Would Coco? The biggest and baddest of them all? She would likely consider the others foolish for taking the food for granted for even a second.
Hendrix was going to call to check in soon to make sure the cook was on track for the 7:50 call time. Alvin was behind a fair amount, going off the charted course, but he would get the food done. He had to.
The breakfast was supposed to arrive spectacularly. Not to energize, but to ruin Coco’s day. Because it was a finite resource.
Alvin hoped against all odds he was doing the right thing. For every instance or reminder he was the man to cook the food, he could only conclude, moments later, that he was just a man cooking the food.
The chef finished and on cue –
“Morning, Hendrix.”
“You ready? How’s the morning chow?”
“Ready to be in empty bellies.”
“Good. You’ll serve and stay around for service. Coco wants you to enjoy another night here before you’re back at your witness post. We’ll have you back by tomorrow night.”
“That’ll work.”
“I’ll send some men up for your things. Time to do what you do.”
Hendrix ended the call after that.
Alvin was tempted to broach the nature of the breakfast further, but he was almost in his own, irreversible territory himself. No need to check for spilled milk if he was going to lick it off the floor.
Being called in to cater a breakfast for Coco, the chef was certain she was celebrating something.
It was time to cut it short. He was going to crash the party. With food. Effective stop.
Chapter 11
“She’s just arrived. Everything set here?”
“Soup is on.”
“She has a party of five with her. Won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Looks like you guys won’t get any of the leftovers.”
Hendrix was visibly annoyed, but he straightened up. Gave a signal to the rest of the detail in the room. More disappointment.
“It’s okay. We’ll pray for rain next time.”
The head guard received something on his earpiece.
“Boss lady seconds to inbound,” to everyone. And not seconds later, in struts Coco.
Coco 2 or 3.0. Alvin was not sure.
She was more fit. In operational clothing. Something akin to a uniform she likely paid beaucoup bucks for.
It was dirty. Grime and grit betrayed its elegance. She was in the field. The cook did not see that coming. She did not have her special, metallic arms, but she was still dangerous.
Her companions did not look too different. They had their own tactical gear on. Fashionable, but more practical in their totality. It was apparent they all had different roles in whatever they toiled throughout the night at, but all had a tired excitement start up when they entered the hall doors.
“Alvin, my favorite guy.”
Coco danced up to the chef in greeting.
“You ladies bring your appetites?”
“I have been raving about a surprise to these women since we were on our way back.”
“You nearly got us killed out there, actually.”
One of the other women reached Alvin also. Her hair had a dark auburn to it, while her bangs were a rainbow of colors.
“Lotta pressure on this meal,” she continued.
“Can we just dig in?” another asked.
“Not yet. This man deserves a proper introduction. So sit.”
The women made their way in and sat at the crescent of tables that favored the serving station where Alvin stood. It became clear during set up that the chef, or his food, would be the event. The thing to crowd around. It was going to be easier to make his case. Maybe.
He could not quite gather it before Coco and her friends sat, but when they did, it was simple to see the forum he stood before was the new Skyrise. No more stiff men in suits who all looked the same, save for Hendrix and his bodyguard team.
The women were individual in their appearances. All being the most interesting in the room, and yet, they were something special when they were together as a panel of women.
Alvin wondered how long it was before they replaced Coco’s old bosses. Now they sat in protection made entirely of who they were. And the formation felt different. They were Coco’s council. Advisers. Not really underlings. Colleagues.
“Ladies, this is my esteemed former personal chef – Al.”
The women started to cackle with some excitement.
“Settle down. Yes, this is that chef whose food you might have had here or there at some get together. He’s more than made a name for himself as the industry’s bar for catering. And I’m proud to have had him in my personal employ before – the current course of operation.”
“Thanks for having me again, Coco.”
“Anything, for your art.”
She took a deep whiff of the air around her.
“And I can smell you’ve decided to make a goodie this day.”
“Yes, oil down. With some other fixings you were fond of during my original – assignment.”
The woman almost fell over her chair in her enchantment. She must have been exhausted to allow herself to be less poised than she was once upon a time.
“Distinguished women of Skyrise, you are truly in attendance to something special.”
Coco did not mean that – anything for his food.
She would eat those words. It was not going to taste half as good as what he had prepared, against her wishes.
He had to call her bluff.
“Alvin was kind enough to break from his schedule as an artist on tour and give us some hard-earned sustenance this morning.”
“Tell us what we have before we dig in,” one of the five spoke.
Alvin hesitated. If there was any moment to cause a stir, that might have been the cue.
He proceeded to get the first course underway.
“Coco knows this national dish of Grenada. You have a hearty mixture of breadfruit, dumplings, Caribbean greens – known as callaloo – with some saltfish. Herring specifically. It sticks to your ribs with some sweet notes.”
“There’s also spice cake, black cake and boulette, for your nibbles.”
Coco never
