2021-05-14 - Friday
04:32 "Anything for a Story"
Outside the DeLuca House - Brooklyn - Friday 5th May, 04:32
“Shit, shit!” Meredith swore beneath her breath as she tore the leg of her skinny track pants on the old chain-link fence. Swinging her left foot over the top, she carefully lowered herself down the other side, dropping the last couple of feet to the ground. The sound was muffled by her sneakers but she still paused, holding her breath and listening in case anyone had heard.
Of course nobody had. Brooklyn was never silent, not even in the presence of a grizzly double murder. Sirens still wailed in the distance, people shouted and cats screeched and knocked over garbage cans. Meredith looked up at the house - a tiny two storey structure with crumbling brickwork and pink petunias growing in window boxes on the lower level. Bars had been screwed over the ground floor windows, but not the ones on the first floor. In fact one window had been propped open, and that was where she was headed.
The story had been broadcast that afternoon, Meredith had watched it on the TV in the campus cafeteria until someone had switched the station to Oprah. A fifteen-year-old girl raped and brutally beaten to death. Sadly, it wasn’t exactly a unique occurrence in this city. But what added to the bizarre nature of the crime was the equally bloody murder of her boyfriend’s mother - gutted and tied to the kitchen table. Meredith had been hooked, and after her last set at the Grindhouse, she’d wasted no time in taking the subway to Brooklyn. The last hour she’d spent at a nearby all-night diner compiling all the details surrounding the tragedy. Understandably the neighbourhood were unnerved by the events. Fear, tinged with a tiny amount of excitement that their mundane lives had been caught up in a real-life horror story.
People liked to talk at times like this, they needed to talk, and Meredith had been happy to offer a sympathetic ear whilst filling most of her notebook with background info on Magdalena DeLuca (the murdered girl) and her missing mother, Freida - a well-respected if not highly strung church going woman who hadn’t been seen since her Tuesday night bible studies group.
She’d learnt a lot. Such as the fact that Magdalena had a boyfriend, an older boy called Carmine Bocelli who worked as a general dogsbody for some big city trader called Balthazar Romano. Carmine wasn’t a clever boy, he was what Mrs Vitale (co-proprietor of Papa Vitale’s 24-Hour Diner) called ‘special’. But everyone had said how nice he was. A real Lennie Small type if ever there was one. Hardly the rapist and murdering sort.
To further add to the mystery, Vitale’s busboy, Joe Perrone, had been outside the house when the ambulance crew brought out the bodies. He’d heard the cops talking with the crime scene guys, something about how the young girl had been killed almost 24 hours before the Bocelli woman. How they’d found extensive blood evidence and tissue samples that didn’t match either of the two victims. Meredith put that together with what she already knew, and came up with at least a dozen different scenarios and a giant question mark. But something had happened in that house… and Meredith was going to find out what it was.
If she could get in there without breaking her neck or getting arrested that was. Still… nobody ever got anywhere without taking a few chances, right?
“Okay… if you’re gonna do this Meri, just do it.” Tightening the straps of her backpack, Meredith pulled the hood of her sweater up over her head and climbed up on the lower window box, clumsily crushing a couple of petunias in the process. Rock climbing had been one of her favourite pastimes in Montana, just being able to get away from everyone else, relying solely on your own strength to survive. This wasn’t much different really, and the crumbling masonry and shoddy drainage made it easy enough to find footholds.
Halfway up, a loose piece of mortar broke free beneath her sneaker. Meredith stifled a yelp and bit into her lower lip, her elbow scraping against the brick wall as she struggled not to lose her grip. Tentatively she groped around with her foot, finally finding an old outlet pipe jutting from the wall. Breathing a sigh of relief, Meredith gently rested her weight on the pipe, the window ledge was within reach if she could just… Her knee gave way. With a gasp of pain and surprise, she made a desperate grab for the window ledge, her feet flailing wildly in midair as she hung on for dear life.
“Jesus Fuc- Bastard…” Meredith swore between gritted teeth, sucking in a lungful of air and grunting against the pain in her knee as her sneakers scuffed against the wall in an attempt to find some purchase. The window was open, propped up with a couple of high school text books, and somehow she managed to half scramble, half pull herself inside.
Gasping for breath, Meredith rested with her back against the wall. That was when the smell hit her.
