Bloody Business

Chapter 2: Poor Customer Service Workers

Pale, sweaty, and with the looks saying that they definitely didn't want to go back out again.

These types of faces didn't happen every night, they knew they had to go back out again and were numb to it, but I suppose sometimes the patrons each night can be a bit aggressive, or impatient. From simply observing them, it seemed like the waiters were pretty strong looking people, save for the one with a bandage on their face, looking half swollen, they're used to this.

Looking through the window of the fancy door when no one else was, the one customer that night looked like an average man, he sat at the table and laughed at the amount of delicious food in front of him like he was a king. Too many different people came by to bother with recognizing them, just a pretty normal reaction that was common among the patrons of this secret restaurant, laughing like royalty at the food made from human flesh. However, one feature I will point out, he looked out of it his eyes sunken in and the smile just a little too curved up. Insane?

The man grabbed one of the ribs from the platter and easily ripped the meat off the bone, the cooked skin that was left on could be heard crunching between his teeth, or perhaps that was just imagination from watching him eat. There were two waiters by the walls, unmoving and avoiding looking at the man who was ripping the meat off the rib bones easily, they looked scared. Sometimes the patrons can attack the waiters, there have been rare cases of naughty ones trying to break into the kitchen for more, something about the food affected them like a drug in a way.

Professionally prepared human meat was rare. those films where they use human meat as ingredients, it's just that, using human meat as they would any other kind of meat. But here at this establishment, the owner wanted to make it obvious that the food was made from humans, that everything used, used to be alive, that the patrons were indeed eating their own kind. The owner found it beautiful in a sense, the dishes aren't as professional or as elegant as how an actual chef would cook meat, but the only thing that mattered to the patrons and the owner was the fantasy come to life.

The lady walked over to the waiter who was still shaking on the floor, an apologetic look on her face.

"You can't hide here forever; they're going to need you eventually." She softly told them, hesitantly wondering whether to help ground them by putting a hand on their shoulder.

"I know!" The waiter whispered to her.

"I know just- just give me a moment!"

They breathed slowly as they rose to their feet, shuddering.

The others in the room didn't move, Charles had to help move both of them towards the door, he was firmer in getting them to move.

"Go before another one gets bitten."

The one with the bandage on their face gritted their teeth and made a clicking noise from their mouth.

"Oh, like numbers of people will stop them from biting." Said the man who stood up from the floor.

He waved his hands around his face, before releasing a quiet cackle of laughter from deep within his throat. It looked like he was miming a laughter as he soon stopped making any sound, yet his mouth hung open in a tooth revealing grin, hands on his knees as he slumped his shoulders.

"I can't wait until this shift is over!" He screeched as he walked over to the door all glum, after his sudden crack of anger.

He left through the door with a slouch, and the others followed with better postures, hiding their fear and discomfort. Alonzo handed one of them a pitcher of water before they all left, to serve to the man who was consuming faster than swallowing. Just a glimpse of him through the door and he gave off the impression of a starving madman even though he seemed to have plenty of meat on his arms. Gluttony was possessing him. What exactly was being put into the food I wonder, all the chefs wore gloves and made sure to touch it.

"They must be a new batch of workers." Noemie said pitifully, folding her hands in front of her.

"They won't last." Charles said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to pull her away from the door.

The man who was working on the cake didn't pay attention to any of this, his back turned the entire time. He was on the third bag of blood, whipping some more cream-like stuff in a bowl, kind of like the stuff from before but thinner, pouring the blood in began to make it thicker, thanks to how gelatinous it became in the freezer. Unlike the cake liquid, this stuff didn't smell good at all, and the baker knew this, not bothering to do anything to hide the smell because he couldn't. He's tried several times before but there are no recipes with blood in frosting, all he could do was make sure it would hold its shape.

He was a good baker during the daytime, mind you, he was very gifted in creating patisseries that the manager thought it would be funny to make it gorier.

Noemie looked to the camera in the upper corner of the kitchen that would rotate every so often around the room, and looked down at the floor, leaving Charles' arm. She took off her cap and gently tossed onto the counter that she leaned against. Throwing her head back, she daydreamed at the ceiling as she crossed her arms.

"They should be alright this time." The soft looking man said, breaking the silence.

The baker stopped whisking his mixture, not turning around but it was easy to tell that he was waiting for what funny reason the man must've had for his statement.

Alonzo, the one who broke the silence, fiddled with his sauce and spice covered gloves, pulling at the tips of his fingers as he tried to make eye-contact with everyone, save for the baker.

"It's only one person tonight, and he's busy with a plate of ribs, a bowl of heart salad, and a liver dish." He shrugged his shoulders.

"He shouldn't be hungry anymore after that, and if he is, Roman is almost done with the dessert. No one will get hurt tonight." He was mostly telling himself this, searching for some ray of hope.

No one agreed with him or said anything really. It was a stuffy room. Charles walked around the kitchen island and threw his gloves in the trash can, pushing up his glasses and gave Alonzo a pitiful look, and so did Noemie. Although the lady was the newest recruit to the team of chefs, she wasn't as naive as Alonzo, having endless hope and faith that things will just be alright. Noemie has seen cruel things.

