Kenny had been wrong. He was vastly under-dressed for the building they were standing in front of.
Peering inside through a large window, he could see couples and groups dressed to the nines. Their attire spoke of evening galas and nightly soirees, not a late Chicagoan lunch at 4:00 in the afternoon. His heart thudded nervously, eyes sweeping across the elegant lettering on a finished wooden sign, eyes squinting at the peeling cranberry paint.
Chad followed his sight and chuckled. "Luci da giardino," he answered the unspoken query. "Means 'garden lights' or something like that. Don't get overwhelmed, Man."
"I'm not, I'm not," he lied, feeling every ounce of his redneck heritage out and on full display standing oh-so-casually dressed in front of a place he probably couldn't even afford to look at. Chad hadn't told him this. He'd told him it was Italian, leaving the conversation off there and figuring he would learn more once he got to see it for himself. Well, Kenny definitely figured out quite a bit from his first impression. Like the fact that this owner wouldn't look at him twice before telling him to get lost, regardless of whatever pull Chad claimed to have over them.
Chad made way for the door, looking back at him and smirking. "Are you coming?"
He gulped, rolling back his shoulders and forcing himself to strike a confident pose. It was the only attribute he had, having snared several of his previous employments just based on exuding the air of a man who knew what he was doing. Too bad such was not the case here. Chad was leading him straight into the lion's den and he was but a helpless, dazed gazelle who'd wandered too far from his own kind. A long exhale passed through his lips as he stepped off, eye twitching at the slight tear in his canvas tennis shoe trying to rip his sole seeming so much more detrimental and obvious. His shoes were just going to fall apart right here in this restaurant, and people were going to insult him with snooty tones and stuck-up noses.
He grabbed the door after him and stepped through the threshold, nearly jerking back at the potent aroma of garlic and spices leaking through the air. He shuddered, suddenly basked in a mix of soft daffodil and amber lighting, taken away from the insanity of the city with the subtle tinting of window screens and outside noise shutting off at once as the door softly clicked shut behind him. The sounds of wine glasses clinking and silverware scraping against plates danced under the pleasantly comforting sounds of gentle conversation. It was stepping into an entirely new world, one that felt like it was inviting him in with its soft edges and calming tones, nothing like the outside, where sharp angles and blaring light and sound told him 'this is the city, you have to keep your ass moving'. He glanced up at the sight of holiday lights wrapped around rafters and peeking behind silk olive leaves like the stars of a Sicilian night.
Chad looked around a bit, spotting a curly, blonde head finally looking over at them and waving. Bebe raised her brow a bit, bidding her table a good meal before turning and walking towards the two of them, her eyes landing on Kenny and smiling softly. "Chad, what brings you here?" she cooed. "And just who is this tall fellow with you?"
Kenny glanced down at her voice distracting him from the soft melody of Mi sono innamorato di te wafting through hidden speakers, blinking at the woman talking to his companion but still staring at him. Hazel eyes disappeared time and again behind light, fluttering lashes. He couldn't help but feel his lips curl into a slight smirk at the attention, giving her a little wave that she happily returned. Chad rolled his eyes with a smile and laughed. "Where's Kyle?"
Her face fell a bit with the name and she finally looked back at Chad's waiting expression. "He's out back," she said slowly, voice dropping down and glancing around for eavesdropping patrons. "He had a customer lose it at him not too long ago and needed to calm down before he hit someone."
Chad blinked, looking around at the packed house, "Really? He took a break?"
"He does take them now and then, ya know. Believe it or not this isn't all he thinks about," she subtly rolled her eyes, Kenny cocking his head at her quiet, annoyed scoff that seemed to bypass Chad entirely. "But this guy almost decked him so I made him step out."
Kenny winced, rubbing his arm before elbowing Chad. "Dude, if he's in a bad mood, the last thing he needs is for me to talk to him," he tried.
Bebe looked up at him once more and smiled. "Lookin' for a job, Sweetie?"
"Kind of?" he winced. "Was a bit spur-of-the-moment."
"Hm," she mused, holding her hand out, "Name's Bebe. Head waitress. You?"