“Oh… my God…” she cursed under her breath, covering her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. She’d never smelled a dead… anything before. But she already knew this wasn’t a scent she’d ever forget. It was like rotting meat and faecal matter. Sour and sickly at the same time with a thick bitter tang that tainted the mucus in the back of her throat. The mere thought of breathing it into her lungs made Meredith want to retch and she could feel the muscles in her neck contract and the acrid taste of bile rising in the back of her mouth.
Fumbling for her pen torch, Meredith switched it on and a small, narrow beam of light highlighted the horror she’d so recklessly thrown herself into the middle of. Obviously there hadn’t been time for a clean-up crew yet. Blood spatter seemed to cover everywhere like the set of some slasher flick. The floor was still slick with gore, dotted with various yellow CSI markers and sporadic foot prints. The bright pink walls were decorated with several sprays of crimson as well as blood splattered posters of boy bands and one picture of two kittens in a watering can. The blood soaked teddy bear laying discarded on the bed was a bleak reminder of how young this girl had been.
Meredith batted away several flies that buzzed around the room relentlessly, and resisted the urge to sigh. The smell was repulsive, like some kind of insidious warning. She wanted to leave, to just get the hell out of here. But she had a job to do. Holding the torch between her teeth, she quickly pulled on her gloves and set to work. A diary would be a good start, something that mentioned the boyfriend - Carmine Bocelli. Someone at the diner had mentioned that he was in a gang, so maybe the girl had wrote about it. Meredith quickly looked in the girl’s underwear drawer, nothing. Then at the back of the wardrobe, nothing. Under the mattress? Nothing. She sighed, looking around when her foot creaked on a loose floorboard. Holding her breath, she looked down, the board wasn’t just loose, it had come free.
Meredith crouched low and lifted it away. There was a small hiding space underneath. Inside was a tidy bundle of cash - no more than eighty bucks but a lot for a young girl, some cheap make-up and several photos of a girl and an older boy. Meredith held one up to her torch, the guy looked… well, kinda goofy, but sweet and quite plainly smitten with the pretty girl at his side who had long dark hair and a sunny smile. Meredith felt a pang of sadness tear through her chest. She quickly sorted through a bundle of other papers until she found it, the holy grail - a small lockable diary. Shoving it into her backpack with a couple of the photos, she put the rest of the stuff back in its hiding place.
“Okay,” Meredith said softly to herself. She had to get out of here, now. The smell was oppressive, like something thick and evil pressing down on her. Or maybe that was the guilt of rummaging through a dead girl’s belongings? Meredith pushed it away, if it meant she exposed the murdering bastard who’d done this then it would be worth it. At least that’s what she told herself.
That’s when she saw it. Tiny, but it sparkled brightly even in the poor light. A ruby it looked like, though why a kid would have something like that she didn’t know. Meredith picked it up, holding it in her gloved hand. Maybe it was glass? But no, it was cut too well, and it glittered… really shimmered, better than any ruby Meredith had ever seen in any jewellery store.
She was still gazing at the tiny red stone when she heard a noise.
*Oh shit!*
Meredith slipped the stone into her back pocket, eyes fixed on the door as she slowly retreated back to the window. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, and she didn’t dare breathe. What if someone had seen her come in and called the cops? Meredith squeezed her eyes shut tight and forced herself to breathe. Whatever the sound was, she wasn’t about to stick around and find out. Carefully, Meredith climbed out the window. Down was always easier than up and in less than two minutes she was scrambling her way back over the chain-link fence. She took one last look up at the window, then ran.
05:40 "Sunrise - One side of several phone calls"
First Phone Call
"Balthazar. Tony, why are you calling me at ... 5:40 am? what? Who is this? Sabine? Where's Tony?
"Slow down, Sabine, you aren't making sense. He what? Are you okay? Okay. From the beginning, please, Sabine.
"Okay, let me see if I got this, you and Tony went back to your place, and he spent the night. This morning you say something happened to him?
"Ash, hm? Was there fire? No? Okay, leave it there, I'll send someone to take care of it. Go to your mother's or something. Sabine, I know this is upsetting, but it isn't your fault. There, there.
"Listen, don't tell any one about it. No, not even your mother, and especially not a priest. I am serious, Sabine, nobody. If I hear you have been talking then I will be very angry. Very. Listen, after you calm down some, take yourself to the spa here in my building. On me. It'll help, I promise.
