By: Cartooooonz
Bob stood in front of Jimmy Pesto's Pizzeria, staring up at the obnoxiously bright sign that flashed with a nauseating neon glow. The letters screamed "Pesto's Pizza Palace" in garish red and green, while a tacky caricature of Jimmy himself grinned down from the billboard like a king surveying his domain. The smell of cheap, greasy pizza hung in the air, making Bob's stomach churn—not with hunger, but with dread.
He took a deep breath, adjusting his apron out of habit even though he wasn't working. His mind raced with every excuse not to walk through the doors. Maybe he could figure something else out. Maybe a miracle would happen, and a busload of hungry tourists would flood his place any second. Or maybe… maybe he should just turn around, go back to Linda, and tell her he couldn't do it.
But the reality hit him hard again: foreclosure. That word haunted him, pushed him forward even as his legs felt like lead. He couldn't afford to lose the restaurant. His family needed it, and as much as it hurt his pride, he was out of options.
With a sigh that felt like it came from the very bottom of his soul, Bob pushed open the door to Jimmy's pizzeria. The obnoxiously cheerful sound of a bell rang out above his head as he stepped inside. The place was packed, as usual. Booths full of people laughing over giant slices of pizza, kids running around with sticky hands, and servers weaving through the chaos with trays held high.
Bob felt a pang of jealousy. He hated that Jimmy's place was so popular. It wasn't even good food—just flashy and cheap. But it worked. And that's what stung the most. Jimmy knew how to bring people in, and right now, Bob needed people more than anything.
He spotted Jimmy behind the counter, holding court like some kind of pizza emperor. Jimmy Pesto, with his too-tight shirt, perfectly coiffed hair, and that smug grin permanently plastered on his face. He was basking in the glow of his little empire, completely oblivious to the fact that Bob was about to throw himself at his mercy.
Bob hesitated for a second, his feet rooted to the spot. He hated this. Hated that he was about to ask Jimmy for help. But the thought of losing everything—his family, his restaurant, his dream—was worse.
Steeling himself, Bob marched up to the counter. "Jimmy," he said, forcing the word out like it physically hurt him.
Jimmy looked up, his grin widening the second he saw Bob. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Bob Belcher. What brings you to the winning side of the street? Running low on burger ideas? Need some inspiration from a real culinary genius?"
Bob gritted his teeth, willing himself to stay calm. "No, Jimmy. I need to talk to you."
Jimmy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Talk to me? Now this I gotta hear." He motioned for one of his employees to take over behind the counter and then led Bob over to a booth in the corner. "So, what's up, Belcher? You here to admit that pizza's better than burgers? Because I'd be happy to—"
"Jimmy," Bob interrupted, his voice tight. "I need your help."
For a split second, Jimmy looked surprised. His cocky grin faltered just enough to show that he hadn't expected those words to come out of Bob's mouth. But it didn't take long for him to recover, and when he did, his grin was wider than ever.
"Oh-ho! The great Bob Belcher needs my help? This is rich. Really rich." Jimmy leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed Bob with a gleam of satisfaction. "I gotta say, I never thought I'd see the day. What's the matter, Belcher? Burgers not paying the bills anymore?"
Bob felt his face flush with frustration, but he forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't afford to get into one of their usual arguments. Not this time.
"I'm serious, Jimmy," Bob said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm… I'm in trouble. Financial trouble. The restaurant is—" He paused, the words catching in his throat. Saying it out loud made it feel too real, too humiliating. "I'm behind on my payments. If I don't come up with the money soon, I could lose everything."
Jimmy stared at him for a moment, his expression shifting from smug amusement to something else—something Bob couldn't quite place. But it wasn't pity. Jimmy Pesto didn't do pity.
"So, let me get this straight," Jimmy said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You want me—your rival, your competition, the guy you've spent years trying to outdo—to bail you out?"
Bob swallowed hard. "Yes."
Jimmy sat back in the booth, his eyes narrowing as he considered the situation. Bob could see the wheels turning in his head, already calculating how he could use this to his advantage. Jimmy never did anything out of the kindness of his heart. There would be strings attached, no question about it.
"Well, Belcher," Jimmy said slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "this is quite the dilemma. On the one hand, watching you go under would be pretty satisfying. I mean, it's been a long time coming, right?" He paused, smirking as Bob glared at him. "But on the other hand… there's something about seeing you here, groveling like this. It's kinda nice. Makes me feel… powerful."
Bob clenched his fists under the table, biting his tongue to keep from snapping back. He couldn't afford to blow this, not if it meant saving his restaurant.
"So here's the deal," Jimmy continued, leaning in closer. "I'll help you out. I'll give you the money to cover your payments, maybe even throw in a little extra to get you through the next couple of months."
Bob blinked, surprised that Jimmy was actually offering something reasonable. But then Jimmy's grin returned, that smug, knowing smile that made Bob's stomach twist.
"But," Jimmy added, dragging out the word, "in return, you have to do something for me."
Bob's heart sank. Of course. There was always a catch.
Jimmy's grin widened. "You have to hang out with me. Twice a week. Every week. No excuses."
Bob stared at him, stunned. "Hang out with you? What do you mean, hang out?"