He grinned, shaking her hand back, "Kenny. Currently a gas station attendant. Not the head one."
She chuckled, taking her fingers back and nodding. "Well, we need all the help we can get, Hon. So, just don't insult him, keep yourself calm, and you have a pretty decent shot at winning him over. He's an absolute sweetheart if you get on his good side." Kenny nodded, making a specific note to follow that directive to the letter. Chad made a soft, unbelieving hum, avoiding her gaze as it hit him again, her eyes narrowing in just the slightest before she perked back up with a practiced grin. "Go around back, the kitchen is insane right now," she insisted, pointing back to the front door. The boys thanked her and turned to head out. "Good luck, Kenny!" she called, Ken turning back and flashing her another smile, relieved out of his mind that he hadn't found himself staring down someone terrifying as his first experience. That'd happened in one too many job hunts, the scrutinizing eyes of the first-in-line bearing down on him and warning him that this was their turf, and he was nothing but someone who needed to grovel for his employment.
He followed Chad back out into the street, nearly pouting at leaving such a serene environment. Chad glanced at him and grinned as he lead him around the side of the building. "So. First glance?"
"Classy. As. Fuck," he laughed in disbelief. "Definitely not any kind of joint I've ever been to, that's for sure."
"He does his best to keep it classy," he chuckled. "He worked himself half to death to get it there. And continues to do so," he sighed, shaking his head. Kenny cocked his brow, about to question him about the drop in tone before they rounded the corner, movement catching his attention. Kenny glanced up to see a short redhead pacing back and forth between the back of his building and another's, a cigarette clutched between tremoring fingers.
"Dude," he whispered, "You sure this is an okay time?"
Chad blinked at Kyle's pacing and sighed through his nose, lips forming a tight line in disappointment. Kenny raised his brow before Chad stepped forward once again, stumbling to stay with him. "Thought you quit!" Chad called.
Kyle stopped in his tracks, whirling to face them and blinking. His face started shifting hues, looking between him and the smoldering stick clutched in his fingers and clearing his throat. "I quit when people aren't trying to throw fettuccine on me," he shrugged, looking down at his feet for a moment.
Kenny raised his brow at the heavy Italian inflection seeping into the pasta name, inwardly cringing as he remembered Craig's foray into learning French in high school, revealing to Kenny only years later that it was to 'better understand their filmography'. The pretention never ceased, elongating each phrase with such an ear-grating confidence, correcting every goddamn person's attempt at pronouncing a word themselves until they declared that French was fucking stupid and a waste of time to learn anyway. Kenny only had to punch him in his snobby face three times before he finally got the hint. The pronunciation was still there, and the exasperated sighs when someone else failed to meet his standards of correctness lingered, but he wasn't as bad. Kenny bit his lip, wondering if he was just looking down at the goddamn short, Italian-speaking, redheaded version of Craig.
Chad sighed again and shook his head, a small pout on his lips before he straightened back up. "Kyle, this is Ken… uh… you know I don't actually know your last name," he looked up at him and waited.
Kyle glanced up as well, as though noticing Kenny's presence for the first time. He blinked, head tilting higher than he thought he'd have to, Kenny almost laughing at how far back he had to go before they could finally make eye contact. He didn't think he'd meet anyone shorter than Tweek back home at his measly 5'9", but here he was being proven wrong, just shy not more than two inches of his twitchy friend. "McCormick," he finished, holding out his hand.
Kyle nodded, keeping his cigarette in his left fingers and twisting to keep it out of Kenny's airspace as he shook his hand. "Kyle. Kyle Broflovski."
"Don't worry about that," he jerked his head towards his cigarette as he took his hand back. "Half a pack a day myself."
He smirked, straightening back out, but keeping the tobacco clear of Chad's scrunched expression. "You seem a lot prouder of that than most of us."
Kenny shrugged sheepishly, "Well, I'm not gonna stand here and lie and say that I hate it. If I did, I'd quit. May as well just embrace it." Kyle snorted softly, giving him a short, agreeing nod and looking back at Chad and his still-disappointed face. He cringed, tucking hair behind his ear and fiddling to straighten his rolled-up sleeves.
