The murder of A had affected the rotation of the helicopter blades, albeit slightly. LaRue had to grip the joystick tightly and hold it farther and farther to the right in order for the copter to fly straight.  He had left his private plane at an airfield that had been abandoned decades before, and that only a few people knew of when in operation.      As he landed, he saw Ray step out from the plane. It wasn’t until LaRue stepped out that he saw the look on Ray’s face. His eyes were huge, his mouth hung open. LaRue had only seen that expression in movies.      “Holy Mary Mother of Christ!” Ray yelled above the roar of the blades.      “What?”      “Look down.”      As he looked down, LaRue discovered that from the waistband of his pants

      Ford met him at the door. She was slender, dressed in black with her long brown hair pulled back. “Welcome Chef.”      “Thank you for meeting me,” he answered, shaking the proffered hand. After a short walk Ford motioned to a loveseat. After sitting on a wicker chair, Ford poured herself a glass of wine. When LaRue refused her, he began.      “Thank you for offering me wine, but my drink is whiskey.”      “I hear your drug of choice is heroin. A ten percent solution.”      “Your information is accurate. That’s part of my problem. When I was in my twenties,” he muttered under his breath, “even my thirties,” his voice became conversational again “my drug use didn’t affect me detrimentally.  I was able to do every project I had on m

      In the two weeks since LaRue had gotten home, he had ran over and over in his mind things he could have done differently after leaving Ford’s estate. After killing her, he hadn’t bothered cleaning anything up. After looking through her appointment book, he saw she had nothing listed for another two days.      Ray had one of his old associates watching the house. He watched LaRue’s car leave, then slipped in through the unlocked door. From there, Ford’s body would disappear with nothing more than the few bits of blood left behind.      “We did everything we could Chef D.”      “I know that Ray. I’m just worried about Tony.” LaRue sipped his coffee. One of the few things he insisted he traveled with was his coffee grinder and French press. He had ground two this morning, which was the last of his beans.

      That information was going to make this hit more personal that anything LaRue done before. He was nervous. Hell he was scared. In the past, even when his events might have ended in his death, the chef had taken the brazen confidence he had learned from Tommy. With more swagger than smarts, LaRue simply did what he was told.      His time with The Box would now be personal.      After making one final note, the chef grabbed his two prepared injections left his office and his home. He read Em’s note taped on the door.            ‘Doc,      I’m with Cowatv at Statler Park. We will spend a few hours here. You      know he’s always tuckered out afterwards. I’ll stop afterwards, grab a      hotdog and let

      “And so to you, my friends, I lift my glass. I am honored to be, as always, the Host of the World.” LaRue sat down and poured himself a glass of red wine.      In front of him was a plate of pasta and a simple salad. “This season has allowed to reconnect with myself, but more importantly, I have reconnected with you.”      “This is why the meals this year have been different. Simpler.”      Twirling some pasta on his fork, “life gets complicated. Your meals shouldn’t be.” He takes a drink. “Until next time, I’ll keep a place set for you.”      “Cut.”      “De-Von, that was your best’n yet.”      “Thanks Mr. Melvin.” He slid the plate of pasta acr