Off the Clock by Brett Battles Page A

to the front door, he could hear the karaoke machine playing a Thai pop song. He could even tell Ice was singing. She was one of his favorites, a waitress some nights, in charge of music on the others. Though her voice was a little nasal and high-pitched, she could carry a tune. Of course it helped that she was both kind and cute.
    Hell, all of the waitresses at Taste of Siam were kind and cute. It was one of the reasons he liked going there so much. Beautiful, no. You had to go eat at another Thai restaurant, Chan Dara, for that. But Quinn would take cute over beautiful any day of the week.
    Here he could partake in a little mindless flirting that would never amount to anything, and it worked well with his otherwise solitary existence.
    The moment he opened the door, he was greeted with “ Khun Jonathan! How are you?” from Natt behind the bar. Two other waitresses—Lek and Won—rushed over from the other half of the restaurant, smiling.
    “ Sawadee ka ,” they said.
    “ Sawadee khrap ,” he replied.
    Even Ice gave him a wave as she continued to sing.
    It was the kind of attention a man in his job usually shied away from. But this was the one place he allowed it. An escape from his personal reality.
    Taste of Siam wasn’t large. Basically, it consisted of two rectangular rooms side by side with a half wall dividing them. Neither section was more than fourteen-feet wide. The first was home to a small bar on one side, and a few seldom used tables on the other. The back third of this rectangle was walled off and served as the kitchen. The only things walled off in the second section were the two bathrooms in the back. Otherwise, it was filled with ten tables and the elaborate karaoke set-up in the front window along Sunset.
    When Quinn walked in there were two people sitting at the bar, and a dozen or so sitting at tables in the other section. Knowing if he sat at a table, he would just stew and allow his anger to escalate, he took one of the remaining two stools at the bar.
    “Why you not come for a long time?” Natt asked as she filled a glass with Singha beer and set it in front of him. That’s what he liked about this place. He didn’t have to tell them what he wanted.
    “Been away on business,” he said. Partially true, but mostly he knew he couldn’t afford to come here as often as he would like. Habits in his kind of life were a bad idea.
    “You work too hard.”
    He smiled but said nothing as he took a sip.
    “You eat or just beer tonight?” she asked.
    “Always eat. You know that.”
    She did, but she always asked him.
    “ Pad kee mao? ”
    He shook his head. “ Panang moo .”
    “Okay. Panang moo. Rice, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    She disappeared into the kitchen.
    This is exactly what I needed, he thought, feeling his tension fall away. The screwed-up job didn’t seem so important now. They happened now and again. He tended to forget that.
    In the other part of the restaurant, Ice was walking around with the microphone, urging customers to join in on ABBA’s “Mamma Mia” to little success. Quinn looked over as he took another sip of the beer. When she noticed him, she held the microphone up, suggesting maybe he should try.
    With a laugh, he shook his head. There was a twinkle in her eye, asking him again, almost daring him to give it a go. But before he could even respond, the front door opened, and the smile on Ice’s face vanished.
    Ever the professional, Quinn casually turned back around, glancing at the new arrival as he did.
    The man who had entered was five-foot-seven, Caucasian, with well-groomed hair and a salesman’s smile. He wasn’t bulky, but he had the look of a guy who went to the gym just enough so that he could admire his body in the mirror.
    Just then the kitchen door opened and Natt walked out carrying a plate of chicken satay. She nearly skipped a step when she saw the man. If he noticed, he didn’t let on.
    “Hi, Natt,” he said. “How’re you doing