"So, why're you here?"
Chad cleared his throat, gesturing to Kenny again, "Ken here is looking for a job in the city. Thought maybe you could help him out."
Kyle blinked slowly before his face suddenly fell in a frown just grazing the cusp of anger, Kenny nearly flinching at the shift in demeanor. "Oh. So, you thought that springing a surprise interview on me while I'm covered in ginestrata would be a-okay?" he gestured down to his green bistro apron splashed with soup.
Kenny cringed, "Look, it wasn't cool of him to do this, we'll leave you alone," he tried rambling out, tugging Chad's arm as the two of them remained staring at each other, all but ignoring his finicky disposition.
Chad shrugged, scratching at his hair. "You keep saying how you're overwhelmed… he could be a busser. You said you were still looking for at least one."
"Well, yes but…" he paused, shoulders sinking and an irritated sigh leaking out of him before taking a long, heavy drag of his cigarette. He glanced back up at Kenny's cowering expression and he winced. "Look, sorry. You caught me at a really shitty time. Just had a customer yell at me that his 'uneducated Laotian grandmother' made better Italian food than me trying to score a comped meal."
Kenny winced, "I work retail, Man. I get insulted like that every ten minutes. I feel ya."
He finally broke from his scowl into a half-hearted smirk, "Unless you went to school for four years to hone your cashiering skills and call it your craft, it's not quite the same. Still a bitch nonetheless."
Kenny nodded in agreement. "All part of the job, though."
"Unfortunately," he sighed, looking between the two of them and bringing his free hand up and rubbing his temple. Chad gave him a tiny, pleading pout and he sank in the slightest. It couldn't hurt, he reminded himself, thinking of his strung-out staff getting antsier with each passing day. Kyle turned his attention solely back to Kenny. "So. Any restaurant experience?"
"Yes," he nodded vigorously. "I did bussing duties for a Chinese restaurant for about eight months."
"When was this?" he asked, taking another drag.
Ken blinked before cringing in the slightest. "Um… w-when I was… ten for about a month. Then I came back in when I was twelve for the other seven."
Kyle squinted, "Was… was this in China or-"
"No… I just really needed the money and Mr. Kim wanted to help for as long as he could afford me."
Kyle raised his brow, shooting Chad a glance who just shrugged. "Okay… You said you work retail. Whaddya do?"
"Um, I work at a gas station. Just cashiering and stocking and clean-up. That kind of stuff. I've worked a few other retail jobs since I was in high school, all the same kind of stuff."
"It usually is. Not much variety in customer service," he said with another sigh. "So, you've never had to get ServSafe certified?" Kenny stared at him with confusion glazing over light blue eyes and Kyle nodded to himself. "Well, that answers that." He looked again at Chad who smiled in encouragement, Kyle glancing down at the cigarette in his hand and shaking his head. "Listen," he started, looking back up at Kenny, "you have to understand something: I am desperate for people right now. My annual inspection is coming up, I have a slew of people who just walked out on me for school, I have a very cranky wait staff with their hours, and I am goddamn on my second month of staying back for two hours to do dishes. I need someone quick and efficient," he counted them off on his fingers. "Are you both of those things, Mr. McCormick?"
He nodded confidently, "Yes. Absolutely I am."
"Do you take orders well? Because you'd be at the bottom of the roster as a busser," he cocked his brow. "If you have a problem being told what to do, then this is not the right job for you."
"Consider me a walking chore bitch," he grinned sheepishly. "I would just be here to work, Mr. Broflovski, not screw up your system."
Kyle let out a small huff of a laugh. "First off, it's Kyle. Secondly, I'm impressed; most people fuck up my name the first few times without reading it." He glanced over at Chad and stared at him wryly, "Some don't get it right for about two months."
"I said I was sorry," Chad pouted.
