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
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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
Killer Chef Fourteen
LaRue was unable to concentrate on either finishing his book, or on outlining even the first episode of his new season. “The first few days after an event is always a let down, huh, D?” “Especially this time, Grandpa Lou. I have never killed more than two people at a time.” “You didn’t get a lotta sleep last night, did ya?” “Not a lot. Apparently no one at the Agency bothered to house break their goats. Also, when Cowatv wasn’t shitting, he was running around the room trying to break everything.” The rap-tap-tap of a hammer filled the house. Behind them, Emily was constructing something that she had watched her dad build. She was working on a giant box, roughly fifteen feet square with a piano hinge along o
Killer Chef Fifteen
“If you were to die tomorrow, what would you want to have accomplished?” LaRue asked Em. They were in their kitchen, she was sitting at the table, he was finishing omelettes that included pancetta, potatoes, chives, cream, maple syrup and a few spices. Cowatv ran through the house happily. “You’re a joy in the morning, aren’t you?” “I’m serious.” “Daddy used to call it his legacy. The farm I grew up on had been in the family for four generations. He said his dad had taken it, and made improvements on it. Daddy then took it and bought more land. He added two more buildings, a large one he could keep all the farm equipment in and a smaller one on the far side of the farm that he could duck into when it rained.” “I never wanted any par
Killer Chef Sixteen
As LaRue took his seat on the flight, he ran his schedule for the next two days. He should arrive in Knoxville about four hours from now. He had made an appointment to meet with Calvin McAfee tomorrow morning. However, he would kill McAfee tonight. He only had his carry on with him. As commercial travel was tricky with weapons now, he had no gun. The last time the chef had brought a gun onto a flight was two years ago. He had had longer to prepare and had successfully smuggled it on. Emily had talked with her dad and Melvin knew LaRue was coming, however he had asked Em to tell her dad that he would land at a different time. The chef had a car waiting. Beyond that, LaRue had learned about McAfee. As Emily had said, the bank manager was twenty seven and apparently this had been his only job. His education seemed to be nothing beyond high school, which meant that a powerfu
Killer Chef Seventeen
LaRue sat outside a 3 bedroom, two story stucco house. Outside that house was a newer Maserati. Inside the house was Calvin McAfee. He had gotten home at 6:27, carrying a paper bag in his left hand. The chef’s rented car, the one that Ray had now erased from the rental company’s inventory, was parked across the street from McAfee’s. One of the items LaRue had brought with him was his 3x25 opera glasses. They always allowed him to watch his victims, but were more concealable than binoculars. Due to most of his surveillance being was done at night, he replaced the glass with lens found in night vision goggles. He had watched him sit a chair by the window for sixty seven minutes. The chef watched McAfee pull up one web page then another. He could read account numbers, the different names on the accounts, and the amounts of each. Although he had a photographic memory, LaRue wrote the information down. &n
Killer Chef Eighteen
Eighteen The next morning, LaRue was at the bank when it opened. He rarely dressed in a tie, and only owned three. However, he added a pale blue one to compliment his dark green shirt and jeans. He had played this part many times, convincing someone of something he knew wasn’t true. In this case, LaRue had to convince other bank employees that, as far he knew, McAfee was still alive. As he walked in, he was greeted by a man in his mid-30’s running with an outstretched right hand. “Good morning, Chef LaRue. My name is Jeffrey Johnson. It is an honor to meet you.” The chef raised his hand. “Either Chef or Devon is fine, Mr. Johnson. I was supposed to meet a Mr. McAfee this morning.” “Yes sir, Chef. That’s why I’m here. Mr. McAfee won’t be in this morning.” He motioned La