That's a good girl."
Second Phone Call
"Frank, tell everyone on the staff that if they see Carmine Bocelli to keep him the fuck away from me. All of them. Email list, stupid! Shit! do I have to tell you how to do your fucking job?
"What do you do with him? If you know where he is, then kill him. No scratch that, that won't work. Drop him in a well somewhere and watch him for three days. Then call me.
"No, I don't fucking care which well it is, dumbass.
"Oh, and call the spa and tell them to keep an appointment open for Sabine to come by today. Tell them she needs to forget. Yeah, one of those.
"Thanks, Frank."
Third Phone Call
"Logan, sorry to wake you up. Whatever you are doing tomorrow night, cancel it, you are going with me to the Graveyard club.
"I know you wanted the night off, but that's too bad, I really need you to be there.
"It will be a lot of fun, but more importantly you blend better than Dumbass Frank.
"Tony isn't available. No, he's really not. Look, just do it!"
07:10 "Cadee's revelations"
Friday, 07:10
“Good morning, my dear.” Anne entered the kitchen, with her usual impetuous quality. “I reckon you promised me Mexican,” she said, rubbing her hands. “A morning that starts with Mexican food can only lead to good things.”
“You’re very cheerful this morning, Annie,” Cadee observed, turning from her cooking and leaning on the kitchen counter. She watched her friend with a knowing eye, she was wearing the same clothes than last night, and a smile that challenged the sun. “A good night, huh?”
“And a good morning,” Anne winked. “Too bad I have to work, wouldn’t have minded staying.”
“Oh, so Mr. tall and handsome is a keeper?” She asked, even if she knew the answer, Anne was happy enough with sole encounters, said she liked to keep the doors open.
“Nah,” she said, confirming Cadee’s prediction. “But you can’t blame a girl for enjoying simple pleasures… like your cooking. So, Mexican it is?”
“Huevos Rancheros,” she answered, waving towards the kitchen counter with an enormous knife, where little piles of perfectly sliced onions, garlic, tomato and chili were displayed. The smell of the tortillas was delicious. “Go clean yourself, it’ll be ready when you come back.”
“Okie dokie, artichokie,” Anne said, and saluted before leaving the room. Cadee chuckled and resumed her cooking. She hoped she wouldn’t take long, she didn’t have much time before she went to work, and she just needed to tell her about Jasmin.
By the time her friend came back, all showered and ready for work, the kitchen smelled spicy and warm at the same time. A couple of steaming huevos guerreros plates waited on the table, each with a mug of fragrant coffee at its side.
“Oh, wonderful, Cade. This is mouthwatering, I can’t imagine what you’re doing ‘serving’ food and not ‘cooking’ it.”
“Can’t stand being tucked up in a kitchen, you know that.”
“You don’t mind being tucked up in this one,” Anne mumbled, closing her eyes and yumming as she put a forkful of spicy eggs in her mouth.
“Not the same, this is pleasure, not work.” she replied. “Listen, Anne, there’s something I need to tell you.” Cadee waited till Anne swallowed and looked at her before going on. “How much do you know this Jasmin Taylor?”
“Oh? Not much, I just try and deliver her stuff whenever she needs the service. She’s a great tipper and her errands usually involve industry people… so, good news. You should see her penthouse! And I see her at the Graveyard all the time, of course, but last night was the first I approached the woman there…” She eyed Cadee’s serious face and wondered. “Why are you asking?”
“The woman ’s a vampire,” she said, and waited for Anne’s reaction.
“What???” Anne lowered her coffee mug so brusquely that it splattered coffee all over her eggs, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were fixed on her friend’s face as she nodded. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“But, but… are you fucking sure you’re sure? This is Jasmin Taylor you’re talking about. Hollywood, Broadway, the Graveyard… she’s a fucking public figure!”
“Stop cursing, and of course I’m sure. She’s a vampire, all right. If she looks like a vampire, smells like a vampire, and talks like a vampire... she’s surely not a duck!” Cadee frowned. “Now think, have you ever seen her during the day? Enjoying sunshine, drinking margaritas in that fine penthouse of hers?”
Anne thought of the usually shadowed rooms and the heavy curtains, of Jasmin’s pale skin and morning sleepiness, and cursed again. She must have been blind! But she was a public figure! She opened her mouth to speak again, but Cadee anticipated her.
