Backtracker by Robert T. Jeschonek Page B

Dave say ? Should he lie? Should he confess? How much did the manager know?
    Clari on alarms whooping in his head, Dave struggled to collect his wits and figure out what to tell Mr. Wyland. In lieu of a brilliant inspiration, he decided to stall. " Uh, why do you ask ? " he said.
    " Well, for a while now, the other managers and I have been noticing some inventory discrepancies. " Unfolding his hands, Mr. Wyland moved them to the black armrests of the chair. " Um, it seemed like we were going through more of certain items than we were selling...like chocolate milk, for one. At first, we just thought we were miscounting, but the discrepancies kept showing up. We, um, figured that someone on the crew, or more than one person, was helping themselves to the chocolate milk. " Pausing, he narrowed his eyes and stared intently at Dave, as if trying to judge the degree of his guilt. " We kept an eye out, but we could never catch anyone taking anything they weren ' t supposed to. Then, we started asking around, and, um, your name came up. "
    " Really ? " frowned Dave, keeping his voice level only with great effort.
    " Your name was mentioned, " Wyland said with a slight shrug. " Um, someone told me they ' d heard you say you were drinking chocolate milk in the walk - in. "
    " Who said this ? " asked Dave, his bewildered frown deepening.
    " One of your fellow employees, " said Mr. Wyland, his eyes wandering to the cluttered counter beside him, the beige Formica shelf which served as a desk. " I ' d rather not say who it was, but I think they ' re pretty reliable. "
    Dave started to say something, then stopped. He shook his head once and sighed, looked down at the floor. He couldn ' t believe it: someone had turned him in, violated the unspoken code of the steakhouse, the unwritten pact of mutual protection. It didn ' t seem possible; in all the years that he'd worked at Wild West, no one had ever spilled the beans to management, told the bosses that anyone was snacking on the sly. " Honor among thieves, " Larry Smith had said, and that was exactly how it had been; everyone had their hands in the cookie jar at one time or another, and they never betrayed anyone else because they didn ' t want to ruin things for themselves.
    Remembering his discussion with Larry and Billy the night before made him feel doubly disgusted. Without reservation, he'd boasted about the wonderful honor system at the steakhouse, bragged about the things he'd gotten away with, defended the trustworthiness of the people with whom he worked - and now, all of a sudden, the system had disintegrated, and someone had betrayed his trust. He felt like a fool, an authentic simpleton; he felt as if he'd jinxed himself by doing all that cocky boasting.
    He wondered who had been cruel enough to double - cross him like this.
    " So who told you all this stuff ? " he asked.
    " It doesn ' t matter, " said Wyland. " What matters is if it ' s true or not. " He paused, waiting for Dave to comment, but Dave remained silent. " Um, I hope you understand, " said the manager. " We just can ' t let you guys drink the chocolate milk. We pay a lot more for it than we do for soda, so we can ' t afford to let the employees have it for free. "
    " I know, " Dave said quietly.
    " Um, I don ' t want to make a big deal out of this. I ' m not out to punish anyone. " Propping his elbows on the armrests of the chair, the boss raised his hands to form a steeple, fingertips touching. " All I want is for whoever ' s drinking the milk to stop it. "
    Dave nodded, felt a cold stream of sweat crawl down his side. Considering the circumstances, he still looked remarkably calm, as if he were listening to Mr. Wyland describe a new procedure, or a new entree the steakhouse would be serving. Internally, he was an absolute wreck, worrying about what would happen, beating himself up for getting into this mess, wondering if a fib or the truth would be more likely to get him off the hook.
    " If I find out who ' s