"Maybe, but even if no one is attacked tonight, the two dishwashers who didn't show up at all will never be seen again." Noemie said with remorse in her tone.

"Not true." Charles retorted.

She gave him a pained look before he smirked with a little evil glint, looking at her and nodding his head over to the freezer.

"We'll see their faces again tomorrow, in there!" He said, and then laughed lowly to himself.

"Gavin!" A low voice and strong voice yelled. It was still quiet, but it held a lot of power, more strength than any of the other chefs' voices.

The baker whose name was Roman apparently, had slammed his hands on his counter station after hearing Charles -or- Gavin's laughter at his own joke, letting the table shake beneath his strength and the noise ring out from the shaking, overpowering everything else. He turned around to sneer at the man with glasses, then his gaze shifted over to the lady who was clearly upset by his joke.

"Learn to keep your mouth shut like the rest of us." He said, before going back to stirring and ignoring everything, beginning to put the stiff bloody cream he made into one of those triangular or upside-down cone bags, the ones with the metal tip.

"Elias." The lady said while looking at the Alonzo guy. She then hesitated with what she was going to say next, not making eye contact with him and pulling at the tips of her bloody and spice covered gloves.

"Since there is only one customer tonight as you say, then maybe it's safe for you to go home now."

Gavin whose surname must've been Charles, gave her this surprised and wide-eyed look, like she said something unordinary.

Noemie made a swallowing expression and continued. She turned to Charles.

"His job is just to make the food presentable, so he's safe. If the patron wants more, which isn't likely since we would have known, he likely won't care about how the food looks and will just be desperate to eat."

"You're just trying to spare him from what might happen to the waiters outside the door." Charles said to her, lightly shaking his head.

He stood up from his leaning position and gave a strong yet tired look to Alonzo.

"It's not like he'll see it, it'll just be noise. You can't keep him naive forever."

"But I can try to help him keep his sanity." Noemie quietly argued back.

"It's a cruel world out there, he's gonna have to get used to this eventually, unless you have a way of helping him quit without dying?"

The lady was then quiet after that, almost opening her mouth to speak but then closing it and looking away, regretful and filled with sorrow. Gavin just sighed and patted her shoulder, also looking away, remorseful.

A loud hearty laughter was heard through the fancy door, followed by nervous responses and mumbled words from the waiters, which was then followed by a weird low growling sound mixed with giggles and the sounds of multiple shoes tapping against the floor. It wasn't worth checking to see what was happening out in the dining area, it would have been too unusual to describe, and it's not like Noemie ever bothered to look. The only context that was needed was that one of the servants rushed in, frantic looking and with some sweat slipping down her neck to the white collar of her uniform. The door was jutted open with her body in between it and the door frame.

"Please tell me the cake is ready." She spoke nervously.

Roman finally turned his face to see everyone, showing the finished cake.

It was covered in the bloody frosting, with a bloody "Happy Birthday" writing on the top, yet still somehow neat.

He passed it to the nervous waitress whose nervous face mixed into that of a relieved but still nervous one. She tipped her head to him in thanks and rushed back out the door after getting a good hold of the plate of it. The noises outside turned from this growling laughter and nervous mumbles to sudden fake happy noises and a normal laughter, then followed by the usual ritual song that people sang in a group to a person in the middle sitting in front of a cake or some other fire-lit offering, and then clapping.

The Roman guy who finished the cake, slipped off his gloves, tossed them into the trash can, then began to unbutton his chef's jacket as he walked to the door leading to the locker room.

The lady and the other boys did nothing to stop him, so when he stopped to look over his shoulder at the soft looking man, they all became nervous.

"There, my job is done." He said with his low and hollow sounding voice, empty with a lack of passion or empathy.

"The rest of you should go home as well now, don't bother worrying for the other two, they failed to show up, they know what's to come."

The scary baker man then turned back, still working on undoing his chef jacket as he entered the locker room, the lady didn't move, but Gavin did, following after Roman's actions, and it was just the lady and the soft looking man in the kitchen.

"Aren't you going too?" Elias asked her.

Noemie kept looking towards the door to the dining area, taking off her sweaty gloves. The sound of rubber with the clicks of her shoes against the floor made for a nice sound, even the sound of the gloves being taken off and thrown into the trash can sounded soothing in a way.

"I'm going to stay and clean the dishes; you should go home."

"Why? I should help you before I go-"

"I like to clean alone. Go home, be safe." The lady insisted as she gently took his shoulders and ushered him to the locker room.

He wordlessly obeyed as his sincere eyes looked back at her, then left as he joined the other men in the locker room, though, that Roman guy earlier probably left by now as he was the most eager.

Noemie stood in front of the door to the locker, turned, and walked over to pull a box of gloves out of a drawer from one of the stations, the same ones used for cooking, then after she put on a clean pair of gloves, she went to another drawer to pull out a white plastic box, it had a red plus sign on it.

The sounds in the dining room grew louder.

Footsteps from soft rhythmic clicking of casual walking, to quicker paces.