“It’s not unheard of vampires mingling among humans. Not usual, I grant you, but not impossible either. I’ve been giving it some thought,” she said, watching her now cold eggs with distaste, what a waste! She sighed. “There’s plenty of ways she could feed without calling attention on herself. I don’t know, blood banks, willing donors, criminals…” she frowned at the thought of the latter, but continued. “We know for certain she doesn’t kill discotheque patrons, for one, there’s never been word of it.”
“Nor couriers,” Anne added, biting her lip; it was certainly scary to think she had been in the beast’s lair regularly. If Jasmin were an ordinary vampire, she should be dead, all right. A decent vampire at last?
“Nor couriers,” Cadee repeated, serious. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.” Anne got up, her breakfast as forgotten as Cadee’s. “What are you going to do? Kill the big bad vampire?”
Cadee thought of the creature she had met last night, all blond and delicate, and laughed.
“I’d hate to spoil your acting possibilities, not to mention your great tip source, so I guess I’m leaving her alone…” Then she got serious, she had given the matter a lot of thought, in fact. “I don’t think this vampire in particular poses a threat. Although she’s probably old and powerful, she has much to lose if she acts all ‘big bad vampiry like’. There’s probably nothing to worry about, well, as long as you take care, right? No paper cuts and the like, Bella…”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She was so absorbed that she missed Cadee’s joke. Bad signal. Cadee sighed as she followed her friend out of the kitchen, all her hunter instincts telling her she shouldn’t let Anne next to a vampire just like that, but then she reminded all the whys and wherefores this was not the typical vampire.
Anne moved to the door and took her bicycle helmet, not talking while she adjusted it. When she was ready she turned to Cadee who was watching her with a worried look in her face, and offered a weak smile. “I just hope Jasmin doesn’t need me today. I really need to think about this.”
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07:28 "Bad Times"
Carmine woke with the sun. He showered and got dressed. He worked on getting his eye more-or-less normal looking and sort of arranged the pieces of his skull that were poking out back into place. He packed a bag with two extra changes of clothes. He had been through a lot of clothes the last few days. Momma would be mad he'd lost one bag already.
He went downstairs and found some Pop-tarts in the cupboard. Then as he sat in the kitchen eating them dry he saw the pattern on the walls. "NWB" New West Berlin. He knew that tag very well growing up in Hell's Kitchen. They were a group of German and Russian thugs who ran the west-side from 42nd street to the Lincoln Tunnel. He hadn't really paid a lot of attention last night. He'd been more in shock than anything else. But if they had done this... If they had been in this house and broken all of Momma's puppies...
The Pop Tarts tasted like ash and he spit them out. He reached up to the top shelf of the cupboard and pulled down the tin tea-box that Momma said was for "bad times". This was the worst time that Carmine could ever remember so he figured Momma would understand.
Inside there was a roll of bills. It was a lot of money, but Carmine carefully counted out the money and wrote a note to put in the can, just like Momma had showed him. He then replaced the can and put the bills in his pocket. Carmine threw some crackers and Pop-tarts and some Fruit Roll-ups into his bag for later and left the townhouse quietly. He was careful to look around in case there was Bloods watching the house because he didn't want to get caught just yet.
He hustled down the street. He had to get over to the the Lucky Strike Lanes bowling alley before they opened.
08:48 "Lucky Strike Lanes Bowling Alley"
Carmine was crouching in the alleyway between the bowling alley and the dry-cleaners next door. He hid behind a dumpster full fo something that smelled worse than anything he could remember recently. He had briefly thought he would hide IN the dumpster until he had smelled it and then changed his mind.
He knew that the NWB used this bowling alley as a "clubhouse" where they'd sit and drink and plan what mischief they'd get up to. He knew this because he'd bowled here with Magda few times. He liked to go bowling. NWB wasn't like the gangs up in Harlem that would mug you or the gangs over in Brooklyn that would shoot you. They were more like that gangs in Chinatown that stole and sold drugs and bullied people they didn't like.
Until yesterday, he'd thought that NWB liked Carmine okay and they had left Magda alone but they usually didn't like the black people or the Latinos that lived around here. Those people didn't come bowling here at all. But carmine knew that if he didn't do something that he'd die for real this time. And if he had to kill someone then the guys who had ruined his Momma's puppies would be the ones.
