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2024-10-29 19:42:56Emily 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
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“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
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Twenty Nine
With this, Tony started to laugh. “It’s too bad we’re not on the same side, Chef. You got cojones the size of Yankee Stadium.” “Who said we’re on different sides? What side are you on?” “I am on my side Chef.” LaRue laughed. “Tony that’s like saying you use water when you take a bath.” He grabbed the recorder and threw it into the front of the car. “Ok, so you heard my proposal. Let’s assume Teddy is somewhere else.” He raises his voice and talks to Teddy. “Sorry Ted, I’m going to treat you as invisible. But I’m sure that’s no different that Box treats you.” He turns back to Tony. “Ok, fat boy. Me and you. Mono a mono.” Tony leans forward and cups LaRue’s fac
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Twenty Eight
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
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Twenty Seven
LaRue sat in his office. He was having a ‘writer’s rush’ as he called it. Writing about himself was boring and usually took a long time for that reason. However, there were times he almost found it impossible to keep up with the flood of words rushing to the page. Both he and Emily were back at home. He sat in his office and had been writing nonstop for two hours. Emily and Cowatv were playing outside. Coffee steamed from the cup beside him, almost forgotten in his quest to get words on the page. Beside his cup was a syringe filled with his ten percent solution and Vitamin B12 . What does it mean to be ‘America’s Guest?’ It means that millions of people trust me enough to think of me as family. Beyond Grandpa Lou an
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Twenty Six
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.
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Twenty Five
On his ride back to Ford’s estate the next morning, the chef thought of his conversation with Ray. It was a surprise knowing that Tony was the next hit. “He was not one of the three in your original dossiers.” LaRue had told Ray. “The more I get into doing this, the longer the list becomes. So I start re-prioritizing.” The chef heard papers rustling. “You sound very busy. Should I call back?” “I’m going through a script spec. It’s a decent story by a guy I went to high school with.” Ray laughed. “My God, Harry the Hippo has a good story, but he can’t write for shit.” LaRue chuckled. “With a name like Harry the Hippo, he must have a few stories in him.”
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Twenty Four
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
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Twenty Three
The next person on Ray’s list was a female. LaRue had no qualms about killing a woman. He had only killed five in the past, six if you count Amie. But this meant that he didn’t have the same comfort level he did with men. The new target’s name was Karen Ford. She currently lived in the United Kingdom. The dossier was thin. She was a hired killer, however it was the people she killed that had put her on Ray’s radar. Her specialty was children. Ford’s clients were people who lived in the shadows. She would be hired by whoever needed extra leverage during negotiations. She had worked both to and for labor unions. Likewise, she had been contracted by every major as well as most of the minor countries. As he sat on the runway before his flight, he dictating more of his new book.&n
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Twenty Two
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
