like a jumpin' bean, he was squirmin' around so much.
Mama kept talking. “We serve one thing. Fresh Fish Surprise.”
“What kind of fish?” said Chunk. Food could take his mind off anything.
“I said it's a surprise!” shouted Mama, crashing her hand down on the table.
“Okay. Okay. I'll take it,” said Chunk. He looked pretty scared.
I suddenly know she was tryin' to scare us off, so I suddenly didn't think she was really all that scary. Just kinda weird.
And I also thought that if this ugly old lady wanted to scare us away, maybe there
was
gold buried here. So I was more fixed than ever to stay.
“What about the rest of ya?” said Mama.
“Just a glass of water for me,” I said. The other guys all ordered the same. No one knew what to make of this mess.
“Okay, one Surprise and four waters. That it?” she snarled.
“I'd like-a the antipasto salad, the fettucini Alfredo, the-a veal scallopini, and a bottle of Boticelli, 1981.”This was Mouth doing his Italian imitation, which means that this was Mouth mouthing off from nervousness 'cause he just couldn't
shut up.
So he laughed nervously with his tongue flappin', and the old lady grabbed it—grabbed his damn tongue!—and pulled a pocketknife
out of her dress and put the blade to that tongue in Mouth and said, “We got one more thing on the menu—tongue. You boys like
tongue?”
We shook our heads fast. That was when I realized this lady was not only trying to scare us off, she was a little nutsy.
She let go of Mouth's tongue with a smile then, like she was just kidding all the time, and walked into the kitchen.
Mouth put his hand to his mouth. I got up to look for a trapdoor or some other place a treasure might be hid. As soon as the
kitchen door closed, Chunk started to talk, but he was interrupted by arguing in the next room.
“But, Ma,” came Jake's voice, “this was supposed to be
our
dinner—”
“Just shut up,” yelled the old woman. “Shut up and do what I told you.”
Data whispered to me, “What about those two guys who came in before us? What happened to them?”
Chunk finally pushed in close and told what he'd been trying to tell us since Mama first crowded us. “Guys, look, if we don't
get outta here now, there's gonna be some kinda hostage crisis,” he whispered. “Out in the garage there's this truck—the same
one I saw this morning—bullet holes in it the size of Big Macs—”
Mouth cut him short, though. “Big Mac, yakkety-yak. Chunk, I'm startin' to O.D. on all your bullshit stories.” I think Mouth
was feeling kind of snappish after the business with his tongue.
Then something else bizarre happened. There was thischurning, bumping, whirring noise echoing through the place like a washing machine having a nervous break-down. Then this
guy started swearing, and there were feet on stairs, and another door flew open, and this guy came stormin' out, spattered
all over with dark green ink, yellin' and stompin' across the room toward the kitchen, holdin' up his hand, which had the
face of a president stamped on the palm, but I'm not sure which president.
“How the hell am I supposed to finish up downstairs with that piece of Smithsonian shit I got to work with?” he shouted.
Then he saw us. That stopped him. He just stared at us for a second, then made a fist with his hand, and another one with
his face, and turned and ran back through the door and slammed it behind him.
Before we could speak, Mama came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of glasses, which she set down on our table. The glasses
were filled with this rusty-orange-colored liquid with these scuzzy little particles floating in it. It looked like something
from a drainage ditch.
She gave us each a glass.
“This supposed to be water?” said Mouth.
“It's wet, ain't it?” the old lady said.
“Yeah, sure—looks great,” said Data.
“Yeah, great mule piss,” said Mouth. He was really pushin' his luck, it seemed
Mama kept talking. “We serve one thing. Fresh Fish Surprise.”
“What kind of fish?” said Chunk. Food could take his mind off anything.
“I said it's a surprise!” shouted Mama, crashing her hand down on the table.
“Okay. Okay. I'll take it,” said Chunk. He looked pretty scared.
I suddenly know she was tryin' to scare us off, so I suddenly didn't think she was really all that scary. Just kinda weird.
And I also thought that if this ugly old lady wanted to scare us away, maybe there
was
gold buried here. So I was more fixed than ever to stay.
“What about the rest of ya?” said Mama.
“Just a glass of water for me,” I said. The other guys all ordered the same. No one knew what to make of this mess.
“Okay, one Surprise and four waters. That it?” she snarled.
“I'd like-a the antipasto salad, the fettucini Alfredo, the-a veal scallopini, and a bottle of Boticelli, 1981.”This was Mouth doing his Italian imitation, which means that this was Mouth mouthing off from nervousness 'cause he just couldn't
shut up.
So he laughed nervously with his tongue flappin', and the old lady grabbed it—grabbed his damn tongue!—and pulled a pocketknife
out of her dress and put the blade to that tongue in Mouth and said, “We got one more thing on the menu—tongue. You boys like
tongue?”
We shook our heads fast. That was when I realized this lady was not only trying to scare us off, she was a little nutsy.
She let go of Mouth's tongue with a smile then, like she was just kidding all the time, and walked into the kitchen.
Mouth put his hand to his mouth. I got up to look for a trapdoor or some other place a treasure might be hid. As soon as the
kitchen door closed, Chunk started to talk, but he was interrupted by arguing in the next room.
“But, Ma,” came Jake's voice, “this was supposed to be
our
dinner—”
“Just shut up,” yelled the old woman. “Shut up and do what I told you.”
Data whispered to me, “What about those two guys who came in before us? What happened to them?”
Chunk finally pushed in close and told what he'd been trying to tell us since Mama first crowded us. “Guys, look, if we don't
get outta here now, there's gonna be some kinda hostage crisis,” he whispered. “Out in the garage there's this truck—the same
one I saw this morning—bullet holes in it the size of Big Macs—”
Mouth cut him short, though. “Big Mac, yakkety-yak. Chunk, I'm startin' to O.D. on all your bullshit stories.” I think Mouth
was feeling kind of snappish after the business with his tongue.
Then something else bizarre happened. There was thischurning, bumping, whirring noise echoing through the place like a washing machine having a nervous break-down. Then this
guy started swearing, and there were feet on stairs, and another door flew open, and this guy came stormin' out, spattered
all over with dark green ink, yellin' and stompin' across the room toward the kitchen, holdin' up his hand, which had the
face of a president stamped on the palm, but I'm not sure which president.
“How the hell am I supposed to finish up downstairs with that piece of Smithsonian shit I got to work with?” he shouted.
Then he saw us. That stopped him. He just stared at us for a second, then made a fist with his hand, and another one with
his face, and turned and ran back through the door and slammed it behind him.
Before we could speak, Mama came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of glasses, which she set down on our table. The glasses
were filled with this rusty-orange-colored liquid with these scuzzy little particles floating in it. It looked like something
from a drainage ditch.
She gave us each a glass.
“This supposed to be water?” said Mouth.
“It's wet, ain't it?” the old lady said.
“Yeah, sure—looks great,” said Data.
“Yeah, great mule piss,” said Mouth. He was really pushin' his luck, it seemed
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