Ch. 43 – Fresh Catch Kitchen

The shopkeeper beckoned them to sit down at one of her outside tables. She was a chubby woman, and tall, with wispy brown hair, and ruddy skin, that seemed like it would burn easily. Despite her size, she pulled out their chairs, and guided Derrick and Xavier towards them, with the grace of a ballroom dancer. “Now I haven’t seen you two around here. You feeling hungry?”

She pushed a glossy paper menu into Derrick’s hands. It didn’t have a single stain or tear on it.

“I’m Bettie, the proud owner of Fresh Catch Kitchen, and I’ll be your server for today. What can I get you?”

“Well, uh, we’re just taking a look around,” Derrick said, clearing his throat. “So what’s the specialty around this restaurant?

“We only serve real Louisiana cookin’: none of that fast food that’s all over the place around these parts. And we have plenty of low calorie options, too.”

“Louisiana?” Xavier said in falsetto. He fluffed his wig a bit too obnoxiously. Hopefully the adhesive would hold together. “I have a cousin who lives down there. She makes a meannn shrimp po’boy.”

“Well, she might be good, but she ain’t never tasted mine.” The restaurateur tapped on the menu. “Buttered French bread, toasted to perfection. Not too much butter, mind you, but enough for the flavor.”

“That sounds nice and all,” Derrick said, “but I realized I’m not too hungr—“ Wait, this restaurateur seemed like the nosy sort. If they were going to get information on the apartment’s residents, an opportunity had just beckoned them on over and welcomed them to sit down. “Actually, sure. I could go for a snack. Is there anything else on the menu you’d recommend?”

“What’s going on over there?” Maxine hissed through the earpiece. “I’ve triangulated your location to a failing restaurant.”

Derrick pretended to cough, and turned around, facing away from Xavier and Bettie. “Failing?” he whispered, as the other two talked on the finer points of shrimp po’boy.

“Yeah, her shop barely gets any customers, relative to the other restaurants in Dixieland. The other restaurants are mostly fast food chains, though. Maybe she’s out of her element.”

Maxine was right. Both sides of the street were dotted with fast food chains: the same type you might find in other parts of the city. “Right, well anyways. I’m trying to get information on the people who live in that apartment,” Derrick said.

“Look at you, mister super spy. That’s a good idea. I’ll be listening in, so be prepared for suggestions, and think quick.”

The shopkeeper tapped a few times on her tablet, which seemed small in her hands. “Perfect, I’ve got you down for the shrimp po’boy and a Long Island Iced Tea. And for you, sir?” She glanced at Derrick.

“Uh . . . .” The menu was well-designed, but there were so many choices:

Catfish and sweet baked potatoes 2560 calories Crispy beer-battered fish 1000 calories Brandy-glazed carrots 201 calories Pork pot roast 856 calories Shrimp po’boy 750 calories

The Shrimp po'boy was on the cheaper side, as well.

Derrick pointed at the colorful menu entry. “I’ll have a shrimp po’boy as well, please.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Just water. With a lemon wedge, maybe.”

“Alllrighty then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Bettie turned around and glided around a table, back towards the inside of her restaurant, just as Derrick was about to start probing to see what she knew of the apartment building. Shit, if she’s in there the whole time, we won’t be able to get any information. Quick, say something to imply you’re a diner who’s hungry for conversation! Should it be a personal question? But what to say, so I don’t come off as a creepy stalker? Bettie stopped in her tracks as Derrick called out, his hoarse voice sounding more like a donkey than anything.

“Um, thanks, Bettie. Please, tell us more about the dishes when you bring the food out.” The corners of Derrick’s eyes crinkled uncomfortably as he forced a smile.

Bettie smiled back, but her eyebrows arched questioningly. “Of . . . course? I’d be happy to.”

After Bettie swung the glass door to her restaurant open and disappeared into, it, Xavier tapped Derrick’s shoulder like a middle school boy might when he saw something stupidly funny.

“Damn, you a chubby chaser, huh?”

“No—that’s not what I was . . . forget it.”

Not too long after, Bettie came back out with their drinks.

“Here’s your Long Island Iced Tea,” she said, setting Xavier’s drink down in the perfect position, slightly to the right of him. “And your water,” she said, doing the same for Derrick. The glass had a thin layer of condensation on it, but there was no water spilling over the edge. And the lemon wedge she had provided was delicately split on the edge of the glass, with not a single seed in it. The shopkeeper really had an eye for detail. Which meant she’d probably have the same attention for sharing information, or choosing not to share it.

“So, how long have you been running this restaurant, Bettie?” Derrick asked.

Bettie smiled. “Oh, not too long. Just ever since my husband and I moved here to New Shore City.”

“Where did you guys come from?” Xavier asked.

“Why, Louisiana of course!” Bettie exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. “Can’t you tell by the menu?”

Bettie certainly seemed out of place in the grungy city. She had a sort of laid-back feel, as if she was walking at her own pace, while everyone else rushed past her, absorbed in their own lives. “That’s a long way to move,” Derrick said.

