How much did he pay?” Kevin said, face brightening up in the way faces brighten up on some people when they think they have hit on a brilliant idea that will save the day. “We can work out what he ordered from how much he paid.”
You know the look. The eyes all wide and the mouth staying open even after the words have been said because the dude is waiting for everyone to pat him on the back and congratulate his genius before he can shut his trap.
When no round of applause is forthcoming, he repeats himself. Louder. With the words “as in” and “you get”.
“As in the money he paid can be used to calculate how much his bill was so we can know what he ordered. You get?”
Silence sat on the kitchen air like a fat hairy cat as it finally dawned on everyone that the idea they had been waiting for all this time they had been a stupid one.
Everyone except Kevin. “As in you take his bill, you get…”
“Dude, he paid with a 10k note. Shush,” snapped Belinda.
Suddenly there as a creak and a whooshing sound. Belinda rolled her eyes to say “Oh shit.” Because she realized what had happened.
Brenda, having panicked, had gone and pushed the red button.
It’s a little-known fact that every restaurant (even bodaboda) has a red button in the back. Much like the ones banks have that tellers discreetly press when you try to rob them. The ones in restaurants are however, not used to summon the police. They are used most commonly to get the spittle-monster out of the back, but they can also be used to summon…
And this is what happened that day.
Gungaman stood in the doorway.
Gungaman is pretty much as sinister and frightening as your imagination is telling you he is. He breathes smoke, stands seven feet tall, has skin as black as the soles of shoes and his eyes are terrible eyes. One of them is completely red, all the way round. Like a blood-filled marble with a black dot in the centre.
The other eye is perfectly black. With a red dot in the centre.
Gungaman has five claws for hands. And a tail.
Gungaman also wears an apron. Stained with the blood of his victims.
Gungaman spoke.
“Hello, how’s everybody doing? I hope you’re all having a splendid day. Hello Belinda. My, your hair looks incredible! What did you do with it? Hey Kevin. Now, did someone press the button? Are my services required?”
I don’t think this really qualifies as an emergency…” began Belinda, but the thing with  Gungaman is you can’t fool him.
Gungaman sees the secrets of your soul.
“Hmmm. A Code 34, I see,” he muttered, his red eye drilling into Brenda’s quivering countenance. “That customer acting like a little brat over his … what? You gave him rice and a chap? Brenda naawe.”
Brenda broke down and wept for two seconds then, deciding that wasn’t dramatic enough, fainted.
Gungaman wasn’t offended. He was resigned to the fact that having a large red eye would occasionally prompt people to fall unconscious.
“Well, all that’s left is to do the deed,” he said. “Kevin, will  you pass me the axe?” Restaurants have a cabinet in the back where they store Gungaman’s tools.
The customer who was seething at his table quickly shat himself when he saw what was stomping towards him carrying an axe.  Belinda didn’t want to look, but Kevin was the sort of asshole who enjoyed such spectacles.
After the murder, and after Gungaman had been paid his fee, and Brenda rescusitated and made to clean up, a day passed.
And then you went to that takeaway to ask for chips-liver. The liver didn’t taste like cow liver, did it?