Jimmy shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, grab drinks, go to a game, maybe hit up the local karaoke night. I don't care what we do. I just want us to spend some time together. You and me. Pals."
Bob's mind reeled. This had to be a joke. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious, Belcher," Jimmy replied, his tone almost too casual. "I've been thinking about it, and you and I? We could be great friends. Best friends, even. I mean, sure, we're rivals, but that's what makes it interesting, right? It's like that whole 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer' thing. And besides…" Jimmy's voice softened slightly, a note of something real creeping in, "I don't exactly have a ton of people I hang out with. But you—you get me. Even if you don't realize it."
Bob was at a loss for words. Jimmy Pesto, of all people, wanted to be his friend? The idea was absurd, and yet there was something about the way Jimmy said it that made it seem almost… genuine.
"I don't know, Jimmy," Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "This is weird. You and I… we don't exactly get along."
"Exactly!" Jimmy exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "That's what makes it so great! Think of it like this: we already know each other's worst sides. No surprises, no pretenses. Just two guys who've been at each other's throats for years. But now? Now we get to relax. Be ourselves. Who knows, maybe we'll actually enjoy it."
Bob opened his mouth to argue, to tell Jimmy that this was the most ridiculous idea he'd ever heard, but then he remembered the phone call from the bank. The looming threat of foreclosure. The thought of losing his restaurant, his family's livelihood.
He didn't have a choice.
"Fine," Bob said, reluctantly. "I'll do it."
Jimmy's face lit up like he'd just won the lottery. "Fantastic! You won't regret it, Belcher. We're gonna have a great time together. I can already tell."
Bob highly doubted that.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Bob, his mind stuck on the bizarre deal he'd just made with Jimmy Pesto. He tried to focus on the usual tasks around the restaurant—flipping burgers, restocking condiments, sweeping up after a light lunch rush—but everything felt distant, like he was floating outside his own body, watching himself go through the motions. The reality of his situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. He had made a deal with Jimmy. Jimmy Pesto, of all people.
"Bobby, you okay, hon?" Linda's voice cut through the fog in Bob's brain, and he looked up to see her watching him from the kitchen doorway. Her hands were on her hips, her head tilted in that way that meant she was trying to figure out what was going on inside his head.
"Yeah, Lin," Bob said, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "I'm fine. Just… you know, thinking about some stuff."
Linda raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Is this about the bank thing? 'Cause you know we'll figure it out, right? You don't have to do it all on your own."
Bob felt a pang of guilt at that. He hadn't told her about his deal with Jimmy yet. How could he? How could he explain that he had to hang out with the man who'd spent years making his life a living hell, all in exchange for a lifeline that might just save their restaurant?
"I know," Bob said, managing another weak smile. "I'm just trying to… figure out the next step."
"Well, whatever it is, I'm with ya," Linda said with a wink. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before bouncing off toward the register to greet a customer who had just walked in. "Welcome to Bob's Burgers!" she called out, her energy infectious as always.
Bob watched her go, feeling a mixture of love and dread knotting up inside him. He needed to tell her about the deal, but not yet. Not until he'd figured out how to make it sound less… humiliating.
As the day wore on and the sun began to dip below the horizon, the restaurant quieted down. Gene had taken over the back, doing what sounded like a one-man musical number about the life cycle of French fries, and Tina was busy writing in her notebook, mumbling about "zombie romances" under her breath. Louise, for once, had opted to go out with her friends, leaving Bob with an unfamiliar silence in the kitchen.
That silence was broken by the chime of the doorbell, and Bob glanced up, half expecting to see another late-night customer wandering in. Instead, his heart sank when he saw Jimmy Pesto standing in the doorway, grinning like a cat that had just swallowed a canary.
"Hey there, Belcher," Jimmy called, strutting into the restaurant like he owned the place. "Ready for our first hangout? I figured we'd get a jumpstart on that deal of ours."
Bob groaned inwardly. He'd been hoping for at least a day or two before Jimmy came to collect on his end of the bargain, but of course, Jimmy had wasted no time. "Now?" Bob asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "It's kind of late, Jimmy."
Jimmy waved a hand dismissively, already making his way toward the counter. "Oh, come on, Belcher. You said twice a week, right? Might as well get one of them out of the way. Besides, I've got a great idea for our first 'friend' activity."
Bob sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What's that?"
"Karaoke night at Jimmy Junior's favorite place! They've got half-off drinks, a stage, and, best of all, a crowd that knows good music when they hear it." Jimmy puffed out his chest, clearly imagining himself as the star of the show. "I figured we could wow 'em with a duet. Something classic, you know? Sinatra, maybe?"
Bob stared at him, incredulous. "You want me to go to karaoke night… with you?"
"Exactly!" Jimmy said, completely missing—or ignoring—the disbelief in Bob's tone. "It'll be fun! You get to loosen up, we get to sing, and the people get to see just how good the Pesto-Belcher duo really is."
Bob didn't know what was worse: the idea of singing in front of a crowd of strangers or the fact that Jimmy actually seemed to think this was some kind of bonding experience. But a deal was a deal, and if he wanted Jimmy's help, he had to play along.
"Fine," Bob muttered, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door. "Let's get this over with."
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