“I am not required to explain myself to you, Chef.”
“But all of this is on the common person’s behalf, right?”
Infuriating silence.
“I sincerely hope, for your sake, Mr. Gates, that there is more food present here. We did not have the best night. And I might not be able to hold these hungry women back from throwing their tantrums.”
The chef took a quick look at Coco’s dining companions. She was right. They could not have looked more threatening. Of course, who would not want to feel like putting someone in a coma, who just slapped their fresh, hot breakfast to the ground?
“I do.”
Hendrix was still near Alvin. He gave the chef a disapproving look and stepped out of the way. He had to. There was still some hope that the disaster of a meal could be salvaged.
The cook walked to his service cart and lifted the cloth covering.
Coco was the only one to catch her breath in relief.
“You ladies aren’t done doing what you wanna do with your mission, I presume?”
“You would be correct,” a testy Coco answered.
“Then I wager your operation for your perfect satisfaction.”
“Meaning?”
“If what I’ve actually prepared for this day isn’t the best meal you have had and you think you will ever have, you continue to do what you do. But whatever it is you’re up to is probably time sensitive. If it is the best meal, you cease operations for a month.”
“Why shouldn’t I just get rid of you and enjoy your food anyway?”
“You don’t know what it is. You really want to know. And if I lose, I’ll be around to continue to cook for you.”
“You are confident you have launched an attack against the bad guys? Because they are no longer here.”
“I believe you believe that. But if your missions is supposed to keep on, you should be okay, even a month from now.”
The look on all the women’s faces evidenced the month-long delay would severely put them behind.
Good – as far as Alvin was concerned.
“What did you actually aim to serve us, Mr. Gates?”
They were back to formalities. Something between them seemed to regress. Likely irreparable.
“We have a deal?”
Troubled, Coco closed her eyes. A short moment later –
“You have it.”
“Then what you will be enjoying today,” as Alvin started to bring the real dishes to the top, “is what several of you probably enjoyed at one point in your lives, but not in the best possible way.”
The chef took a moment to set the food out on the plates. Uncovered containers. He let the enchanting aromas waft to the inner sanctum of women.
Hushed, quietly – but Alvin heard it, “I know what that is, Coco inhaled.
“Yes, you smell the jerk pork. But this time, grilled, and accompanied by a surf and turf outfit. Three proteins. Fish. Beef. Pork.”
Everyone’s hard expressions softened with the return of the food. He could take them wherever he wanted.
“Stew fish, slow roasted. Oxtail with broad beans. Smoked.”
He caught them off guard. Lunch and dinner for breakfast should have also shocked them into stopping. He hoped.
“Gungo peas and rice. Cabbage medley. And festival bread to sop up whatever is left.”
“Hendrix.”
The guard walked to Coco’s call, eyeing every ounce of food as he crossed over the room to her. They conferred with each other quietly.
“I don’t see anything funny, Chef.”
The woman closest to Alvin, with the rainbow bangs, spotted him mid-smirk. He could not help but relish the moment. His positioning was good. Gaining more traction even.
Hendrix beckoned a henchman over to his and Coco’s deliberation. The head guard gave the goon some information that lit his spirits, before being slapped and warned to contain himself.
The subordinate started in Alvin’s direction.
Hendrix cleared his throat.
“Marcoby here will sample the food to ensure it’s free of anything questionable or harmful.”
“I wouldn’t do—”
“Alvin! Please prepare a tasting plate for the man.”
Marcoby quickened his pace and flashed some subdued enthusiasm as he approached.
From Coco’s point of view, she could not be any more careful. Alvin did not have the heart to deliberately, knowingly poison his food. It was too macabre, to start. And why prepare something to be toxic after it was first enjoyed? The deed was too counter-intuitive to a chef’s imaginary Hippocratic oath: to make the best food in order to feed. Then make people come back to feed again.
In any manner of thinking, the move to sabotage the food was also less original at the present moment. But what was cooking but a perpetual, tasteful rehashing of what always was?
Maybe Alvin was tempted to, somewhere in his heart.
“No need to spare any free space. Lay it on me.”
The guard was already certain he was not going to faceplant into his free food.
“Mind giving me two of those bread things,” he whispered.
Alvin obliged. Anything to demonstrate the serious crossroads Coco and her council would be burdened with in not too long.
Marcoby had his food and no one could tell him to commence his duty fast enough. He grabbed a seat at a nearby table. He sensed he was in for something grand and made somewhat of ritual out of prepping to eat. The guard aired out his cloth napkin. Stuffed it ever so delicately against his throat. He put his hands together. In prayer.
“Marcoby!”
He voiced his apology and started to sample his food as if he was at a feast.
Within seconds, he increased his spirit with which he ate the food. He forked and knifed vigorously, leaving no element of the meal out of the mixed warmth of his mouth for too long. He clearly forgot his mission, letting a moan of pleasure escape his face – from somewhere deep – that was seemingly dormant for a while.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ll never be this happy again!” Except it was a mashed, watery response. Marcoby could not have been more emphatic.
Alvin was on top again. Now everyone knew he only meant for their bodies and chemical processes to betray them in the