Kyle smirked, looking back up at Kenny and sighing, giving him a soft nod. "Like I said, I'm desperate for people. There's a surprisingly small amount of people in this city willing to start out at the bottom. So if you want this, we can go talk in my office and discuss details about you getting a shot. I usually don't interview anyone with such limited experience, but I'm really being pressured by my staff… And if Chad is vouching for you I can only assume you're not a complete moron, so we can at least talk about it."
Chad snorted, "Wow. Thanks for the confidence."
Kenny nearly flinched back from the offer, not able to comprehend getting a chance on the spot. Usually he'd be stuck trudging through the agonizing week-long waiting period sitting by the phone, praying that it'd ring with an interview opportunity. "Y-yeah, that'd be… wow, that'd be great," he grinned brightly, practically feeling the twinkle bouncing in his eye.
Chad beamed, elbowing him lightly, "I can scram and come get ya once you're done so you don't get lost headin' back towards DePaul."
Kenny broke his stare from the exhausted chef over to him and nodded. "If he's okay with it."
"I offered, didn't I?" Kyle shrugged. "I may have to duck out now and then to help get the kitchen back under control, but other than that, they'd just be happy to know there's a potential dishwasher in the building."
"All right," Chad clapped once and grinned at Kyle. "Settled then. Just text me when you're done, Ken." Kenny nodded and Chad stepped over to Kyle. "Thanks."
"Thank you for bringing me potential labor," he smirked tiredly. "Just… call me first next time, please."
He nodded curtly, "Deal." He leaned down and pressed their lips together, a click ricocheting through Kenny's head at the sight. They pulled apart and Chad's face scrunched, shaking his head. "Forgot about that," he pointed to his cigarette. Kyle frowned, gaze dropping a bit in embarrassment before Chad redirected and kissed his cheek, standing back up and nodding to them both. "I'll see you after awhile. Good luck," he elbowed Kenny on his way by, both he and Kyle watching him walking down and out of the alley.
Kenny blinked, mouth dropping in the slightest. "Ohhhhhh," he mused.
Kyle cocked his brow, glancing up at him. "What?"
"So, you're the famous boyfriend I've heard so much about," he laughed, looking back at him with a small smile. "Didn't tell me your name or what you did. Know you love Williams-Sonoma and you're allergic to fuckin' cinnamon, but didn't tell me anything, ya know, relevant."
"Cinnamon oils," he corrected coolly. "Be a pretty shitty chef if I was allergic to an actual spice."
He nodded, "He didn't specify it was oils, he just mentioned it when we passed a Cinnabon in the mall. My bad."
Kyle chuckled before pausing, brow creasing. "Wait, he told you that shit but not my name? And passed a restaurant but didn't mention mine?"
Kenny blinked, giving a small, sheepish shrug. "N-not that I caught."
Kyle rolled his eyes, throwing his smoke onto the ground and grinding it out with his shoe. "Cazzo seriamente? Come essere un barista è così interessante…" He glanced up to see Kenny staring at him in bewilderment and cleared his throat. "You're gonna have to get used to that," he informed him with a small tint covering his cheeks. "Best coping method for me when I'm pissed off and can't let a customer understand me. Started it years ago with a boyfriend and it just kind of spiraled into a really bad habit at this point."
He snorted, giving him a short nod. "Understandable. My friend back home does the same thing with German, and he sucks at it," he laughed. "Anything to help you make it through the day, Man."
"You have no idea." He sighed, straightening his sleeves once more and jerking his head forward. "All right, come on, let's see if you're a good fit or not."
Kenny nodded, stepping off after him to the back door of the building. "Thanks so much for any bit of a chance."
"Like I said, I'm pretty desperate, Mr. McCormick," he murmured, pressing the door open and allowing Kenny to step through, the newcomer's eyes widening at the sudden sound of clacking dishes and the sight of people scurrying around each other. The heat was immense from the stovetops and brick oven, frantic, short demands being spouted off by individuals as they scrambled to plate their creations and get them to their destinations. Kenny gaped at an array of flames bursting from under stockpots and skillets, the mingling scent of a vast array of spices sizzling along his sinuses. Tomatoes simmered off to his side and flawlessly garnished plates rested under searing heat lamps for a runner to take them out to the floor. Kenny couldn't help but bite the inside of his cheek as he followed Kyle deeper into the fray. He'd never been hit with such a sudden rush of hunger in his goddamn life.
