YNs—Hustling Out of the McDonald’s

1992

The milkshake machine worked. Everyone rejoiced. The manager had a white shirt with sweat stains on the underarms. Otherwise the shirt looked immaculate.

Shalanda Robbinstone possessed skin that looked like Texas tea. But she worked at McDonald's in Wilmington, Delaware. Her hair was done up in fingerwaves and she showed to the world a gold tooth over her left lateral incisor. She had soft features and dimples. Her skills as a cashier brought her multiple employee of the month awards. Who would know she hid three kis underneath the counter.

“Yes, I’ll get the Big Mac, Supersize fries and a strange Coke,” the customer ordered.

That “strange” line let her know what to do with the cocaine she had access to with a key.

The work was disguised in large drink cups so as to not arouse suspicion after reviewing overhead cameras. She passed it to Berrick Potts. He had an athletic build and the same skin color as Shalanda. He brought the work in a little baggy to the customer. This happened on the regular. For every dollar they earned the restaurant, they pocketed ten dollars on top of that.

In the breakroom, they looked at each other and smiled.

“We’re caking up, no?” Potts asked.

“It appears that way,” Shalanda replied.

“We’re going to need to expand, though. Arby’s, Denny’s, Wendy’s. Anything with a ‘y’s’,” he mentioned with a quick laugh that sounded like a snort.

“Baby, I think we should just stick to this location and the other stores and McDonald’s.”

Potts sighed. “You’re thinking small. We have to scale up if we’re going to get this bread.”

“Beef is best served with a bun. We’ll have to become acquainted with the other restaurants. We’ll have to scout out their names and addresses and know their intentions. If somebody gets caught up, they’re gonna drop our names.”

“That’s just a risk we’re going to have to take, Sha’. We’ve two hundred K already. We need to stretch that into a million, maybe two.”

Shalanda got up from her seat. “We’ve got customers.” She walked away quickly.

“Shalanda!” Potts called after her.

“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s, how may I serve you?”

“Get me some Mickie nuggets. She knew this would be an order for a quarter pound of the product.

The franchise owner, Francine Wheelman, visited at least once a week to check up on how operations flowed. She had started out in Shalanda’s role as cashier and drive-thru window. She rose to manager and managed to own her own store under the franchising program.

“Shalanda?”

“Huh?”

“‘Huh’ yourself young lady. Did you check these fries? and who’s flipping these burgers?”

“I’ve been working three jobs, Fran. I need to be bumped up to at least assistant manager.”

“Alright, it’s getting tight and it’s harder to pick the right, quality people like you and Barry. It’s just tight right now.”

“Alright.”

“Listen, I’ll give you more overtime and you can just work the drive-thru. Okay? How’s that sound?”

Shalanda just nodded her head rather quickly and looked over to the vehicle about to come to the window.

“Keep going at this pace. You’re—” Francine stopped her speech as she saw her star player perform her best. She was slightly plump and a few shades of brown lighter than Shalanda and Potts. She turned to go.

In a few hours, their day would be over. They counted their money.

In between unwrapping the coke from their connect and stacking up the cash in the kitchen, they felt compelled to sit in silence. With the triple beam scale and money counter, they made a cohesive argument for a functional union.

When the work got weighed and the money accounted for, they looked at the clock.

“It’s ‘sex’oclock’,” Shalanda announced. They rose up from the kitchen table. She took his hand and led them to their bedroom. He kissed. He ran a hand across her thigh. He felt the tension in her back and soothed it away. She got up from her position on the bed and played Jodeci on the cassette deck.

With the melodic tones emanating from the boom box, they resumed their session of relieving the stress. Each of them felt weeks of aggravation melt off with each push, squeeze, and grasp. When they had finished, they rolled over and smoked blunts.

“Fran has got to go,” Shalanda spoke first after their moments of pleasure. The potent marijuana lifted them to another level of recognition.

“What?”

“We can take the earnings and buy her out and become owners of that store.”

“How? We get paid $3.85 an hour. She’s going to wonder where we got the money.”

“What about your uncle?”

“What about him?” Potts asked.

“Isn’t he in hospice?”

“He’s in remission.”

“Goddamnit.”

“Well, there are ways….”

Shalanda’s eyes became saucers.

“Yes! You know I’m going to school for nursing. It would be nothing for him to OD.”

“All we have to do is switch out his drugs for ours. He’s got a heart condition, too.”

“Yes, they’ll think somebody at the home provided the coke and he’ll just keel over. I can arrange a visitation with him,” Potts suggested.

“I think we can be walk-ins,” Shalanda pointed out.

“You know, you’re right.” He kissed her mouth.

The two of them dressed business casual to see Uncle Meyer Potts. He looked spry despite the cancer that once ran through his colon. He had a clean shaven gray beard. His skin looked inky black the couple.

“Hey, Unc,” Potts spoke with the intention of being endearing but he sounded a bit cloying.

“Hey, Uncle Meyer,” Shalanda sounded more sincere.

“Hey, Gorgeous!” he smiled broadly. “How’s my sweet niece-in-law?”

“Uncle, we’re not married yet,” she said with soft disdain, almost playfully.

“Unc, you still have that account right?”

“It’s all for you….”

