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2024-10-29 19:42:56With 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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Killer Chef Thirty
“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
Killer Chef One
You know him or at least think you do. Devon LaRue has been on television longer than some of his fans have been alive. LaRue opened his first restaurant in 1992, his second three years later. By the end of the decade, world leaders and celebrities alike were vying for the best seats in his now three restaurants.But Devon LaRue was not what he seemed. It was as a young culinary student in 1982 that LaRue found himself at the scene of a murder. LaRue admitted later he had been high on a few drugs; he just didn’t remember which ones. The victim was Amie McAvey, a girl that had a history with LaRue. Amie and LaRue had dated and had broken up, dated and broken up, dated and broken up. Each breakup had been precursor by violent breakup arguments. When he came down, LaRue found himself in a cell, covered with blood. He had gotten sick, the drying puddle of vomit on the floor and on the corner of the long sleeve shirt he had borrowed from his roommate.
Killer Chef Two
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” LaRue began, “this meal can be eaten with both world leaders and factory workers. Everyone from farmers and faith healers can enjoy this. I know this, my friends, because I have enjoyed this meal with them all. I’ve often been called The Host of The World, but” he stopped and smiled that smile that he had flashed so often, his gray flecked strawberry blonde hair bounced back and forth. “But,” he continued as he held a glass of red wine in a salute gesture, “I am only gotten to be the Host of The World because you, my friends, have allowed me to become the Guest of the World, first.” He took a small sip and set the glass down. LaRue stood. His gray eyes sparkled. “This is the final show before I go on holiday. Although I regret that I will not be spending time with you each day, I always come back with recipe ideas and a renewed
Killer Chef Three
LaRue rubbed his eyes as he stepped off the plane. He had landed in Al-Bayda Airport several times. The country of Yemen was a sewer and he hated travelling here.He caught his reflection in the men’s room mirror. His blondish-red hair had been dyed black, his gray eyes now brown. He had grown tired of this play acting. The disguises, the aliases, the different accents. He loved the killing, the shot of adrenaline, the look in the eyes as the life leaves, never got old. He was here one final time. ‘Tommy’s final assignment,’ he thought. Tommy’s face drifted in front of him. ‘I would kill you slowly if you were here,’ he said softly. ‘You dragged me into this . .this . .” he gestured to the disguise he wore, “this acting shit.”He got into the nondistinctive sand-colored sedan and started pointing angrily at the figure in the mirror
Killer Chef Four
“Doc, Ray’s on 3 for you.” He watched Emily walk away, enjoying the way her body filled out her dress. LaRue remembered their first meeting. He had been interviewing just a few. He had only been out of culinary school for a year, but with his confidence and a loan from Tommy, the young chef felt ready to open his first restaurant, and needed an assistant. Emily had been his fourth interview and, honestly two of the first three were more qualified than she was. It was a basic mistake that made the difference. She had been running late, a trait that would haunt her off and on no matter how much she worked on it. She had misread his name and thought it was Devon Rue. To be clever, Emily thought she would make a joke and say since his initials were ‘DR’ she should just call him ‘Doc.’ One LaRue figured out her mistake, he knew she would be the one to hir
Killer Chef Five
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
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.
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- Killer Chef
Thirty
“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
- Killer Chef
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
- Killer Chef
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
- Killer Chef
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
- Killer Chef
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.
- Killer Chef
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.”
- Killer Chef
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
- Killer Chef
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
- Killer Chef
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
