Holding his gun on the detectives, Don Dellasandro quickly looked at his watch. “Okay, there’s a little time before Big Barney’s party at the Beverly Hilton.” He reached into his other jacket pocket.
What now? thought Jupe.
Slowly Dellasandro pulled his hand out of his jacket, but he kept the hand closed. “We can network for a few minutes,” he said. “Want to do some market research before you go belly up?”
“What do you mean?” asked Jupe, staring hard at Dellasandro’s fist.
He opened his hand. He had more wrapped candies. “Try one,” he said.
“It’s poison, Jupe,” Pete warned.
“Would I poison someone with taste buds like his? It’s a shame I have to kill you, pal.”
Jupe looked at Dellasandro, then at the gun, then at the candy, then at the clock on the wall. What good would it do to stall? The police weren’t on their way. No one was coming to rescue them.
“I’d really value your input,” Dellasandro said. “Unless you’re in a big hurry to die. Tell me what you taste. Are my flavors on target?”
“Okay,” Jupe said reluctantly. “I’ll try it. But it’s going to cost you.”
“Everything has a price,” Dellasandro said. “I used to think being a scientist was a noble profession. But without marketing skills it’s just bottle pouring or germ breeding. Today if you can’t tune into your channels, what good are you?”
“You can always get hooked up to cable,” Bob said.
“Watch it!” Dellasandro said, suddenly wheeling toward Bob in anger. “I hate people who treat business like a joke! You’re lucky your friend here is such a genius in the taste bud department, or you’d already be dead meat.” He took two deep breaths to calm himself down and then added, “Dead meat is one of my best flavors, by the way.”
Jupe held very still, as it dawned on him that Dellasandro was more than a little unhinged. Maybe he’d ingested too much Multisorbitane over the years.
“I’ll try a piece of candy,” Jupe said calmly. “But only on one condition. You’ve got to answer a question.”
Dellasandro nodded and handed Jupe the candy. Jupe popped it into his mouth.
“Three tastes,” Jupe said. “Lemon—real lemon essence, not imitation— meringue, and graham cracker crust. It’s lemon meringue pie.”
“Phenomenal,” Dellasandro said.
“Now my turn,” Jupe said. “This is Multisorbitane in these drums, the ones marked ‘brominated pseudo phosphates,’ isn’t it?”
“It is,” Dellasandro said. “So what?”
“So what are you planning to use it for? I’m quite sure you know that it’s an unacceptable food additive as far as the FDA is concerned.”
“You want to ask another question? First you eat another candy. Pick one,” Dellasandro said with a devilish grin. He held out his hand for Jupe to choose.
“Don’t do it, Jupe. It’s a trick,” Pete said.
Jupe didn’t really think the candy was poison, but he did think it might have Multisorbitane in it. Nonetheless, he had no choice. He wanted a confession from Dellasandro, and he wanted more time. He took a foil-wrapped candy from Dellasandro and tasted it.
“Cherry Jell-O with banana floaters and whipped cream,” Jupe said, chomping down on the sample bonbon. “I’ve answered your question. Now answer mine. What are you going to do with these drums of Multisorbitane?”
Dellasandro took his time about answering. Finally he said, “Okay. I’ll tell you — since we all know you won’t be alive long enough to repeat it. Let me background a little. About a year ago, Big Barney Coop came to me. He wanted to collaborate on a new product, something no one had seen, tasted, or dreamed before — especially not Michael Argenti. He said he’d divide the profits with me and we were talking a dollar sign and then zeros off the page. But there were two conditions. One: the gravy had to be in the chicken. Two: it had to be sensationally delicious.”
“Did Big Barney say to make it deadly?” Bob asked.
“You shut up!” Dellasandro shouted at Bob. More deep-breathing exercises. Then he was calm again. “Getting the gravy into the chicken turned out to be easy,” Dellasandro continued. “Freeze-dried gravy injected as powder into the chicken fillets. When the chicken is fried at the restaurant, the gravy reconstitutes itself. The second puzzle was harder. How to irresistibilize the product. I tried every flavor, flavor savor, flavor enhancer, flavor duplicator I could think of for the gravy. They were good, but they weren’t perfect.”
“So you used Multisorbitane?” Jupe asked.
Dellasandro handed Jupe a third piece of candy. “Time was running out,” he said, checking his watch. “I couldn’t think of anything else to put in the gravy. My reputation and all those zeros after the dollar sign were at risk.” Then Dellasandro noticed that Jupe wasn’t eating the third candy. “What’s the matter — are you full?”
“I’m saving it for dessert,” Jupe said.
“Jupe, just remember he put a carcinogen into Drippin’ Chicken,” Bob warned.
“The cancer won’t impact on people for ten or twenty years,” Dellasandro said. “That’s a long time. No one will know. Big Barney won’t know because I’m on the supply side of the gravy powder for his food processors. They’ll send the prepared chicken to the restaurants, who interface with the customers directly. Everybody’s happy, which is, after all, the highest goal of our civilisation today.”
Jupe looked at the clock on the wall again. It was almost eight, and he was almost out of ideas. His first analysis had been right: there was no point in stalling. Still, the impulse to buy more time was a hard one to ignore.
“I have one more question, if you’ll allow me,” Jupe said. “What made you come back here tonight?”
“I pay my security team well,” Dellasandro replied. “The guard networked with me on my car phone as soon as you guys showed up.” He looked at the last candy, which was still in Jupe’s hand. “Eat your dessert, pal, because the bottom line is, your quality time is up.”
Jupe unwrapped the candy. This one was different. It was hard and heavy in his hand. “Mr. Sweetness works for you, doesn’t he?” said Jupe. “The guy in the army jacket.”
“Mr. Sweetness?” Dellasandro laughed. “Highly original. Yeah, Vinnie’s my next-door neighbor. Got a pink slip from the marines, I understand. They seemed to think he was too vicious to be a real team player. The moment Juliet mentioned at Big Barney’s party that you were detectives, I strategized that Vinnie could help me scare you guys off. I told him to do whatever he had to do. First he tapped your phone.”
“So that’s how he knew we ordered Chinese food,” Jupe realized.
“Yeah, he took the ball and ran with it. I was very impressed with his creativity. But somehow you kept getting away from him.” Dellasandro waved his gun toward Jupe’s mouth. “Eat the candy,” he said.
“Don’t do it, Jupe,” Pete warned.
Jupe slowly put the candy into his mouth. After a moment, he said,
