Page 18 of So Lethal

They got into the rental and headed back to their hotel. Faith replayed the interaction with Dr. Crane in her head. It wasn’t quite enough to convince her that the doctor was guilty, but it was definitely worth a closer look.

All right. Elbow grease it is.

CHAPTER EIGHT

They stopped at a drive-thru on the way back, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint called Porky’s Patties. It advertised its wares with a cartoonish smiling pig extending an impossibly greasy and impossibly colorful burger toward the viewer. The restaurant itself was the opposite of colorful. It was painted the greenish-tinged tan that was popular in the seventies, made more drab by decades of minimal maintenance and a liberal coating of dust. The health certificate in the front window proudly displayed a grade of A that Faith didn’t trust for a minute.

“You’re sure this place is healthy?” she asked.

“The sign is a picture of a cartoon pig shoving a greaseburger in your face,” Michael replied. “If you’re feeling like a salad, this is not the place to get it. On the other hand, if you want the best damned hamburger in the Bay Area, this is where you want to be.”

It did seem to be popular. There were eight cars ahead of them in line. Maybe that wasn’t much for a lunch rush, but it was a lot more than Faith would have expected. “An old favorite of yours, I’m guessing?”

“Oh yeah. This place used to be a small chain. There were eight locations in San Jose when I was growing up. It’s fallen on hard times, but the founder still keeps this one. Trust me, it’s worth it.” He turned to her, “And anyway, when did you get so snooty? This place isn’t any dirtier than the cheesesteak place you go to by your place.”

Faith shrugged. “I guess the pig just threw me off.”

“Yeah, he’s a pretty aggressive advertisement,” Michael agreed. “But trust me, he’s worth it.”

They moved forward a car length, and Faith looked around at the patrons sitting on the small patio. There was a pair of landscapers in khakis and t-shirts bearing a liberal coating of stains from dirt, sweat, and grass. They wore the blank expressions of average Joes just going through the motions of another day. At another table, a pair of high school kids ate French fries and milkshakes and did their best to seem cool and adult, which of course made them seem more awkward. A family occupied the final two tables, two parents and seven children who behaved just well enough to spare the parents the need to physically chain them to their seats.

Fast food restaurants really were a slice of working-class America. They were as ubiquitous as shopping malls but without the façade of status that many shopping malls tried to present. Michael had a point. You didn’t come to a place like this hoping for trendy, health-conscious food that your doctor would be proud of. You came here for quick, filling food stuffed with chemicals that would fire enough endorphins to give you the strength to make it through the next few hours of struggle until you could sleep and start all over again in the morning. When you looked at it that way, the pig with his greaseburger made a lot of sense.

A low whine started in her ears. At first, she thought that the landscapers might have finished their lunch and started to work on the grass in front of the restaurant, but when she looked over there, she saw the landscapers still in their chairs staring stoically ahead and mechanically eating their burgers. The whine grew louder, and with a brilliant flash of fear, she realized she was suffering another episode of tinnitus.

She lifted her fingers to her ears and pressed the little flap of cartilage on the underside closed. That didn’t help at all, and it occurred to her with another flash of fear that the sound wasn’t actually a sound at all but a perception of sound that wasn’t there. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

It’s all right. It’ll pass. Just breathe. Let it happen, and it’ll all be better in a moment.

In the back of her mind, however, she knew that this sort of ailment was the kind that got worse over time, not better.

“Faith!”

Faith stiffened and looked over at Michael. He was frowning at her. “You all right? I asked what you wanted like five times.”

She blinked and noticed that Turk was also looking at her, a worried expression on his face. “I’m fine,” she said. “Um… Just… a basic cheeseburger. Whatever that is.”

“Fries too?”

“Sure.”

“Milkshake?”

She sighed. “Just get me whatever you’re getting. Get Turk a few plain patties. No cheese or bread.”

“I’m getting an Oinkburger with bacon and a fried egg.”

Faith lifted her hands and looked to the ceiling. “A basic cheeseburger with fries. No milkshake.”

“All right, all right. Just asking. You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“Okay.”

They waited for their food in silence. Turk stuck his nose in between their seats and kept empathetic eyes on Faith. Michael didn't stare, but the occasional glances he sent her way weren't any less annoying. She was grateful when their food arrived, and he turned his attention wholly to the bounty on his plate.

“Oh yeah. This is the good stuff right here,” he said appreciatively, taking a healthy bite of a hamburger that looked big enough to feed the entire family sitting on the patio.

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