“Well, you probably heard what happened a few years back. One of the biggest hurricanes in decades hit the Louisiana coast. We thought it was going to be a normal evacuation, but, oh gosh, it was a bad one.”

“Back some years ago, right?” Derrick asked. “We had big superstorms back then too, in 2027.”

Bettie fanned herself with her hands. “Oh gosh, even remembering it has me all anxious. It felt like the whole world was falling apart back then.”

‘It still kinda is falling apart,’ Derrick thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. “That must have been a tough transition. Do you live here in Dixieland now?”

“Oh yeah, I live on the floor above the restaurant. The noise used to bother me, but it’s kind of comforting now. I can’t say I’ll ever be a city gal, though.”

“Your neighbors treating you okay?” Derrick asked

“I can’t complain. I’ll tell you what, though, it is nice having people from Louisiana around. I thought it was going to be just us, and a few other families that moved up here to work on the docks, but there are quite a few more of us Louisianians living in that high rise over there.” She pointed at the building where the device that was logged into Xavier’s account lay.

“Oh, really? Is it a nice place? I was actually checking out the real estate prices around this area,” Derrick said.

Bettie raised an eyebrow. “You’re looking for a place in Dixieland?”

“Not necessarily here per say, but around the area.”

“Ahhh.” Bettie smiled at Derrick and Xavier, who was blowing bubbles into his Long Island Iced tea. “Looking for a love nest for the two of you? You’ve come to the right gal, then. I had to struggle through this whole process when I was trying to open my restaurant. New Shore City is far more expensive than the land back in Louisiana used to be. But Dixieland’s probably in the cheaper half. To be honest with you, that’s the whole reason why I moved in here, and probably why the other Louisianians did too. Now, where are you two from?”

“I’m from around Orchard Lane,” Xavier said.

“I’m from Chinatown,” Derrick said, seeing no point in hiding it.

“That’s far away from here!” Bettie exclaimed. “Why, you probably pay less rent per square foot than I do.”

“Well apparently my landlord doesn’t know that,” Derrick remarked. They both had a throaty laugh, and Derrick cried a little at the end because it was true.

“Anyhow, the high rise is one of the more affordable places to live around here.”

“Oh, right,” Derrick said. “We saw a poster near the front of the building saying that there was an open house for couples going on. Do you think we could follow them around for a tour of the building.”

“Ohhh no, honey, that ended last week. They’re still doing tours now, but it’s by appointment only.”

Xavier looked up from his drink and swore under his breath, stomping his foot on Derrick’s under the table.

At the same time, Derrick thought he could hear poorly suppressed sniggering from Maxine over the earpiece.

Fuck! How are we supposed to get in now? But wait, I think Bettie might just be friendly enough for this to work. “Say, do you think you could give us a tour of the high rise, after we eat?” Derrick asked. “I’ve been meaning to look around the interiors to get a feel for what the shared spaces are like, but I haven’t had the chance yet.”

“I don’t live there myself, and I don’t have a key, but . . .” Bettie tapped her lip with a finger. My youngest son is about to go visit his friend who lives there. The parents are out, but we can follow him inside the building. Not inside their apartment, of course, but at least you two could get a look at the shared spaces. Besides, I think they have their ‘open house for new couples’ or something like that going on, so you won’t be a bother to the staff there.”

Derrick smiled. “That’s very kind of you to offer. Could you take us right after we’re finished eating?”

“Well sure! My son’s a real slowpoke, so it might be a while still—the child takes much too long in the shower. We can sit and chat for a while. I don’t usually get customers from outside Dixieland; we ought to take advantage of the opportunity!”

“That sounds good to me,” Derrick said.

#

The ‘Louisiana classics’ were pretty darn good. Derrick didn’t seek out regional American food, but they were fun to try out from time to time. The food that Bettie served, while fried, was also fried delicately, and lacked the excessive grease and fat that usually came with fried food.

The presentation was careful, and the food came with sizeable piles of vegetables, which were juicy and generously seasoned.

It wasn’t quite a balanced meal, but it seemed like it was attempting to be one.

“That was quite good,” Derrick said, wiping his mouth as Bettie came back to the table to check on them.

“I’m glad you liked it!” Bettie said. “Are you two all full? Or would you like to look at our desert menu?”

“I’m pretty full, I’d say. Could you bring two separate bills, please?” Derrick said.

“Certainly,” she said, stacking a few plates and bringing them back inside.

Derrick leaned over to Xavier and whispered in his ear. “We’re each paying for our own portion, okay?”

“What? I’m supposed to be your ‘girlfriend,’ right?. You should be buying me food.”

Derrick raised an eyebrow. “Do you buy your girlfriends food?”

“No man, that’s how you spoil a bitch.”

“Well then, I guess we’re going dutch.”

Bettie came back with the tablet she used to place their orders, and Derrick and Xavier each tapped their phones on the tablet’s interface to pay.