Voices from muffled and whispering to growing louder before the words could be clearly heard, all different words with the same meaning. Stop. Don't.

Overpowered by a growling laughter, and crashes of plates, silverwares, and the toppling of a chair. Some waiters ran into the kitchen, heavily breathing as some hid underneath one of the tables or in the corners of the room, the lady took the box with the red plus sign on it and slid it over the kitchen island countertop to them.

More heavier footsteps are then heard from the dining room, growing louder and louder, a heavy object making hard contact with the floor, several louder thuds.

Silence.

Noemie, who stood still as she heard all the commotion, finally moved, pushing open the door to reveal the messy dining area.

The customer who was eating happily like a canine king earlier was down on the ground, face pressed like a mop down by the shoe of a much bigger figure in a suit, wearing all black. The large figure in the suit had the patron's arm crossed over on his back, the other was pinned down by the figure's other shoe.

One waiter that looked to be about the same age as Noemie, lighter brown hair than hers, was kneeling on the floor, his left hand was gripping onto the bleeding bicep part of his arm, the blood steeped through the white sleeve of his outfit and was puddling around his fingers. Noemie was also familiar with him too.

It seemed that some of the other waiters fled out the other door that led into that place, leaving only the bleeding waiter and the one waitress who stood behind the suited figure. She was probably the one that called them.

The lady's breathing grew but she held herself together, walking over to retrieve the bleeding man on the floor and help him up into the safety of the kitchen. They ignored the commotion that would happen behind them, where the suited figure would dispose of the naughty customer, and the waitress would follow the lady and the injured waiter inside the kitchen to retrieve the other staff in hiding.

I say figure because the one in the suit also had a mask on, the bodyguards tend to hide their identities so that their only recognizable features would be their size, I think the waiters should do that too.

In the kitchen, Noemie helped the bleeding waiter in and got a stool next to the kitchen island for him to sit down and lean on. The waitress scanned the room for all the waiters who ran and hid.

"It's okay everyone." She clapped her hands together to call attention.

They peaked their heads out from underneath the tables, or out from under their arms or knees.

"He's down, I got one of the guards in to help. Let's go clean the mess, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave."

She planted her hands on hips, exhausted as the others rose to their feet and she had them move out, there was a hesitancy seen in all of them as they either avoided eye contact with their injured coworker, or just gave regretful side glances at him. The waitress gave a head nod to Noemie as she opened the plastic box with the red plus sign, then left to go lead the others.

It was all finally silent again; soothing noises of things being swept up or stacked outside the door as the lady grabbed some napkins, then a pair of scissors and had the injured waiter slowly remove his hand from the wound.

The whole sleeve was soaked in blood, it was freshly red, and the smell was so strong that it was like if a person could smell the blood pouring out of their own nose.

Noemie gingerly grabbed a piece of the area above the wet fabric to make an edge that she could cut, and carefully trimmed while the man almost curled over and used his other hand, free of pain, to tightly grab the edge of the counter. The sleeve was pulled down after Noemie had trimmed all the way around for it to come down and reveal the entire arm to her, blood darker than what was on the fabric, seeped through some holes in his arm and ran down.

She took the napkins and spare towels, ran them under the nearest sink and dabbed them onto the bleeding holes. The waiter curled over in pain even more, hissing and groaning.

Two curved lines opposite of each other, making very curved, half circular flaps opposite of each other but it seemed that the patron didn't get a good enough grip to really bite a chunk off, likely thanks to the fabric. The two sides of torn apart flesh are just barely peeking out and can be pushed back in easily. The woman sighed in relief at this.

"It's not deep, just needs pressure but no stitches necessary." She told the man, who was trying to control his breathing as she laid a wet towel on top of the bite mark.

"Let me give you something to hold or-or bite down, while I, disinfect it." she began to back away and find something.

This lady was not good at comforting.

The bleeding man reached weakly to grab her sleeve, gritting his teeth and in a state of holding his breath and tears.

"I don't need any of that. Please Just, please, get it closed." He rocked his head back like he wanted to knock it against something.

His wincing eyes opened up at her nervous face, the lady gulped and shrugged, avoiding eye contact as she grabbed some wide rolls of bandages, a tube of medicine, and cotton balls from the box. She had him let go of her sleeve to go retrieve a bowl of soap and water.

The wet towel was removed, a rag dipped in the soapy water was used to clean up the bite marks, Noemie dabbed it as carefully as her hands would allow. Still, every bit of contact brough the man pain as he lowered his head and grabbed onto her shoulder, squeezing it tightly but it didn't bother her, both her hands were still free to use.

"This, those, bastards, leaving me, as bait." He muttered underneath his breath, almost muffling it into her shoulder as she got closer to his wound.

Noemie said nothing as she used cotton balls to dry up the area, and then wrapped it up using the bandage roll. It's like tape almost, as she didn't need to use anything to make the edge stick after cutting. she observed the roll and how small it was getting, making a mental note to get more later.

Some customers just can't help but want to have a bite of raw meat, and impulsive thought that happens often. It rarely happens to a chef, and I've yet to see it happen to a guard just yet.