Rogers - Into the Lions Den

Into the Lion's Den

by

Tionne Rogers

COPYRIGHT 2011 by Ins A. Toledo

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any meanswhether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic, without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles or reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Image: Lions' study by Albrecht Drer.

ISBN: 978-1-4467-3485-8

To Stacey Jo,

who made the magic flow through its proper course.

To Higashi,

who encouraged me to work with her good advise.

To my family and their incredible patience.

September 25th, 2001

Buenos Aires

You owe me big time, Vero. Big time. The light brown, almost blond boy sighed when he saw the big bakery truck parked at the door, the driver already upset that he was coming in time and not ten minutes earlier as the man would have preferred. Hi, Mr. Fernndez. I'll get it open in two minutes.

About time, blondie. Hurry up. I'm freezing out here! the delivery man scoffed through his chewing gum.

Just a second. I'll get the alarm off, Guntram sighed as he unlocked the employees entrance and quickly typed the security code. Ready.

Can you give me a hand, boy? My back is giving me troubles today.

Yes, no problem.

Great. Grab those trays with the croissants and then the bags with the bread. I'll take care of the cakes, the man jovially said, glad that Guntram had agreed to do most of his work.

Don't run away because I have to check the things. Martin counts up to the last piece of bread and charges me if something is missing.

Yeah, he's quite an asshole. Believes he's better than the rest of us because he's the super clever manager.

Hope they kick him out or at least make him eat his University books.

Hey, I go there too. I want to be one of those assholes in the banks, Guntram joked and picked up a large bag filled with crispy baguettes.

No way! You couldn't fire your mother like those assholes would.

That's because I have no mother.

Shit! Sorry kid. I didn't mean it.

That's OK. Don't sweat on it. It's been years ago, Guntram replied softly but sadly smiling. Nothing left over? I could have breakfast.

Some donuts from yesterday. Still tasty and almost fresh. If I would have known it was you today, I would have brought something good along.

Last minute change of plans, Guntram shrugged at the delivery man. Wait a few minutes and I can get you a coffee to go.

No, thanks. I have more deliveries to do. Bye, kid.

Good-bye. See you in three days.

Ten minutes to eight, Guntram had the tables ready, the coffee machine cleaned, as the night shift had not done it, the cakes artistically set in the refrigeratorbut he preferred that Martina would slice themthe lights on and was waiting for his colleagues and the first customers. One of the waiters, Luis, rushed in, nearly tripping over the chairs, thinking that he was already late.

Hey, it took me half an hour to put everything in place! Guntram protested while he was setting the cups on the boards, still hot from the dishwasher.

Shit! he cursed, rubbing his pained knee. Thought the Asshole was here.

No, Vernica called in sick last night.

And he went to play the gynaecologist?

Don't be vulgar. She's a lady. Guntram growled deeply upset that his co-worker was so rude.

Fuck Guntram. She's a little vixen like many others around here. Look at you. Two big tears and you're playing the slave for her. Bet she's still getting all the good tips from your side. Welcome to the real life, not the posh school you were going. You have to grow a thicker skin. No one says please and thank you like you do. A lady?

Pleeeeaasee!

I'm doing a favour for her. That's the minimum any man would do in any case.

Smarten up Guntram. From where I come from, you'd better have the dagger out before your neighbour does. You're no longer in St. George's with the mighty princes.

Still, it doesn't give you the right to be rude to her.

Grow up and get your feet on the ground because none of your fancy friends give a shit about you. You have no money or connections and the best you could get was this job.

I think you should better start to work because there is a customer at your table, Guntram answered back while he set the porcelain cups on the board with more strength than necessary.

The rest of the morning was uneventful, with the exception of Vernica coming to work at 9:30 and telling Guntram that he was a saint for filling in for her; a real sweet. She started to get her apron neatly done under his baffled stare as the girl seemed to be in perfectly good health when last night she was coughing like Marguerite Gautier.

If you would fuck her at least! Luis whispered when he passed by Guntram's side while the lad was busy organizing his tray and earned a really dirty look from the fair boy.

Vernica saw immediately the strange foreigner that had come twice in a row, always sitting on Guntram's side and leaving very good tips; more than twenty dollars for a twenty-five dollar order. Guti, can I have the guy over there? She batted her long eyelashes to add more realism to her plea.

Sure. I have my hands full with seven grannies having tea at table thirty-four, Guntram shrugged as he continued to pile cups and small dishes filled with amoretti biscuits over his tray for the aforementioned table.

Thanks, you're an angel! She flashed him a smile and went to the foreigner's table swagging her hips.

Thanks, you're an angel. Luis imitated her false light voice. Can you take the trash out for me too?

Shut up! I'm trying to work, he mumbled, cursing softly as he had forgotten if the granny with the green pullover wanted orange or strawberry jam with her toasts.

On top, she crapped you with the old ladies! That was her table. Those witches don't leave a single cent and drive you nuts. I bet they're retired schoolteachers.

Are you finished?

Yeah.

Wise ass, Guntram mumbled again as this was turning out to be a really bad day and he had still six more hours to survive.

The old ladies and the two other businessmen he served didn't trouble him much and when he was back at the counter asking for the bill for table number twenty-eight, Vernica loudly set her tray over the wooden surface.

Fucking asshole! she half shouted, her head pointing toward the tall, dark haired man, sitting in his area and looking completely displeased in a rather unnerving way.

What's up?

After serving him for two days, that asshole decided to speak only fucking French! Already sent me back with my orders twice. I don't understand a fucking word he says. I gave him what he ordered yesterday.

Calm down Vernica. I'll ask him what he wants and then you can bring it to him and come back to his good graces.

He's a fucking gay, Guntram! That's gross!

Vernica, we are in Santa F Avenue in case you didn't notice. The largest concentration of them in all Buenos Aires. I have no problems with them as long as they're polite.

Good luck with the twerp. You'll need it!

Guntram gulped as he hated to speak French. His deceased parents had been French and he could speak it as his nanny had been an old French lady who had taught him, but he had forgotten it over the years, mostly because of the sad memories the words brought back to his mind.

Bonjour Monsieur, Qu'est-ce que vous dsirez? He said very curtly as he was somewhat irked with the way the stranger's dark eyes were looking at him, making him feel vulnerable and exposed.