were told. Too many people didn't – and young people had neither the experience nor the smarts to realize when they were in danger. Robbers didn't care whether they were employees or customers; if they were done away with, they'd eliminate their witnesses even if that meant spending the rest of their lives in jail.
Jean Reed told Carrie Gage, “Being a kid has become so dangerous. It seems like only yesterday when being young meant being carefree.”
“This stuff could happen to anybody,” said Carrie.
Meanie Jeannie Early raced to paramedics Karen Martindale and Dana Wood, the female A-shift squad that replaced Johnny and Roy after they transferred to other paramedic squads. “Don't tell me that my twins are hurt in there,” she shouted.
“We don't know yet,” consoled Paramedic Martindale. “But we have to be here just in case there are injuries. They do happen in situations like this.”
Meanie Jeannie fell into her father's arms. “How could this happen to my babies,” she sobbed. “They're only 14 years old. They're too young to be working, period.”
Joe Early didn't know what to say. While he embraced his crying daughter, he hesitated to tell her that kids began work at age 14 all the time. Joe, himself, began his working life at age nine, when his family's poverty forced him to work as a dishwasher at a Chinese restaurant, a paperboy for the Los Angeles Examiner , and a fish gutter at a Jewish fish market. His father, however, never allowed him to leave school, and Joe Early earned straight A's in elementary and high school. With that work ethic and later success as a doctor, eight of his nine siblings were inspired to go on to college and became successful professionals. The ninth sibling, sadly, was killed in action during World War Two.
Just then, the Earlys noticed three suspicious-looking men driving haphazardly out of the parking lot, their 1961 Mercury pickup truck looking rusted and ready for the junkyard.
“Deputy,” shouted Dr. Early, “three men are driving like maniacs out of the Clown Burger parking lot.
Dispatching the county sheriff's office, the deputy sheriff and the officer's car in which Roy and Joanne sat gave chase to the old truck. It weaved in and out of traffic, speeding at 60 miles an hour in a 35 zone, ignoring police sirens and lights along the way. One of the truck's passengers stuck his hand out the window, giving the emergency vehicles and their passengers a middle-finger salute.
The truck approached the intersection of Carson and Washington streets, which was still busy despite the 12:30 a.m. time. Ignoring the stop light, it sped into the intersection when a late-model Dodge 600 crashed into it. Another car, a 1982 Mercury Zephyr, also slammed into the ancient truck.
Both the sheriff's car and the police cruiser stopped behind the accident scene. Another police cruiser arrived to investigate the accident, but the deputy sheriff and the police officer stepped out of their vehicles and approached the truck from both its doors. They dragged three men out of the wrecked old truck without incident, in handcuffs.
“Michael ‘Larry' Watson, Douglas ‘Daryl' Hicks, and Robert ‘Daryl' Melendez, you are under arrest for five counts of armed robbery, four counts of forcible confinement with a fifth charge pending, and felony dangerous driving causing an accident on a public roadway,” said the police officer, as she and her colleagues dragged the robbers into a waiting paddy wagon.
One of the robbers declared, “We didn't do nothing wrong.”
The officer continued, “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney, or have one appointed to you if you could not afford legal counsel…”
“Daryl 2” nodded impatiently, “Yeah, yeah, throw us the book, will ya?”
As the robbers were hauled away in the paddy wagon, the police officer received a dispatch on her radio. “All the hostages have been found alive – they were locked in the walk-in freezer,” announced a male voice, presumably another police officer. “They were treated and released at the scene for mild hypothermia, with one male manager treated for first- and second-degree burns at Rampart General.”
The DeSotos were upset that the male manager, Christopher, was hurt. However, they were relieved that nothing worse had happened.
At Rampart General Hospital , Dr. Kelly Brackett placed heavy gauze bandages on Christopher's right hand. “Young man,” he said, “I don't want you to be playing sports or chasing girls for a week.”
“What about working,” asked the teenager.
“If I were you,” suggested Dr. Brackett, “I'd find myself a new job – something that doesn't involve managing a restaurant until you're at least 21.”
Christopher DeSoto slid off the treatment table. “I don't know about that,” he said. “I kinda liked bossing people around.”
“Maybe next time, Chris, you won't be so lucky.”
Stepping out of treatment room #3, Christopher met his parents and John Gage in the common room. There, they watched Late Night with David Letterman on the TV set, while at the same time discussing Ronald Reagan's visit to Canada for his Shamrock Summit, the Union Carbide plant disaster in Bhopal , India , and the medical ethics behind transplanting a bamboo's heart into a baby. Sally Gage and her friends laughed at David Letterman's Top 10 list, listed on TV.
“Chris,” cheered John Gage, as he carried the classified section of the Los Angeles Times , “there are plenty of great jobs listed in the classifieds, stuff from telemarketing to dishwashing.”
“I don't know,” sighed Christopher, glancing through the newspaper. “I'm leaning towards a retail job, something to do with records and cassettes and that new thing coming out, compact discs. I'm handing in my resignation from Clown Burger after I get better.”
“I wish you were more honest with us to begin with,” said Joanne. “You should have told us that you would be managing that place by yourself. We would have put an end to it, or at least gotten management to assign an adult during your shifts.”
Sally joined in: “How did you get burned on the job? Were you stupid enough to mistake your hand for a chicken burger?”
“Sally, I wish they left you in that walk-in freezer, or stuffed you and your friends in the trash compactor,” snapped Christopher. “The world will survive without your kind walking around.”
“How you ever got promoted to management is beyond me.”
Roy DeSoto got slightly off-topic by adding, “I was a part-time manager at Clown Burger back in the day, starting when I was your age. I wouldn't give it up until I find myself that record store job.”
“ Roy ,” admonished Joanne, “do you want him to go through another armed robbery?”
“Maybe things are different today than they were in my time,” said Roy, escorting Chris, Joanne and Johnny out of the hospital, “but robberies happen at record stores, too. I hope you've learned how to handle an armed robbery by now.” Sally and her friends stood up and followed.
“Yeah,” said Christopher, “maybe after they invent cellular phones that don't have to be hooked to your car. At least, I could call the police if I'm ever stuck in a freezer with Sally and her friends again.”
Sally Gage sarcastically remarked, “Ha-ha, very funny. Ha-ha, it is to laugh.”
“Oh, shut up, pineapple-head,” said Christopher, referring to Sally's spiky hairdo.