Kallum pulled several bills from his wallet and pressed them into the line cook’s tattooed hand. The cook—somewhere older than college but younger than twenty-five—blinked at us both with hazy-eyed confusion and then blinked down at the money in his hand. “I think you deserve a break,” Kallum suggested, and then the kid got the hint. “Yeah, sure,” the cook said, stuffing the money into his pocket and stripping off his apron. “But if someone comes in while I’m gone, you gotta make their food. And probably serve it too, because I haven’t seen Linda around for a while. Sometimes she leaves to go
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