The pre-populated tip choices of 15%, 20%, 25%, and also ‘Custom’ showed up on Derrick’s phone screen. Bettie looked away, as was only proper, to avoid pressuring the customer.

Derrick tapped ‘Custom,’ and entered in a value of 18%. It was a fair tip for a full service lunch. Going any lower would have been unfair to Bettie, but going any higher would’ve been unfair to Derrick’s wallet. Even though it was an investment in his current job, Bettie needed to pay rent, too, so paying a fair price for the meal was important.

“Now, what do the both of ya’ll do for a living?” Bettie asked.

Maxine had them come up with some basic background for their characters, so Derrick could recite from memory; his own character’s name was Kevin. “I do odd-jobs,” Derrick said. “I’m currently contracted to the city for sanitation and street cleaning. And she does some part time work at coffee shops.”

“Oh, really?” Bettie said.

They chatted a bit more about the state of the city’s sanitation and cleanliness. Derrick got by off the observations he had made on in his brief forays into New Shore City to get things sterilized, but most of his knowledge was stale. Xavier wasn’t making things any easier, as he liked to interject with coffee shop customer service nightmare stories that were obviously made up, or possibly true, but rather outlandish. Before Bettie could ask questions that were any more involved, Derrick changed the topic.

“So, what were you and your husband doing back in Louisiana, before the storm?”

“Oh! Yes of course, I didn’t mention that, did I?” Bettie said. She had pulled a chair up to their table, and was leaning back into it, with an iced tea in hand. “My husband worked in the shrimping industry. He worked independently some times, and other times on another captain’s boat, but it was usually decent money back then. We were lucky, since shrimping as a whole was going downhill.”

“And what is he doing now?” Derrick asked. “Shrimping in New Shore City? They re-built the docks here around the same time as you guys moved over, didn’t they?” And where was her husband, actually? If he was in with the Dixies, he might know a thing or two about how the apartment was laid out. Derrick glanced through the restaurant’s windows, but there was no movement.

“Yes, they did rebuild the New Shore City docks right around then!” Bettie said. “That was the whole reason we moved over, actually. When that damn storm blew our house down, and destroyed the infrastructure in Louisiana—and everyone’s boats—we were looking all over the country to try and find a new job for him. The money from my first restaurant helped a bit, but it wasn’t enough on its own.”

“So this isn’t your first restaurant?” Derrick asked.

“Oh no, my first one did a lot better, actually! ” Bettie said, waving her hand. She leaned in and winked. “I even won some awards in the local newspaper for Best Restaurant, and Best Healthy Eats. Even my sons liked my cooking, and they almost reached their target BMI—according to the doctor. But it’s been a lot harder in the city. Too much fast food everywhere—“ Bettie paused, and looked back at her restaurant as the bell rang and the door opened. “Oh, there’s my little boy! Took your sweet time in the shower, didn’t you?”

Bettie held out her arms, and her son slung his backpack over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He was a large-looking middle-schooler, not particularly tall, but chubby, like his mother. Despite his seeming reluctance, he pushed his glasses up, and then navigated through the wrought-iron tables and chairs over to Bettie to give her a hug.

“He’s a good boy, but he’s gotten a little fat,” she whispered conspiratorially, as she rubbed her son’s head.

“Mom! Stop talking about me to your customers,” her son hissed, pushing his mother’s hand off his head.

“How about you stop eating a whole hamburger and fries for a midnight snack?” Bettie said.

“Mom, stop it! Mommmmm—“ the kid whined, before his gaze landed on Derrick’s face. Kids’ faces were always the most honest. The fear. The disgust. The judging eyes. “Whoa, what happened to your face?”

Derrick recoiled back and covered his face with his hand. “Nothing, it’s just how I look.” His neck was itchy all of a sudden, and it took all of his willpower to avoid scratching it and making the scars worse.

“Tommie!” Bettie yelled. “Don’t you talk to people that way!” She smacked her son in the back of his head. Derrick winced at the ‘whump.’ Bettie’s intricately designed wedding band looked like it was particularly painful. “Apologize to the nice man, now.”

“Okay.” Tommie said, rubbing his head where he had been hit. He pushed his glasses up and looked at Derrick’s face. His curious eyes showed through the gaps in Derrick’s fingers, and the boy craned his neck trying to make eye contact, before giving up. “Sorry I said that.”

“It’s okay,” Derrick said. His grotesque lips felt bloated as he spoke the words. His misshapen cheekbones seemed to strain against his skin as he slapped himself, trying to snap out of the funk. “That’s just how I look. Nothing’s wrong.” He forced a smile.

“Well, now!” Bettie said, standing and ushering her son towards the street. “Let’s get a move on, shall we? I said I would show you around the high rise, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, if you could, please,” Derrick said, getting up and pushing his own chair in. “Come on, let’s head on over.”

Bettie lead the way towards the front of the apartment building, and the four of them walked towards it.