Chapter 4: House Rules

The trailer had a million views by Thursday.

Second Fire opened at eleven on Thursdays.

By ten-thirty there were four men on the stools and a line out to the curb.

"They're not here for the brisket," Lorrie said, tying on one of Wick's aprons. "They're here for the woman who betrayed the family."

"Then they can buy brisket while they look."

The end stool belonged to a retired contest judge with a white mustache and a cane hooked on the counter.

He'd judged the Riverfront Smoke-Off for twenty years.

He ate one slice of lean and one slice of moist every Thursday and wrote notes on the napkin.

Next to him sat the old fire captain, who'd retired from the station two blocks over and still wore the T-shirt.

Behind the counter the kid scraped hotel pans and sang to himself with earbuds in.

He was sixteen and came after school three days a week, and he called Wick "sir" with his whole chest.

"Play it," the judge said. "I want to see this betrayal everybody's talking about."

"Absolutely not," I said.

The fire captain held up his phone. "Already playing, sweetheart."

They watched it on the counter, heads together, with the volume all the way up.

Brice in slow motion.

Sherrie's ring.

Me on a booth seat with my grandmother's picture in my arms.

"The woman who betrayed the family," said the deep sad voice.

The judge took off his glasses.

"Boo," he said, in a mild voice.

"Boooo," said the fire captain.

The kid pulled out one earbud. "Who are we booing?"

"Kimbroughs," said the captain.

"Not that one," the judge added, pointing his fork at Wick.

"Boo," said the kid, happily, and put his earbud back in.

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