"Now I told you not to gab with the customers and I meant it!" he snarled. "You get back there in the kitchen where you belong!"
She tried to wrench free of his grip. "Take your hands off me!"
Slap! He batted her across the cheek with his open hand and she staggered from the blow. "No back talk, young lady! Now, git!"
The trucker half rose from his seat, his fists clenched, but it was over too quickly for him to intervene. And after all, he reflected later while eating the pradolan roast, the man was her father.
With some misgivings, Brack checked into the hotel. It was a tiny installation—perhaps nine or ten rooms. His own cubicle was a drab affair, with neither entertainment screen nor sleep-inducer.
He had just tested the 7/8G-bed with disgust when there was a buzz at the door. It was Esther, holding some linens.
"They have you doing everything around here," Brack said with empathy. "What are these?"
"Towels. You use them after you wash."
"Boy, this sure is ancient!"