"Two comin' behind, Nichole," Kyle called out behind a woman diligently flipping a skillet of garlic and onion atop a risen flame. He pivoted slightly to give her optimal room as he slid behind her, Kenny following his example to the letter. She glanced behind at them, giving Kenny a small, polite smile before turning back to her sautéing. "Keep your head away from the food," Kyle advised him, Kenny blinking down at the sudden mention.
"If a customer finds one of your hairs in their food, he's gonna shave your head," Nichole laughed. "Part of his orientation packet."
"You must be the reason I can't get anyone to accept their job offers," Kyle smirked at her before continuing to lead Kenny past the stoves towards the far more open-aired, welcoming prep areas. He pointed for Kenny to follow. "That was Nichole, she's our sauté chef." His finger shifted direction to a worrisome blond bent over onions and trying not to cry at the pungent aroma. He sighed, shaking his head, "That's Butters. He's our pantry chef."
"Nyet, 'e eez our keetchen beetch," a booming voice came from the brick oven, Kenny blinking at an enormous man holding a sheet of sizzling chicken breasts, hovering a good half a foot over himself and about three times his width with the cheesiest of grins plastered on his face. It almost seemed unfitting for his towering form.
Kyle rolled his eyes, "That's Kashkov. Grill chef. And resident asshole."
"I remember dees next time you need some'tink from 'igh place, Ryzhevolosyy," he teased.
"Mhm, and I'll remember that signing your next paycheck, Buddy," he scoffed, continuing to lead Kenny towards the far-side office door. Kenny couldn't help but grin being caught in their rapport, feeling a cozy comradery that seemed to leak off each individual. He never got that back at the gas station, a few quips with Jess, a couple of offhanded snarky remarks with his boss. Not in a way where it felt familiar though, their talks only used as time filler between shift switches. Maybe it was merely because they were out of public view, their entire personalities shown here pushed off to the wayside if they set foot on that dining floor. Made more than enough sense; Kenny had to struggle for years to learn to keep a laidback hick persona out of customers' sights. He could only assume, especially in a swanky joint like he was currently inhabiting, it was more than true here as well.
Butters looked between Kashkov as he kept moving with his tray towards his station and Kyle, frowning. "Why does he always call me that?" he asked.
Kyle stopped, Kenny nearly bumping into him as he pivoted a tad to look at him. "Because, Butters, prepping is bitch's work. But we all do it. At least you can understand what he calls you. I still have no fucking clue what he calls me and I don't know how to goddamn spell it so I can't find out."
"Well… t-tell him to stop it," he nodded firmly. "You're the boss, he ain't got no right t' call ya somethin' ya don't understand."
"Butters, he could crush my fucking skull in with his goddamn fingers. And, more importantly, he never undercooks the chicken. I don't care if he's calling me Fag Queen Extraordinaire, I'll deal so long as we don't have a salmonella outbreak," he shrugged. Kenny let out a loud snort, covering his mouth and looking away as Kyle stared up at him amusedly.
"Priorities in order I see," Ken teased, glancing back down.
He shrugged again, "You learn to make sacrifices."
"For the good of the poultry."
Kyle smirked, "Exactly."
"Kyle?!" a panicked voice caught their attention, heads whipping around to two disheveled chefs followed by Jason and Red rushing towards him. Heidi came to a stop first, worry flickering wildly through hazel eyes. "We have a problem."
"Whoa, whoa, what?" he patted his hands against the air a bit before turning to Kenny. "Listen, you're not exactly dressed to be around the food, can you go linger by the dish sink?" he pointed to them off down their short little cleaning hall a few feet behind them.
Kenny nodded, "Absolutely," he turned, purposely tilting his head away from countertops he passed before turning at the sink and leaning against the wall across from it, watching as Kyle turned back to his frantic staff.
"Now. Heidi, what?" he asked.
