Roger came up behind Kim and tapped him on the shoulder. "You're going to have to leave," he said.

Kim spun around. He'd had quite enough of the pesky manager.

Roger wisely backed up. He raised his palms. "Okay, okay," he mumbled.

Kim turned back to Paul. "Any ideas?" he asked.

"No," Paul said. He'd seen people go crazy on oil rigs, and the look in Kim's eyes reminded him of these men.

"Come on," Kim snarled. "You must have been the cook. You have to have some idea."

"Like Roger said," Paul asserted. "It couldn't have been rare. I cook all the burgers well-done. It's policy."

"You people are really starting to piss me off," Kim snapped. "I'm telling you it was rare. I didn't get this secondhand. I was here with my daughter. I saw it."

"But I time them," Paul said. He pointed with his spatula to the smoking patties on the grill.

Kim grabbed one of a half-dozen completed burgers that Paul had put on the shelf above the grill for Roger to place on order trays. Kim rudely broke the burger open and examined the inside of the meat patty. It was well-done. He repeated this three more times, slapping the broken hamburgers back onto the plates.

"You see," Roger said. "They're all well-done. Now, if you'll step out of the kitchen area, we can discuss this more calmly."

"We cook them to an inside temperature higher than the one proposed by the FDA," Paul said.

"How do you know the inside temperature?" Kim asked.

"We gauge it with a special five-pronged thermometer," Roger said. "We take the temperature randomly several times a day, and it's always the same: above a hundred and seventy degrees."

Paul put down his spatula and rummaged in a drawer below the grill. He produced the instrument and offered it to Kim.

Kim ignored the thermometer. He took another hamburger and broke it open. It too was well-done. "Where do you store the patties before they're cooked?"

Paul turned around and opened the refrigerator. Kim bent over and peered inside. He knew he was only looking at a small portion of the meat the Onion Ring had to have on hand.

"Where's the bulk of them?" Kim questioned.

"In the walk-in freezer," Paul said.

"Show me!" Kim commanded.

Paul looked at Roger.

"No way," Roger said. "The walk-in is off limits."

Kim gave Paul a shove in the chest with both hands, propelling the man toward the back of the kitchen. Paul stumbled backward. Then turned and started to walk. Kim followed.

"No you don't," Roger said. He'd caught up to Kim and pulled on his arm. "Only employees are allowed in the freezer."

Kim tried to shake Roger off his arm, but Roger hung on. Frustrated, Kim backhanded the manager across the face with significantly more force than he'd intended. The power of the blow snapped Roger's head around, split his upper lip and sent him crashing to the floor for the second time.

Without even a glance at the fallen manager, Kim followed after Paul who now had the freezer door open. Kim stepped inside.

Fearful of Kim's size and impulsiveness, Paul gave him a wide berth. Paul looked back at his manager, who was now sitting on the rubber kitchen mat dabbing at his bloodied lip. Unsure of what to do, he followed Kim into the freezer.

Kim was looking at the cartons lined up on the left side of the walk-in. Only the first was open. The labels read: MERCER MEATS: REG. 0.1 LB HAMBURGER PATTIES. EXTRA LEAN. LOT 2 BATCH 1-5. PRODUCTION: DEC. 29. USE BY MARCH 29.

"Would a hamburger last Friday night have come from this carton?" Kim asked.

Paul shrugged. "Probably, or one similar."

Kim stepped back into the depths of the freezer and saw another open carton nestled among the sealed ones. He opened it and looked in. He could see that the wrapping was also broken on one of the inner boxes. "How come this carton is open?" he asked.

"It was a mistake," Paul said. "We're supposed to use the oldest patties first so we never have to worry about the 'use by' date."

Kim looked at the label. It was similar to the previous one except for the production date. This one said "Jan. 12" instead of "Dec. 29." "Could a patty have come from this one last Friday?" he asked.

"Possibly," Paul said. "I don't remember the day it was mistakenly opened."

Slipping a pen and piece of paper from the pocket of his white coat, Kim wrote down the information on the labels of the two open cartons. Then he took a single patty from each. This wasn't easy because the patties were frozen in stacks separated by sheets of waxed paper. He pocketed the patties and the paper.

As Kim exited the freezer, he was vaguely aware of the muffled sound of a siren whining down. In his preoccupied state, he ignored it. "What's Mercer Meats?" he asked Paul.

Paul closed the freezer door. "It's a meat-processing company that supplies us with hamburger patties," he said. "In fact, they supply the entire Onion Ring chain."

"Is it in the state?" Kim asked.

"Sure is," Paul said. "It's right outside of town in Bartonville."

"That's convenient," Kim said.

As Kim walked back into the kitchen area, the front door of the restaurant burst open. Two uniformed police officers came charging in with their hands resting on their holstered revolvers. Their faces were grim. Roger trailed behind them, angrily gesturing toward Kim with his right hand while his left held a bloody napkin against his mouth.

TWELVE

Saturday, January 24th

Weak early-morning sunlight slanted through the mote-filled air of the courtroom and created a swath of light on the floor. Kim was standing in the beam and squinting from the glare. In front of him Judge Harlowe was presiding, in his black judicial robes. Reading glasses were perched precariously on the judge's narrow, knifelike nose. To Kim, he appeared like an enormous black bird.

"After more than twenty years on the bench," Judge Harlowe was saying while glaring down at Kim over the top of his spectacles, "I should not be surprised at what I see and hear. But, this is one strange story."

"It's because of my daughter's condition," Kim said. He was still attired in his long white coat over hospital scrubs, with his surgical mask still tied around his neck. But the coat was no longer crisp and clean. From having slept in it overnight in jail, it was wrinkled and soiled. Below the left pocket was a reddish-brown stain.

"Doctor, I have great sympathy for you given that your daughter is gravely ill," Judge Harlowe said. "What I have trouble understanding is why you are not at the hospital at her side."

"I should be," Kim said. "But her condition is such there is nothing I can do. Besides, I had only intended to be away for an hour or so."

"Well, I'm not here to make value judgments," Judge Harlowe said. "What I am here for is to address your behavior in regard to trespassing, committing battery on a fast-food restaurant manager, and, perhaps most egregious of all, resisting arrest and striking a police officer. Doctor, this is unacceptable behavior no matter the circumstances."

"But, Your Honor, I…" Kim began.

Judge Harlowe raised his hand to quiet Kim. "It doesn't matter that you suspect your daughter's illness might have originated at the Onion Ring on Prairie Highway. You of all people should know we have a Department of Health which is mandated to look into this kind of thing, and we have courts of law. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Kim said resignedly.

"I hope you seek some help, Doctor," Judge Harlowe said. "I'm plainly mystified by your actions, knowing that you're a renowned cardiac surgeon. In fact, you operated on my father-in-law, and he still sings your praises. At any rate, I'm releasing you on your own recognizance. You're to return for trial four weeks hence. See the court clerk."