The bowling alley didn't open 'til 9:00 and carmine hoped that Ivan who ran the place would let him in early. He knew Ivan pretty good and sometimes if it was slow Ivan would let Carmine and Magda keep using a lane more than the time they'd paid for.
This wasn't a favor like that, but Carmine hoped he'd do it. a few minutes later Ivan came and started unlocking the door. Carmine slipped around the corner and said, "Hi, Ivan."
"Oхуел!*" he said jumping, "Carmine, you out of mind? Why you sneaking around corner this early?"
"I'm sorry, Ivan, I wanted to get in here first thing."
Ivan narrowed his gaze on Carmine, "Why you so eager be in here first, boy? You in trouble?"
"Kinda," Carmine had to admit, "But if I get in here good and early then I can hide for a while." Carmine didn't like to lie, but Mr. B. had said that it sometimes made things go smoother, and he was sure right about that.
"Why you have bag?" Ivan asked him, "What is 'Romano Investments'?"
Carmine looked at the bag. He couldn't say he was running away so he lied, "It's clothes for work. I do some cleaning up at Mr. B's building."
"I see," Ivan said, "So what you got planned if you need to hide here?"
"Um," Carmine hadn't thought this through, "It's a surprise?"
Ivan cocked his head strangely but unlocked the door and waved Carmine in. "You start coffee while I set up till," Carmine said pointing to the dining counter, "Kristen and Gerlinda will come at 10:00 but is better if coffee is ready at 10:00"
Carmine looked at the dining counter. There was a soda fountain and pizza ovens and a cabinet where the pretzels were kept warm. Everything was turned off. He nodded, he didn't know how to use the machines to make coffee, but he'd try. He had an hour to get it done.
Ivan had to come and help him get the coffee made, but once he had been shown, Carmine was able to make three pots before Ivan told him that was enough. While he was making coffee, Carmine spotted the big knives and the large flat pizza paddle that they used to pull the pizza out of the oven. He figured that he could use those against those NWB boys.
Beyond that he had no plan and so he sat on the stool and spun back and forth until Ivan shouted at him to sit still because he couldn't think. After that he just filled all the napkin holders and checked the ketchup and mustard bottles until he spotted the first of the NWB boys to come in.
Ivan didn't even look at them. The two of them breezed in casually and went straight into the bar. They didn't even look at Carmine. There wasn't anyone in the bar, but Carmine could see them in there pulling bottles of beer out from behind the bar and not even paying for them. Carmine went into the bar. His guts were in knots and he wanted to scream at them with the outrage and fear he had felt last night as he walked thought Momma's house looking at the damage they had done.
But he didn't say anything as he walked past the tall one seated at the bar. The other one was behind the bar opening cabinets. "Hey, boyo!" the one behind the bar said to Carmine, "Where you keep the nuts, hey? I h'aint had breakfast yet."
Carmine shrugged and walked around the bar and helped him look. He opened one of the cabinets and spotted a box that said 'Nuts' on it which he pulled out. When the guy reached down to dig through the box, Carmine pulled out the knife he'd had in his hand and stabbed him right in the back.
"Kosta!" the other guy cried out and drew a stubby revolver from under his jacket," Mamu ti nabije!" he said and fired the gun at Carmine.
Carmine felt the bullet rip through him and it hurt a lot. But he didn't die. He didn't even bleed much. The guy under the counter had fallen and was trying to reach the knife while rolling on the floor. Carmine ran around the bar and the other guy fired twice more at Carmine but missed both shots. When Carmine reached him he was moving fast enough to body-slam him onto the floor.
Ivan burst into the bar with an AK-47 rifle. " Chto za huy! Carmine! Vat the Fuck?"
"I'm sorry, Ivan, Carmine said and pulled the gun from the guy he had pinned. He then placed the revolver on his face and pulled the trigger. The sound was loud, but not as loud as the three shots that came from the AK. Carmine was knocked down from the impact. Then he got back up. Ivan began to shake, he clearly hadn't meant to shoot but this was too much for him so he dropped the gun and ran out of the bar.
Carmine picked up the machine-gun and looked at it. It was simple to use. Lever, safety, trigger. He understood it instantly. He slung it over his shoulder and started to leave just as three more of the New West Berlin gang entered. They were drawing weapons but they hadn't even managed to get them clear before Carmine had the machine gun barking. He struggled to control the weapon but it fired rapidly enough to compensate for his wild aim.
