Pork Chops in a Small Town

“Good and greasy grilled pork chops! Get ‘em while they’re hot!” Denny yells at the festival goers. “Always wanted to say that,” he says looking up at his friend Barry.  This is Denny’s first time working a booth for the town’s Fall Festival.

“So enthusiastic,” Barry says to his long-time friend. Barry’s busy with tongs turning over the slabs of bone-in pork chops on the open grill. “I’m hot standing by this grill. It’s one large blazing black iron table. Flames shoot up every time I turn a chop.”

“Hey, boys,” says Barry’s dad, Rich.  Both high school sophomores look up with a grimace. “Sorry, make that young men – no talking, just keep the pork chops and buns coming.”

Rich owns the meat market in town. He opens a food booth for the festival every year.  Good for business.  He keeps it simple.  He sells fresh grilled pork chops on buns with condiments and lot of napkins.

He takes the orders, takes the money and hands over the hot steamy sandwiches to customers. They add ketchup, mustard and onions.  Most prefer to let the chop talk, biting into the super-hot juicy, greasy meat right away.

“Bones still in?” asks every third customer.

“You bet – adds to the flavor,” Rich says.  No one refuses to buy.  The smoky smell of grilled pork in the air along with the wait in a long line has customers accepting the sandwich as is.

Barry looks around at the crowds walking by his dad’s stand, wishing he could be one of them.  Denny is standing and staring out at the people too.

“Fellas! Take a break later.” Rich brings them back to their assembly line tasks.

Barry turns chops, checks to see they’re done, places the brown and slightly blackened ones in the holding zone off to his right when fully cooked. He fills the empty spaces on the grill with fresh pink chops from the metal container to his left.

Denny grabs a fresh cooked pork chop with tongs, drops it into a bun sitting in a small cardboard container.  He passes it to the open table for Rich to pick up and place on the counter for the customer. Napkins available in a holder nearby.

Rich checks a stack of boxes behind the stand to replenish the pork chops in the container near the grill.

“Hey, what the …!” yells Rich. “I just opened these boxes and they’re empty!” Barry joins him to look through the boxes.

“I missed seeing who delivered these boxes.  Did either of you see them?” Rich asks.

“No, our backs were turned,” says Barry.  Denny just shakes his head.

“We’re going to have to shut down this stand until we figure out what happened,” Rich says in disgust. “Sorry folks,” he says turning to the customers, “once we sell these last pork chops, we’re going to shut down.”

Barry has seen his dad red faced and agitated before.  Not a good time to talk to him, but he has to do something about this. “What if Denny and I go look for them?” he says.

“You don’t know who you’re looking for. They could be gone by now. That was a lot of money I invested in pork,” he says hands by his sides starting to curl into fists.

“At least we could try,” says Denny coming to Barry’s defense. “We don’t have any work to do now anyway.”

Practical Denny, thought Barry.  He always makes more sense to my Dad, than I do.

Rich, unconvinced, says, “All right, go.  I’ll take care of things here and keep an eye on what’s left.  I can’t believe it.  Really sorry folks, “he says turning back to the customers.

Barry and Denny run off.

“Nice to get away from there, even if it’s for a bad reason,” says Barry at six feet, loping along.

“Where are we going?” asks Denny keeping up with short but fast strides. Denny hasn’t begun to grow, looking more like a sixth grader instead of a high school sophomore. He makes sure size doesn’t matter by working out at the community gym three nights a week.

I think we’ll try the warehouse where the meat was supposed to come from,” says Barry.

Flying past the food booths, Denny dodges people strolling along while Barry leaps over small children.

“What’s your hurry? Look out! I’m calling the police!” festival goers shout as the teens race by. They turn right at the next street whizzing past arts and crafts booths causing the same upset.  At the end of the street are barriers that block off the festival area from traffic.

“Clear!” they shout as they leap over the hurdles together.  Laughter as they land and run.

“You keep up pretty well,” says Barry.

“Just practicing for when I get taller than you,” says Denny grinning.

With the warehouse in sight, they make for the wide garage door which is partially open.  Ducking under the door they stop. There’s a group of five guys a few years older than them. Most have beards and are smoking. They recognize only one – the son of a crafter who has a shop in town.

Breathing hard, Barry says, “I know you. What’s your name? You’re not supposed to be smoking in here.”

“Jim,” says Full Beard from the group, “Who are these guys, what are they doing here? I thought you said…”

“Shut up,” says Jim to Full Beard. “What’re you little boys doing here?” he asks Barry and Denny.

“Asked you first,” says Barry hands in fists.

Denny looks around the warehouse.  He spots a pallet of boxes with ‘Meat - Keep Frozen’ printed on the sides of the boxes. They’re near an open back door. Through the door he sees the side of a blue vehicle.

“There’s our pork chops. What’re you going to do with those?” he asks.

“Look at Squeaky here,” says another bearded guy in a green shirt. “I’ll take care of him. One of you other guys take Tall B---oyyy!”

Green Shirt, tackled low by Denny, falls backwards to the cement floor. Green Shirt’s head cracks hard as it hits.

Barry punches Jim in the gut.  Jim doubles over and Barry gives him a punch to the jaw. The punch sends Jim staggering back with a groan.

The other three toss their cigarettes to the floor and run for the open side door. Vehicle doors slam shut, engine revs up as tires are forced to spin and squeal backwards.  Only they don’t get far.

Police cars silently pull up at that moment.  Officers are out quickly with weapons drawn. “Hands up where we can see ‘em!” shouts one.

Denny untangles himself from Green Shirt who is moaning with tears running down his face.  Standing up, he says to the two officers who are in the door of the warehouse, “We found the pork chops these guys were stealing.”

“Stay where you are, hands where we can see ‘em.  We got a report about two teenagers running people over in the street.  Someone saw two teens enter this building.  Are you one of them?” says the first police officer.

“Yes sir,” says Denny, hands open and out to his sides like he’s about to do jumping jacks.

Barry, fists now open and out to his sides, stands away from Jim. The second officer closest to Barry says, “Both of you guys running down the street jumping over little children?”

“Just me sir,” says Barry.  He points at the groaning Jim. “He and his friends are trying to steal my Dad’s pork chops.  Empty boxes were delivered to my Dad’s booth.  We ran here to find out what’s going on. There’s the meat over by the door.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump over kids, but we were in a hurry and…”

“Enough for now,” says the second officer.

Another officer enters the warehouse. “Check the pallet of boxes by the door.  May be a robbery in progress,” says the first officer.

Later, stories told and sorted out by the police, Barry and Denny return to Rich’s booth, boxes of fresh pork chops on a dolly. No customers around.

Rich tries hard to keep a gruff face, but his voice gives him away. “You guys get everything straightened out? Running and jumping over children, punching and tackling bad guys – I see you found my pork chops! I’m proud of you both!  Minus jumping over little children.”

Barry and Denny are happy he’s happy. The worst trouble could come from him, not the police. “Get back to work, here come the customers,” Rich says.

“Guess that was our break,” says Barry.