Arcade Catastrophe
Page 8

The restaurant was fairly busy. Diners milled about, selecting food from counters protected by sneeze guards. Much of the food was kept warm in steam trays. The waitress guided the Battiatos to a padded booth that curved two-thirds of the way around a table. It looked just the right size for a party of six.
Knowing he would head to the buffet later, Nate had eaten a small breakfast. The sight of all the food had his stomach rumbling.
Ziggy motioned for the kids to scoot in. Victor sat at one end of the curved bench, Ziggy at the other.
“Have you eaten here before?” the hostess asked.
“Not this particular establishment,” Victor said. “But believe me, we know the drill.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”
Food first?” Ziggy asked generally.
“Sure,” Trevor seconded.
“I could eat,” Nate said.
Victor and Ziggy stood up in unison. Ziggy rolled his head in a slow circle, making his neck pop. Victor noisily cracked his knuckles, surveying the restaurant stoically.
Ziggy nodded at Victor. “It’s showtime.”
Nate bit his lip to stifle a laugh.
Nate and the others followed Victor and Ziggy over to the food counters. Pigeon collected a chilled plate and began putting lettuce onto it.
“What are you doing?” Nate asked him.
“I’ve come here before,” Pigeon said. “I guess salad first is a habit.”
“No parents today,” Nate reminded his friend. “You can get anything.”
Shrugging, Pigeon added croutons and some ranch dressing, then grabbed a roll and a couple of squares of butter. “I don’t mind salad. I’ll get other stuff later.”
Nate filled his first plate with fries and tater tots, putting plenty of ketchup and ranch on the side. He had to look around for a moment to find the forks and napkins. Then he returned to the table.
Ziggy stood beside the table, his pair of plates heaped with hot wings, thinly sliced prime rib, and lamb skewers. He chuckled as Nate slid down the bench next to Pigeon. “Rookie mistake.”
“What?” Nate asked, glancing over at the husky man.
“You’re loading up on fries,” Ziggy said. “Your friend has salad and bread. That’s all filler. Like soda. You have to save room for the good stuff.”
Victor approached the table, his plates heavy with meat. He stood aside so Pigeon could enter the booth next to Summer. Once the four kids were seated, Ziggy and Victor took their places at the ends.
Ziggy stared across at Victor’s plates. “I missed the bacon-wrapped turkey.”
“Which is why I brought enough for both of us,” Victor replied, giving some to his brother. “I told you not to rush. A good general surveys his battlefield.”
“I found good grub,” Ziggy said, trading plates with his brother.
“You guys take this pretty seriously,” Nate commented.
“This is our domain,” Ziggy said, indicating the room with his fork. “We were made for this.”
“Welcome to the big show,” Victor said, taking a large bite of prime rib.
“Not bad,” Ziggy said, licking his lips.
“Why don’t you get started so I can find out?” Victor complained.
“Wait,” Trevor asked, brow furrowed, “why does he have to start for you to find out?”
“And why did you guys switch plates?” Summer wondered.
“That’s an observant question,” Ziggy said, stabbing a chunk of bacon-wrapped turkey with his fork. He deposited the greasy morsel into his mouth.
Victor nodded appreciatively, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. “Our enemies know, so you can as well. Ziggy and I share an unusual connection. I taste only what he tastes and I smell only what he smells. The food I eat nourishes me, but he gets all the sensations.”
“Vice versa for me,” Ziggy said. “If I want to try the wings, Victor has to eat them.”
“Weird,” Pigeon said. “What about sight and hearing?”
“Thankfully we see and hear for ourselves,” Victor said. “Otherwise it would be complicated. We sometimes get brief glimpses of what the other sees or hears. Flashes.”
“But you can’t smell or taste for yourselves,” Pigeon said.
“Not a bit,” Ziggy said.
“It’s no picnic when he uses the restroom,” Victor confided.
“Hey,” Ziggy complained, waving his hands. “We’re trying to eat here!”
Nate had a tough time resisting the urge to laugh. He tried not to make eye contact with Summer, Trevor, or Pigeon; based on their muffled giggles, he figured it would only make him erupt.
Pigeon was the first to recover. “What about touch?” he asked.
“We feel pressure for ourselves,” Victor said, “but pain is like odors. The other guy senses it.”
“If I get injured,” Ziggy said, “my body suffers the damage, but he feels the pain.”
“Takes most of the fun out of punching him,” Victor remarked.
“We can also share certain physical attributes,” Ziggy said. “It’s hard to explain, easier to demonstrate. You’ll catch on.”
“We digress,” Victor said, taking a bite from a sparerib drenched in barbecue sauce. “The main event is being neglected.”
“Sorry,” Ziggy said. “Let’s take care of business. We’ll talk after.”
Both men plowed into their food, making the meat promptly disappear. They didn’t eat messily, but they didn’t waste much time, either. Skewers and bones were piled neatly. Nate wasn’t halfway through his fries before Victor and Ziggy were returning to the food counters.
“Those guys can eat,” Summer said.
“I feel bad for the owner,” Trevor said. “I have a feeling the Battiatos usually get more than they pay for at places like this.”
The brothers came back loaded up with Chinese food, including stir fry, pot stickers, egg rolls, and orange chicken. “Not much seafood,” Victor commented as they sat. “Too bad.”
“I saw some decent Italian,” Ziggy replied, switching plates with his brother.
“You don’t want the Italian in a joint like this,” Victor scolded.
“I’ll do meatballs and lasagna anywhere,” Ziggy replied.
They attacked their food vigorously. When the plates were empty, they stared at each other. “Feeling warmed up?” Victor asked.