Face of Evil

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Andy watched as Rachel's car sped past the restaurant and back towards town.

"If we lose those fries, Goodis, it's going on your permanent record," Chip said.

Andy adjusted his Happy Burger cap, tugged on his Happy Burger shirt, and turned to Chip.

"Well, if it's that important to you, Chip, don't you think you should handle this crisis personally?"

Chip straightened up and lifted his chin with pride. “I'm management. You're food preparation."

Andy smiled at Bubbles, the perky cashier, and imagined for a moment how her big Happy Burger smile would look around his big happy cock.

Chip stabbed Andy with his finger, breaking his reverie. “I'm talking to you, Goodis."

Andy whirled around, grabbed Chip by the back of the head, and led him over to the French fryer.

"Don't be shy, Chip, take charge." He held Chip's head over the vat of boiling oil.

"How do the fries look?"

Chip squealed, the hot oil spraying in his face. “They're fine! They're fine!"

Andy looked over his shoulder at Bubbles, who was staring at him in horror.

He smiled at her. “Where's your smile?"

And then he shoved Chip's face into the fryer and watched her scream.

Andy got hard in an instant.

Her scream was infectious.

Within seconds, everyone but Andy was screaming. Bubbles. The customers. The kitchen crew.

And Andy just stood there, pup tent in his pants, Chip flailing under his grasp.

"How are we doing on that golden brown texture, Chip?" Andy lifted Chip's face out of the fryer for a moment and examined it.

But Chip had no face, just a sizzling, oozing slab of deep-fried skull meat with French fries stuck in it.

"They look done to me," Andy said.

A stocky Mexican employee at the burger grill had enough, grabbed a knife, and charged him.

Andy shoved Chip at the Mexican, who inadvertently skewered Chip on his outstretched knife and watched in horror as blood splurted all over his arm.

"Oops," Andy said.

Bubbles turned to flee, but Andy stuck out his leg and tripped her, sending her face-first to the floor. When she started to rise, he picked up the cash register and dropped it on her head.

The remaining two employees in the kitchen came at him now, so Andy reached under the counter for the Happy Burger Happy Shotgun and happily blasted one guy onto the burger grill and the other into the milk-shake machine, releasing a spray of chocolate.

That left only the Mexican still standing, holding the bloody knife in his hand and blubbering like a baby over Chip, who convulsed at his feet in a puddle of blood, fries, and vegetable oil.

It was damn irritating.

So Andy swung the shotgun at the Mexican's head like a bat at a pinata and felt the satisfying smack of contact. The Mexican dropped, banged his head on the edge of the fryer, and crumpled on top of Chip.

There was a moment of stillness as Andy stood there, the shotgun in one hand, his hard-on in the other, listening to the sound of the sizzling grill, the fry alarm, the splurt of the milk-shake machine, and the whimpering of the dozen customers who were hiding under their tables.

It was such a beautiful noise.

Andy smiled to himself, gave his hard-on a friendly tug, then reached under the counter for the box of shells and strolled out the door, singing the Happy Burger song.

"Don't be sad, don't be blue, Happy Burger has treats for you!"

Rachel and Matt were driving home as this was going on. She was still worried about Matt. She wanted to take him to the hospital but he adamantly refused to go.

"It's just food poisoning," he said. “Or stomach flu."

"You were dead last week," she said. “Don't you think it would be a good idea to see a doctor just in case it's something else?"

"Like a side effect of death?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"I vomited. That's all. People puke all the time without dying first."

"You were also acting very strange at Happy Burger."

"What do you mean?" he asked, knowing exactly what she meant. He hadn't been able to get Andy's decomposing face out of his mind since they'd left.

"You looked terrified," she said.

"I was thinking about the cholesterol," he said. “And the calories."

Rachel gave him a look. “I love you. Don't blow me off like that."

She turned the car onto Main Street just as two cop cars roared past them in the opposite direction, sirens wailing. Matt watched them go in his side-view mirror.

A moment later, a Sheriff's Department helicopter roared overhead, heading in the same direction as the cop cars.

Towards Seattle.

Or the Canadian border.

Or Happy Burger.

They could be going anywhere, but somehow, someway, Matt knew with absolute certainty that they weren't.

They were going to Happy Burger.

Where his oldest friend was decomposing with a smile.

"Turn around," Matt said.

"Why?"

"It's Andy," Matt said. “He needs my help."

"When are you going to accept the fact that he's an asshole? You can't save him from being fired from Happy Burger any more than you could save his job at the mill."

"You didn't see his face," Matt said. “He's dying inside."

"God didn't put you back on this earth to be Andy's guardian," she said, bringing the car to a stop at an intersection and looking at him. “He brought you back for me."

Matt met her gaze. “Please. If you really love me, you will take me back there." She glared at him. “Fuck you."

And with that, she made a U-turn and sped back to Happy Burger.