After a time, he was just that guy who fed bad people. No two ways around it. The position was supposed to get him to another place, gett him to Coo. But with no progress on that front, he was only building a small fortune in anonymity.
It was not like Alvin could ball out of control where he was. He had to keep a machine going in some way that he could not stand.
But it had to happen.
Alvin could not explain it to someone who asked, but something had to give. His client list had bloomed exponentially. Near triple digits. A long waitlist. She was going to take notice soon. He had to be patient.
The chef came home one night to a flashing light on his landline. Nothing out of the ordinary. Plenty of food orders to work through. That was the daily norm.
One message.
Two messages.
Six.
The eighth:
“Joseph, it’s been a while. Hey, listen. It seems your special services are needed again. Call me when you get this. And Vanessa says hi.” Click.
Hendrix.
It worked.
She was reaching out. Forget the other orders. Coco was VIP. Closed for filming. He would call in sick tomorrow. He needed all day to process what would amount to a ten-minute phone call at the most.
Tomorrow.
He would make her wait. They probably were well aware of the circumstances. Surely, nothing could be arranged for immediately. But with Coco’s position, making things happen was not difficult anymore.
***
“Hendrix?”
“Al, what’s going on, my man?”
Alvin was beside himself for two hours. It was midnight. Technically, the next day. It was scarier to play all the scenarios through his head. He made the call to end the deep dramatizations of his imagination, still unsure of how he was going to play his power position. They called him.
“Can’t throw away a good customer’s digits.”
“Hold up. We’re not supposed to know each other. Plus, this is a new number anyway.”
Leave it to Hendrix to be the ever street-wise one.
“You just never forget certain cliental,” Alvin responded.
“I see we’ve been reading the same playbook then.”
The chef would at least play his role first.
“What can I do for you? You know you guys are probably the last I’m supposed to be talking to.”
“Apparently, you’re a five-star chef in a one-star town.”
“Yelp doesn’t even go this far.”
Hendrix laughed his burly guy laugh. The chef missed it. He was surprised how much he was at peace with someone next to one of the most dangerous people in the world. But Alvin was also associated at one time.
“Your good stuff is a ghost around here. That old feeling keeps showing up.”
The head bodyguard’s tone shifted, the way it did when he got serious, but you knew he was still your friend.
“Boss lady is looking for a fix. Think you can send some things along? And believe me, she has got to have it. She is prepared to compensate you beyond handsomely.”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“I mean, I want to serve her in person.”
“Oh. Okay. Thought you were losing your mind for a second there. You can’t overnight it to her?”
“C’mon, Hendrix. You said it yourself. This is boss lady. It would be an honor to reprise my old gig and serve her in person. Just this once.”
The guard thought it over. Alvin had to run it through his own head. He asked himself for the seven hundredth time: What was he doing? What was he going to do with Coco? To Coco?
Serving her was not going to change anything. It was just going to fill her appetite. But he might gain an audience with her. That was what he wanted.
For what?
That was to be determined.
“I’m going to have to run this by her.”
“I get it.”
“Stay close to your phone. I’ll give you a light tomorrow.”
“So about—” Click.
There it was. It was still the dangerous game of business.
She was going to agree. That meant he was done with his current state of residence. Whatever he was going to do, it would require only a one-way ticket. If it worked, he would not be coming back. Most likely.
Alvin was going to mark himself an enemy to the enemy of the people. But Coco would relinquish herself to severe reason first. The food.
If the chef was successful, Coco would not care much for him anymore. He just had to think of that big thing to serve with his food. The news of something great and terrible was usually made easier with salt and spices that made your heart warm.
Alvin rose up to reach for his suitcase underneath his bed. The FBI correspondence was simple enough to get around. He was on the early end of the window before some generic check-in with an administrator. Over the phone.
His tailing security stopped sticking around. There seemed no reason to follow any longer – a fully acclimated diner cook, living a boring and quiet life, was doing just that.
Even Agent Matts had all but ceased his communication with Alvin. By the time the Government sensed something was wrong, he would be too deep within enemy lines.
Waiting was going to feel like hell. But he had plenty of time to plan a menu around what he knew Coco would be sore for. What she missed more than an old relative.
Alvin smiled to himself.
He was good, if he could allow himself for a second or two to gloat in solitary fashion.
The thing that would stop diabolical operations, or at least that thing he could get her to admit to, wanting to take over Skyrise, was going to be a plate of food. Not a bullet. Not some undying ability of a hero’s, able to get to Coco in the nick of time. But the will to say no. Maybe that was all that was ever needed.
If Alvin knew his old supervisor and
