Anything Can Be Dangerous by Matt Hults Read Free Book Online Page B

genuine.
    A moment later Ron stepped up to join
them, trying to think of something that would downplay Greg’s
excitement until they’d viewed the entire property, and when the
realtor faced him there was no mistaking the way their eyes locked.
Her smile of sincerity returned and she instantly dropped Greg’s
hand.
    “ And you’re Mr. Caldmond,
correct?”
    In her business-minded clothing, she
looked like an office intern who’s college diploma was still a year
or two away.
    “ Pleased to meet you, Mrs.
Thomas,” Ron replied, purposely emphasizing the prefix.
    Her hand slipped neatly into his,
smooth and dainty, but slightly chilled. It lingered there a
heartbeat longer than what might’ve been considered professionally
courteous.
    “ Miss, actually,” she
corrected.
    Behind her, Greg placed his hands
together and mouthed ‘thank you’ to the sky.
    Ron pretended not to see. He
acknowledged the realtor’s smile with a polite one of his own, then
pivoted away from both of them in an attempt to get things back on
course.
    He gestured to the restaurant. “So the
bank is only asking for payment of the back taxes, is that
right?”
    The girl looked up at it. “Yes. Due to
the fire…”
    They started walking toward the
building. “Greg mentioned that. May I ask what
happened?”
    “ Arson,” she said, glancing
between the both of them. “The previous owner tried to burn it
down, possibly as an insurance scam. It was the biggest news story
the town paper has reported in ages.”
    “ Nice,” Greg commented.
“Free publicity!”
    At the door, Wendy entered her
security code on the digital lock that secured the two door handles
together and the device unclasped.
    Ron and Greg both took a
handle.
    Together, they pulled the twin doors
open.
    Their eager shadows leapt inside the
room ahead of them, a trio of jet-black explorers in an even
blacker realm of darkness. Having all the other windows covered,
the spacious main chamber exuded the ambiance of an empty
mausoleum. The predominant smell of smoke hung wraithlike in the
air.
    “ Oh, I forgot,” Wendy said,
then reached to extract a small—
    Greg flipped a switch on the wall and
the overhead lights clicked on.
    — flashlight from her jacket
pocket.
    She glanced around.
    “ Juice works!” Greg
cheered.
    They stood before the main dining
area.
    Dozens of heaped tables and chairs
lined the walls to either side, no doubt pushed aside by the
responding firemen on the night of the blaze, but all the permanent
structures remained in place—booths, condiment counter, waste
bins—and Ron immediately recognized the familiar floor plan typical
of any fast-food restaurant, one designed with the intent of
facilitating an easy flow from the ordering counter to the seating
area, thus maximizing turn over at the registers.
    Wendy cleared her throat. “As you can
see, all the related equipment is included. Everything from the
kitchen appliances, to whatever toilet paper is left hanging in the
bathrooms. Let me show you the work area…”
    With a tap of his shoe, Ron set the
rubber door-stoppers in place and proceeded inside. They crossed
the tiled floor and passed through a partition in the far right
side of the main service counter, moving behind the bank of cash
registers.
    “ Feed the Customer… Obey
the Rules!” Greg said.
    Ron and Wendy both halted in their
tracks and faced him.
    “ What?” Ron
asked.
    Greg pointed to a sign affixed to the
wall beside the counter. “Must be a mission statement or something,
huh?”
    Resuming the tour, they migrated to
the kitchen.
    There, several overhead lights
flickered in erratic bursts, their plastic diffusers hanging open.
Rows of various stainless steel appliances lined the walls, veiled
in streaks of soot and grease that reminded Ron of sunken ships
overcome by rust.
    Wendy pointed out the coolers, mixers,
meat-slicers, microwaves, gas ovens, deep-fryers, hot-plates, and
heat-lamps. The grill alone looked as long as one