Emily worked her way through the culvert. She wore only a sports bra and shorts. She had a small drawstring bag on her back that contained a change of clothes and her favorite 9 mm. She had received a call from LaRue just two hours earlier. The conversation was in an agreed upon code.
“Hi Doc.”
“Em. I just got off the phone with Ingrid House Publishing about my life story. God love Cooper, only a crooked old bastard like my agent could make me money from a book with materials that has been published about me a long time ago. I need you to pull all background files. Everything that might be interesting.”
“Even things that not be interesting,” Emily said.
“Right.”
We that, LaRue
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Killer Chef Six
LaRue was following much the same route as Emily had a few hours earlier. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he would do once he got there. “Oh, come on D, you’ll figger it out. You always have.” He saw himself with Grandpa Lou. This was their usual routine. Although young Devon had gotten too old and too bored with a bedtime story, Grandpa Lou continued to do so. Although the stories Grandpa Lou always told his grandson were Bible stories. Lou’s father had been a preacher, a ‘bible-thumper’ in Grandpa Lou’s words. Over the six years he lived with Lou, he had heard some of the same stories dozens of times. Tonight would be different, though. “Grandpa, I’ve heard these stories many times. But I have a question. Do you believe these stories?” That caught Grandpa Lou by surprise.
Killer Chef Seven
Emily drew in her breath to scream when LaRue came through the door. She had no idea who he was, but she was sure the game was up. “It’s me Em,” he whispered. “Doc?” she asked with a relieved laugh. “How is that look believable?” “Because, Em,” he said, the level of his voice back to normal. “These people live in the world of make-believe. The less believable your cover story or your disguise is, the quicker they believe it.” Besides the clipboard, she had placed everything she had found, except for one of the pistols and switchblades, into Travers left desk drawer. LaRue locks the door. “Travers has been killed by his own people. This office won’t be used until a new agent is brought in.
Killer Chef Eight
After his usual routine of revisiting all his previous kills, LaRue was ready. After last minute instructions to Emily, he slipped through into the corridor that led to McCoy. He had never been nervous before an event before. He didn’t believe McCoy was any better or worse than the many he had killed. However the difference was that now Emily was with him. She could get hurt or killed. LaRue promised himself he would not let that happen. Before they parted, LaRue had filled up a syringe. Even though he had brought a variety of poisons with him, he chose something from the medical field. It’s known as either suxamethonium chloride, or succinylcholine, it’s used during surgeries as part of anesthesia. It works by paralyzing muscles. Once the syringe was filled, he popped it into the hidden pocket inside his hemmed sleeve. La
Killer Chef Nine
Before leaving McCoy’s office, LaRue becomes Winston once again. None of the doors had names on them. That meant that the Chef had to figure out which door was the correct one by process of elimination. There were three doors on either side of the hallway and one at the very end. Dr. M’s office could be in any of them. This was where McCoy’s office was, however, LaRue did not believe the doctor’s office was here. To him, it made more sense that Dr, M’s office was closer to the research he loved. The chef worked his way back to Travers’ office. He stayed there briefly to ensure that nothing neither he nor Emily needed had been forgotten. LaRue quickly rifled through the weapons drawer. Finding nothing, he quickly closed the drawer and went to find Emily. Finding his way down the wes
Killer Chef Ten
Without an answer, the door opened and the couple walked in. “What?” with that, they were introduced to Dr. M. The doctor’s desk, just as McCoy’s, was sparsely furnished. The only difference was the picture behind his desk. Whereas the one in McCoy’s office was someone LaRue didn’t recognize, this one he did. Behind M’s desk was a giant portrait of the doctor himself. “You must be M,” LaRue’s voice had gone up an octave. “We are a gift for you. I am Bradli with an ‘I’ . . .” he motioned to Emily. “And I’m Tiffani with an ‘I.’” “Why are you here?” “You are very busy. You don’t like forepl
Killer Chef Eleven
The couple stopped for a brief rest. Emily tried her best not to cry. Even though LaRue felt that familiar itch, he was going to wait until the end. “Good idea, Chef.” Tommy had returned for one final assignment. The information he would give the chef would become extremely useful. After LaRue said his goodbyes to Tommy for the last time, Emily was staring at him. “Tommy says hi.” He stood. “The south corridor, that’s the long hallway, with one door?” “Yes.” “Spotlight on the door?” “Yes.” “He’s there. He wants everyone to know he’s in charge.” LaRue did
Killer Chef Twelve
“Doc, I love you.” One laughed, an evil sound that filled the room and their head The chef turned to the desk and, in a sign of respect, sat on the floor so that if One sat LaRue would be lower than him. “I have needing a fix for the last hour, but I also want to say goodbye to Emily. Would you allow me a few minutes to do that?” Silence. LaRue remained on the floor, unmoving. Waiting for an answer. One’s voice was behind him. “You know I could come behind and kill you in an instant?” “Yes.” “Even if I thought we could get out of this room alive, which I’m not sure about, we wouldn’t make it out of your agency. So honestly, I don’t see the point.”
Killer Chef Thirteen
The drive home was interesting. LaRue had a 1996 Spyder, and though it could seat more than two, it couldn’t really seat two when one of them was trying to manage a goat that had never seen anything but four walls. It complicated LaRue’s driving that the terrified goat was trying to escape from a vehicle travelling eighty miles an hour. It further complicated his driving that Emily was trying to stop the goat from escaping. He knew whatever he might say to her would make the situation worse. But he thought it was funny. LaRue started to laugh. “WHAT is so funny?” “We survived being killed by an invisible god only to be killed by a hysterical goat.” “He is NOT going to kill us.” She begin to laugh as well. LaRue pulled