#4 Flash Fiction B&W Challenge - Food, Food, Food!

Storn

#4 Flash Fiction B&W Challenge

“Now, muzzle your temper,” barked Joey, the restaurant owner.

The argument began as a cordial discussion about different teams amongst a large group of football friends during a birthday lunch. One thing lead to another and the meeting ended in chairs flying left and right, tables being flung to the sides and a serious session of wild boxing. In the end, no one really knew who was on which side.

Joey solved the issue the old fashion way, with a bat. He swung that devilish weapon in all directions. There were broken arms and legs, smashed fingers and bruised egos.

“I will have nothing of this ever again here,” he continued, pointing at the door. “If any of you wishes to carry on, that’s the way out.”

The bashed group, showing their black and blues quite clearly, paid for the meal, the damages, and left without the slightest complaint.

The next year, as soon as that same group booked the restaurant for their annual lunch, Joey closed the place to other customers. He set the table carefully and got ready.

The group arrived cheerfully, despite the horrid weather. It was as if they were totally oblivious of what had happened the year before.

“Lots of wine, keep it coming!” some said, while others shouted in a repetitive chorus, banging their forks on the table “Food, food, food!”

Joey mumbled and grumbled throughout the whole meal. This time, if they pulled the same stunt, he’d… he’d... He became increasingly angry as the voices thundered louder and louder, the food and the wine doing their part.

“Come on, old man, we need more food!”

Now, one thing he never accepted lightly was if someone destroyed his restaurant; that was a known fact. But someone calling him old was undeniably more than he could handle.

He trotted into the kitchen hastily and marched back to the dining-room with the last chunk of meat.

“My best dish,” he announced pompously.

They all ate. They all enjoyed it. They all went home.

The next day, Joey read in the paper “Football team members drown after adventurous swim in the park under huge storm.”

He sneered, looking at the lake across the road. “Yeah, call it a storm.”

Tucked away under the kitchen counter was that bottle of arsenic he had purchased, just in case.