“Food’s getting cold. You also should have yourselves a bite.”
Coco was back on the defensive.
“It must be unanimous.”
“What was that?”
“If you wish to vanquish our tongues and our plans, all these women must be in agreement with me that your food is the best they have ever had. And will have.”
Alvin learned two things just then. One: Coco already conceded her vote. She assumed she would be in favor the chef’s food. And two: wagering her council’s vote as well meant they could throw some curveballs Alvin’s way and put his success in jeopardy.
It was a decent, tactical move.
“Fine.”
“Everyone, please get your food. Sorry for the delay.”
The women were already standing in the ferocity of the scene. Receiving the greenlight, they walked to Alvin with a quiet eagerness, happy to finally eat. That should have been helpful as well.
He served everyone three portions, each featuring a different protein.
Coco was last to get her plate.
“I did not expect to find you here, in this way.”
“Me either. We tend to surprise ourselves once in a while. Don’t forget your sorrel.”
“Glorious hibiscus…thank you.”
“Enjoy.”
What might have been a warm debriefing of whatever events took place hours before, whatever highlights or replays of physical prowess, turned into a somber intake of nutrients. The women were exhausted. But it did not stop them from enjoying themselves.
Even in the quietness of the eating, facial expressions and mouths sounds slowly worked themselves into a cacophony of alimentary pleasure.
There were five of them – six, with Coco – and the scraping and chewing and drinking made the space a full order restaurant.
The eating went on for longer than expected. Turned out there was plenty of time to review the previous night’s occurrences. But the matter of business was eating. Cleaning your plate. Washing it down so it stayed in the lowest places.
The food was eventually finished. It always had to come to an end.
What was going to happen next? How were they going to gauge satisfaction beyond honesty?
Was the food good?
Yes or no?
Could they say, without a shadow of a doubt, they would never be more satisfied beyond what they just finished?
Coco broke the anticipation.
“Here we are. Almost off the mountain.”
Alvin knew he cooked for keeps. The women might not have realized. But all the more the reason they should have taken his food seriously. More than anything else.
“This food stands before what we’ve been working on for months. But contrary to the past administration, we have to be honest. We have to face what’s truly before us.”
The women looked energized. Satisfied. But preoccupied. Being satiated beyond all understanding and being attacked at the same time were difficult things to keep together.
“All who believe they will never truly have a better meal than this one, please raise your hand,” as Coco raised her hand.
Four other hands went up. Just four.
“Do you know where your hands come from, Alvin?”
“From?”
One from the collective the chef had not heard from asked the question. She wore a head of braids and beads. Heavy-looking beads. Real metal. Gold and silver.
“You could have tried to stop us a number of ways. You aren’t a superhero. Nor a cop. You believe in the power of what you cook, obviously. Where did your hands come from?”
Alvin thought about it. She was not looking for a certain kind of answer. She sounded serious about it. Sincere curiosity. But there was a lot that rode on the chef’s response.
“They come from my grandmother, trying to cook for me. She came from field workers and nurses. But no matter who in the community was taking time out of their day to raise her, the food they cooked had to be the focal point. Because it would be time to eat, and you had to do more than not neglect yourself.”
“Then I vote yes.”
It was apparent in Coco’s conspiring that there was supposed to be a stickler who was supposed to hold out on a yes-vote. She turned, to Alvin’s joy.
He had won.
“Very good. Al, consider yourself a supernatural force among men.”
He did not know what that meant. What that would mean moving forward.
“What happens now?”
“You just foiled a villainous organization’s plot for national domination. You should celebrate. But unfortunately, I can’t risk you stopping us again.”
She nodded at Hendrix. His composure changed and he set out towards Alvin. A darkness set over his face as he reached in his coat, towards his waistline.
“Wait! Wai – but I—”
BLAM!
Clean through the forehead. Hendrix placed his smoking gun on the table and walked to Alvin, who was lying on the floor in a terrible mess of blood and food.
“Is there any more food on that cart?”
“Ma’am?”
“Can you save some leftovers?”
“A little. It’s covered in blood.”
“Save it.”
“Yes, Coco.”
She turned back to her council.
“We are women of our word. We wait a month. Try to forget your inner-happiness. We get back to work soon.”
***
Alvin’s body laid on the banquet hall floor for some time. Hendrix saw to it personally that as much food as possible was salvaged. He sniffled every so often, remembering.
Maybe it was for the food he would never have again. Everyone mourned that.
But perhaps the emotion was for someone who had a chance.
The chef was no older than twenty-nine.
He could have been something, but he chose not to be the thing he thought he resisted. He was supposed to just cook the food and go home.
“Stupid child.”
Coco decided to honor the cook’s wishes, but she still could have been doing many other unsavory things to stay busy.
The head bodyguard eventually got men to take the body away.
He took a long gaze at the food he scraped up. Wiped his eyes. Looked around for something. Spotted a fork and grabbed it, the length of steel a small tool in his enormous hands.
Hendrix peeled back the Tupperware lid and played around with the food. Someone who did not want the present moment to go on. He dug in more intentionally and lifted the occupied fork to his lips.
“Delicious, Al.”