“I know. You’ve earned it. You were always the best nephew.” Potts closed his eyes, clenched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“I thank you for that,” he voiced it with sincerity. “We’re going to make sure you get the greatest care possible. If you don’t want to be here, we can see that you come home again.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” Shalanda said.

“We can draw up papers for your discharge.”

“They’re already signed and dated,” Uncle Meyer mentioned.

A nurse came to the door. “Mr. Potts, your dinner is ready for you.”

“No need, my nephew and his girlfriend are here.” Nurse Pelma Bornhurst’s face crumpled.

“You’re leaving us?”

“That’s right. Tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I’ll make sure you have a warrior’s breakfast for you as a Marine.”

“Thank you, and thanks for the evening meal, also,” Uncle Meyer related.

Potts and Shalanda saw the entire scheme come together with crystalline clarity.

That next afternoon, he was back in his home again which sat a few blocks from Potts’ house. Shalanda carried a bag full of his prescribed drugs. She had replaced the capsules with the cocaine. The cancer had caused Uncle Meyer’s sense of smell to heighten. A whiff of the product found his nose. While most cancer patients experience a decrease in the ability to smell, like his remission, he remained a rarity. He had walked into his house the first time in two years. Mail and newspapers didn’t pile up at all since he directed every postage and News Journal to come to him at the rest home. A maid came by every Wednesday to clean. Not a speck of dust lay on any surface in the residence.

“You settle right into your stomping grounds,” Potts declared. Uncle Meyer just chortled a bit. And then his face turned to a scowl.

“We’re going to go up the block. If you need anything, just call us, okay? We’ll be back in the morning.”

“Ungh-huh, y’all take care, now,” he waved to them at the door. He locked the door sharply just as they left. Shalanda looked at Potts quizzically.

“You don’t think….”

“Notvin a trillion years. Those drugs they have him on got him all spacey. You saw how he looked.”

“Alright.” They slipped into their room and got in gear for some bedroom traffic.

Uncle Meyer unfastened one of the capsules and put it to his nostril. He quickly grimaced and withdrew it from his nose.

“I’ll be goddamned. They tried to kill me,” he said aloud. He then moved to his safe with his M9 with a suppressor. He loaded it and locked back the safe. We’ll see about it tomorrow, he thought to himself.

That next morning before their shift at McDonald’s, Shalanda and Potts journeyed over to Uncle Meyer’s house.

Shalanda knocked. “We should’ve called. He’ll—“

The door swung open. “Thanks for coming back, I wasn’t sure if you’d be back,” Uncle Meyer chided. He looked around the outside and then locked the door. The pistol rested in his back waist area.

“Okay, monitoring time,” he clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

“Wow, you’re such an eager patient,” Shalanda remarked.

“Well, I have two great caregivers!”

His shirt concealed the firearm. He went to the sink and attempted to pour himself some water.

“No, I’ve got that,” Potts informed him.

He got the water and handed it to his uncle. Shalanda handed him the pills. A moment passed and he saw their eyes. He dropped the drugs to the floor and extracted the pistol and aimed and shot both Shalanda and Potts in their head. The silencer kept his neighbors from suspecting anything. He mopped up the mess and found carpet to roll them up for a cleaner he knew.

“Yeah, Ross. I’ve got two. Adult male and female. Alright,” he hung up the phone on the receiver. Ross appeared at the door in about ten minutes. He was fiftyish and looked muscle bound.

“Get some trash together.”

“I don’t have any.”

“It’s okay. I’m prepared. Once A Marine….”

He retrieved a cylindrical blue bin on wheels that read waste management. He loaded the gray van with the bin. He then took over to the landfill and deposited the bodies, still rolled up in the carpet.

“I appreciate it,” Uncle Meyer mentioned.

“As always.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Owe?”

“I owe you.”

“For the job?”

“The job….”

“On the house. As always!”

The two war buddies shared a hearty laugh.

“You want breakfast?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“McDonald’s?”

“I haven’t had an Egg McMuffin in years. That and a black coffee will bless my soul.”

The two men arrived at the restaurant with the pangs of hunger twisting in their guts.

Francine happened to be on the premises again for a bit of a pep talk for the staff. She stood with a broad smile.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to McDonald's, how are you today?”

“We’re great Two small coffees and some bacon Egg McMuffins.”

“Alright. Will there be anything else?”

“No.”

“That’ll be $1.76,” Francine replied.

The two men sat down and looked at their respective meals.

“I think I can repay you, now I know, you’re gonna say I don’t have to, but in that house is some raw cocaine. They switched it in my pills and I know they have to have more than 8 balls in that house. Let’s see if we can’t find some base in the cabinets or under the sink.” Uncle Meyer speculated.

“Hey, I’m just a body guy. They won’t be found.”

“You’ve gotta act quickly. Cops are going to be all over that place like ants.”

“I’ll go over there tonight. I’ll give you a gratuity on whatever I find in there.”

Ross laughed. “Whatever you say, short-timer.”

“A trip to Bali would be fine,” Uncle Meyer considered.

“You want to go down there?”

“Sure.” He sipped coffee.

“I’ve got some jobs ahead of me. I’ll bring the lady of the house down there.”

“I’d find a lady down there.”

“With the sales of the work, we’ll have plenty of time to parse through all of this.”

“I hope so.”