Trembling With Fear 01/21/2018

Death By Barbecue

The heavyset waiter tossed the fourth plate of steak down in the middle of the table. Luke greedily reached over with his fork, dragging a slab of blood-drenched meat onto his plate. There, he began slicing it, rubbing chunks in a thick puddle of mustard before stuffing them into his eager mouth.

He wiped the mixture of blood and butter from his thin lips and grasped a shining, golden chicken leg. He brought it closer and took a huge bite, evoking childhood memories of the Flintstones and brontosaurus burgers. He rotated the leg, gnawing away, in no way perturbed by the grease that was building on his cheeks and in his beard. He cast aside the naked bones and burped obnoxiously.

He looked around to see the reaction of his fellow diners, but the restaurant was empty. Not a soul, waiter aside.

“Is it always this quiet?” he said, barely stifling another violent belch.

The waiter stood, smiling and moving his head, taking in the scene – as close to a battlefield as a restaurant table ever might look.

“Are you enjoying your meal, sir?”

Luke nodded.

“Don’t let me stop you. All you can eat.” The waiter hurried off to the kitchen before he’d even finished speaking, returning with a plate piled high with ribs, the fragrance of chicory, bourbon and pork dancing a few paces ahead of him. He stacked empties to make room and slotted the ribs in, barbecue Tetris played out in front of Luke’s eyes.

The smell was intoxicating, mouth-watering. Luke extended his arm, gripping a huge chunk of rib with both hands. He chomped off mouthfuls of meat and fat, the thick, vibrantly red sauce ingraining itself under his fingernails. He dropped the stripped bone on to his plate and tipped back the bucket-like cola that sat beside his feast, glugging the bubbling, sugary liquid down his throat.

It was only then that he noticed the roiling of his stomach. He reached down with his free hand and felt the vibrations within. An unexpected fart escaped from under him, noisy and moist. His inner voice announced that he’d had enough, but his eyes were fixed on the waiter. He wore a beaming, almost sinister smile as he delivered a tray of chicken skewers. The smell of marinated flesh was pure seduction, Luke fighting and losing as he slid the tender white meat onto his plate and carved through it with his steak knife, heaping it into his mouth and chewing.

A surge of pain ran through his chest as he swallowed, but still he forced the next forkful down, his mandible exhausted from chewing through such enormous quantities of flesh. He was lazily groping for another rib when bold, wall-mounted letters caught his eye ‘Come for lunch, stayed ‘til you’re finished.’

He hadn’t so much as wondered about the slogan as he’d walked in. Nor about the lack of patrons in a high street restaurant. At lunch. On a Saturday.

“Eat,” said the waiter, nodding.

Luke ate.