"We're out of goat cheese," she gritted her teeth anxiously.
Kyle's shoulders fell and he breathed out, rubbing his temple. "Really? That's it? Jesus, you'd think we lost all our goddamn tomatoes as scared as you-"
"Kyle, that's part of the special!" she reminded him.
His eyes shot open, blinking rapidly at the floor. "We have customers who want it," Jason added. "Do we tell them we're out or what?"
He narrowed his eyes, "We've only been open a few hours. How the fuck are we out of it already, we have plenty of the steak still," he gestured to their meat fridge. "Did we have an influx of the pomodori secchi or something?!"
"No! That's the problem!" Heidi squeaked. "We didn't get any from the vendor!"
Kyle looked around the kitchen, gritting his teeth. "Who took the vendor order this afternoon?" he demanded, voice booming over the clatter of dishes, his chefs coming to a halt and watching their fuming boss with wide eyes. "I know I had a goddamn surplus of cheese for today's special ordered, now who the fuck verified it?!" Kenny jerked back from his observing post, not expecting such an authoritative tone out of such a tiny person. A part of him could certainly see what Chad had meant when he said Kyle wasn't exactly Midwestern-bred either, not with that threatening level of vibrato echoing around the stifling room.
"Um… I-I did?" the chef next to Heidi winced, holding his hand up. "I-I… I thought I saw it!" he insisted.
Kyle stepped up towards him and crossed his arms. "Show me where you put it, Kevin." Kevin nodded briskly, hurrying towards the produce fridge and tearing it open, Kyle coming up beside him and watching him gesture to an organized stack of cheese logs along the bottom shelf. Kyle closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. "Kevin. That's mozzarella," he hissed. "I just fucking paid double for fucking mozzarella?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"
Kevin cringed, stepping back as Kyle slammed the fridge doors shut, teeth clattering. "I'm sorry," he squeaked. "We were in a rush to get stuff out and I just glanced over it an-" he halted as Kyle held up his hand, his other hand pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Listen. It happened. Fine. How many customers are wanting it?" he glanced up at Red and Jason.
Red winced, "I have three people, Jason has four. I think I heard one of Bebe's customers put in for one."
"Oh. Fantastic," he leaned his head back and groaned. That was a lot of disappointed people, and there would only be more as the night pressed on to closing time.
"W-we're really running behind over here!" Butters winced.
"Same!" Nichole added. "Where's Bradley?"
Kashkov shrugged, "'ours vere cut. 'e 'ad to go 'ome."
"Fuck!" Kyle spat, watching everything falling into chaos at once and taking another deep breath. The kitchen needed wrangled back in. He needed to somehow get his fucking cheese, take care of the people, handle the fallbacks in his kitchen. He clicked his teeth. "All right. Nichole, what's wrong on your end?" he called.
"Someone needs to season the sauces, I kinda got my hands full," she winced, tilting her sizzling skillets.
He nodded. "All right. Heidi, you help Butters with whatever the fuck he needs," he pointed her to the prep station. "I'll take care of the sauces. You two," he pointed to Jason and Red who looked at him in full-attention. "Tell the customers that want the special that the wait will be a little longer, offer them a free app or dessert, we'll fucking do what we can to stall them. Inform the rest of the wait staff."
"That doesn't get us the cheese, Kyle," Heidi stressed.
"Oh wow, thanks, Heidi I didn't know," he rolled his eyes. "I'm not fucking losing steak sales, we're getting the fucking cheese. We need to run to Sonia's."
She blinked, "We don't have anyone with the time! We're backed up enough as is!"
Kyle paused, looking back at the blankly-staring Kenny who was lost in the whirlwind of emotions the kitchen seemed to be spiraling through. He turned and pointed, walking towards him. "How badly do you want this job?" he demanded.
Kenny's eyes went wide at the attention of the kitchen turning towards him all at once. "Um… I-I mean… p-pretty… bad I think?" he winced. He didn't know. He hadn't exactly heard any of the perks yet, he didn't know just what kind of environment he was waltzing into. But from the scene he just witnessed, a part of him could just feel those lazy, bored afternoons leaning beside his register fading off and away. This place would take that nonchalance from him, make him keep moving, stay on his toes around a boss that was more than a corporate shill, but was hanging onto his baby.
