Hell's Kitchen: The Truth Behind the Papa Louie Universe

Chapter Twelve

"Oh!" Allan exclaimed, entering the room. His Mocharia had a large stain down the front of it, coffee, clearly, and he'd been looking grimly down at it before he noticed Akari on the couch. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Akari smiled and raised her eyebrows at him. She had heard him coming up the stairs, so it shouldn't have been a surprise to see him, but she was slightly startled nonetheless. It was five, too, his shift was over, why wouldn't he come up? She was just a little on edge, she supposed. Nevada hadn't messaged her back about anything, and she was starting to worry. Any strange noise was surely her sneaking through the window, scared and on the run, or one of Papa Louie's henchmen, here make sure she shut up, or even the damn parrot, knocking at her glass, like a multicolored omen of her imminent demise. Riveting stuff.

Allan removed his stained apron, balled it up, and threw it against the door to his room.

"Strike!" He exclaimed, though there was nothing remotely 'bowling' about it. He sighed, going to pick it up and smooth it out.

"Okay day?" Akari asked, eyeing the coffee stain.

"Hm, same old, same old. If you're wondering about the spill, it wasn't anything, really, I just knocked the cup over. Would be funner if someone threw it at me, right? I mean, the girl whose coffee it was looked like she would of, but that's the beauty of it, right? Can't throw your coffee on me if you don't have it! Because I already spilled it everywhere!"

"It's a real paradox."

"Mhm. She was real pissed about it too, all 'I have places to be!" Shut up, you're like– you're getting a fancy iced coffee at four-thirty on a Tuesday. You can't be in that big of a rush.."

He balled the apron up again, "Oh well. You need anything taken to the laundromat?"

"Don't think so. The girl– the coffee one, was that Whippa?" It was Tuesday. She knew it was Whippa.

"Uh, I don't know? Bangs?

"Yeah, that's her. Maybe you don't want to mess with her, hey? Pretty sure she's in some organized crime circle."

"Isn't she like twelve?"

"Don't think so." She had turned twenty a couple of weeks back. Akari had been looking through the Closer files recently.

"Well, damn, I guess. What does an organized crime circle even do, theirs? I haven't heard anything."

"Crime, I'd assume."

"Hm."

"Well."

"Yep."

They'd been alternating working shifts at the Mocharia, more or less. Delivery was practically nothing, hardly anybody ordered delivery. Probably because no matter what, the whipped cream had melted, or the coffee wasn't hot anymore, or the ricotta in the cannoli had wilted, or– it was typically just better to pick the stuff up yourself. So, business was slow, and it was a nice break. No coffee fumes, no Closers, no preparation, even. As per Papa Louie's rules, they really weren't meant to do each other's jobs, nor were they meant to both work behind the counter at the same time, for whatever reason. They weren't even making hourly wages, so she didn't know what he was so hung up about. Most of the time though, it wasn't busy enough to merit both of them working at the same time, so one of them was free to do whatever. Plus, delivery duty gave her an excuse to ride her motorcycle. She'd never pass that up.

Still, she often felt guilty about leaving Allan with the Closers, really guilty. Sometimes she'd insist on taking all shifts. For the foreseeable future, if it got that bad. Allan would always say that that was pointless, and then Akari would feel guilty about bothering him like that and because he still was in the dark about the whole... thing. She was pushing the conversation off, again and again, and she planned on telling him, but she never really... found the time, or the words. Olivia was better at that stuff, but she wasn't as close to Allan, and... it was all just a bit of a mess.