That seemed like an awful lot of pressure.
"Thirteen fifty an hour," Kyle threw out. "What are you willing to do for that wage? Would you run to a store for that?"
His jaw dropped slightly, the mere notion of a five dollar pay increase nothing short of mind-blowing. "I'd do a lot for that much an hour. Including not-so legal things," he nodded eagerly. "Holy shit this guy must be rich," he thought to himself in astonishment, watching Kyle dip under his apron and snag his wallet out of his pocket.
"Well, I'm not asking for that, but I am asking you to be really fucking prompt and deal with a very old Italian lady for my sake. Can you do that?"
Kenny nodded again. "Um, but I don't really… know the city that well…"
"Easy to spot," he assured him, fishing out a credit card and looking back up at him. "Driver's license," he said sharply.
Ken narrowed his eyes in confusion before his mouth formed a small 'o' and he fumbled for his own wallet. Kyle looked around at their gawkers and frowned. "Guys, come on! We got orders to fill, fucking step on it!" The onlookers snapped back into attention, turning to their separate tasks and hurrying around the kitchen to make up time lost.
Kenny bit his tongue lightly as he took out his wallet, a bit embarrassed at the torn Velcro item he'd had since he was a teenager against Kyle's matte leather accessory. He snagged his license and handed it over, Kyle scanning over it before placing it into his pocketbook. "All right, here's the deal," he said, shoving it back into his pants and holding the card towards him. "You have twenty-five minutes. That's being extremely generous," he emphasized. "If you're one second later than that, I'll have the Chicago P.D. on you so fucking fast a goddamn Metra couldn't save you."
"Understood," he gulped, shakily taking the card embossed with Kyle's name and carefully hiding it within his wallet.
"Good," he nodded bluntly. "Now. Sonia's shop is a block down, take a left from the front of the restaurant," he instructed, Kenny nodding along slowly. "Then, take a right onto Polk. It's a building with a green and gold awning on the left-hand side, a specialty meats and cheeses shop. Tell her that I need her entire goat cheese stock. I work with her all the time, so use my name and get what we need. Got it?"
"Got it," he confirmed, moving to turn before a soft hand gripped his wrist and he looked back down.
"Listen, she's very old and very slow," he warned him. "I don't care how, but speed her up as much as you can. I'll keep customers distracted for the time being but I need you to run. You get here in time, you get the job, no interview required. All right?"
Kenny grinned and nodded, ignoring the frightened, adrenalized palpitations of his heart. "Not a problem. Back in a flash," he promised with a wink, carefully stepping his way around the kitchen staff before bursting through the back door and hightailing it away.
Kyle watched after him with a gulp before the door finally clicked shut. Moving back over towards Nichole, he began snagging spices from the hanging rack beside the sauce station, dousing his marinara in dried herbs with his chest clenching in worry. Nichole bit her lip, "Did you really just hand the company card to some guy you don't know?" she winced.
He shrugged, "I was out of options, Nichole. No way could I run out and she doesn't exactly make deliveries. I have his license. If things go wrong, then they do…" his shoulders sank, snagging a wooden spoon from its resting spot beside him and sifting through his sauce. He closed his eyes, taking in the potent aroma of simmering tomatoes and basil, letting it fill him with familiarity, with comfort. He just set the hopes for his entire day's profits on a man he'd met not ten minutes before, and it was terrifying. He could just hear his mother lecturing him on how he'd made a potential bad business decision, a snap judgment that could cost him a lot in the long run if he hadn't placed his bets on the right player.
But, his first impression had left Kyle with the notion that he seemed fairly straightforward and honest, little as they had talked so far. He wasn't the best at reading people, but his instincts more often than not took him in the right direction, and he'd followed them all the way through their exchange. He opened his eyes back to the steam of his marinara and shook his head. All he could do now, he supposed, was hope he hadn't placed his livelihood into the wrong hands.