In a moment it stopped. The clip was empty and all three members of the gang were on the ground. Carmine dropped the rifle and grabbed a smaller machine gun from one of the men. It was square and compact and again made simple. Carmine pulled back the lever marked "Pull to fire" and flipped the switch marked safety before he walked out into the street.
A tricked-out Mustang was parked in the lot across the street and Carmine spotted Drago, the leader of NWB, pointing a very large chromed hand-gun at him. It made a sound like thunder and Carmine felt the slug slam into him like a train. He staggered and another bullet slammed into him. He staggered back again until his back was against the frame of the door, the glass having shattered by the bullets passing through him.
But he didn't go down. He lifted the Mac-10 and sprayed bullets across the street. Glass shattered, another person dropped to the grown and Drago ducked behind the door of his car. Holes appeared in the hood and door of the bright red Mustang. And almost before Carmine knew it, the gun was empty.
This was nothing like in the movies, he thought, those guys seemed to fire for a LOT longer than these guns.
He looked around for another gun and didn't see any handy. But no return fire came. He could hear sirens in the distance so he ran. He ran towards home because he didn't know where else to go.
Drago cowered behind his car. He could feel the wetness in his pants and it shamed him. He had hit that fat guy at least three times right in the chest and he didn't die. When the machine gun had sprayed the car and he saw Zoran go down he was sure he'd die. He had wet himself when he heard the bullet blow past his ear through the door.
He got up and ran into the Bowling alley. He looked at the dead bodies of Ladislas, Jefta and Savo in the lobby. As he stood there in disbelief he heard the police pulling up out front. He looked up and saw Ivan peering out from behind a counter. Drago held the gun up and Ivan pointed to behind the counter where the cash register stood open. Drago nodded and tossed the gun into the deep drawer which did not have a cash-tray yet in it and closed it.
Policemen poured in with guns drawn and shouting orders. Drago patiently answered all of their questions withholding only the truth about his gun and the identity of the shooter. When they were done and the ambulances had carried away their friends. Drago asked Ivan, "Who was he?"
"Carmine, don't know his last name. Comes in here couple of times a month and bowls with teenaged girlfriend. Kinda retarded, I think."
"This wasn't the work of a retard, Ivan."
"I know, but it was him. I spoke to him this morning. He couldn't even make coffee."
Drago pulled the gun out of the register. "I will see that he pays in blood. Where can I find 'Carmine'?"
Ivan couldn't help until he remembered the duffel that Carmine's had brought -- the bag that had the Romano Investments logo on it.
* Are you crazy!
09:05 “Cooking 101”
Friday, 09:30
La Española Bar & Cantina
“Cadee, you should be taking professional classes, attend a Culinary School. I could get you a recommendation.” Imanol García said with his marked Spanish accent, watching his pupil, as she easily cleaned a squid for a ‘calamares en su tinta’ dish.
Imanol was the owner and cheff of 'La Española', a cozy restaurant in Greenwich Village. He was from Galicia, and his restaurant served the best Spanish recipes. When he had just got from Spain, with big dreams and little else, Pedro had dated Cadee’s mother, but, while the relationship with Susan hadn’t prospered, he had recognized in her daughter a fellow cooking lover. In fact, he had kept seeing the mother just for the pleasure of teaching the daughter to cook, until he had felt too Nobokov for his ease of mind and finally ended the relationship with Susan.
Then, 4 years ago, just by chance, they had met again and he had taken her to his recently opened restaurant. Somehow, cooking lessons had naturally followed. Cadee was as eager to learn as she had been as a teen, and she was good, but it killed him to see her skill wasted in a waitress job.
“No matter how good of a cook you happen to be, no five star establishment will consider you without the right education. You know that!”
Cadee pulled the squid’s head away, all with entails attached, and gently extracted the ink sack from them. It was unbroken, smiling at her small victory, she proceeded to squeeze the dark ink into a small bowl with water. When she was satisfied that the sack was empty, it followed the entails to another bowl, only then she turned to the man besides her.
“Are you implying that you’re not a good teacher, Manny,” she asked, feigning worry. “’Cause I don’t think I could have extracted squid’s ink last week.”
“I’m an excellent teacher, el mejor! But a teacher is as good as his students are. And you’re too good to be serving tables!”
Cadee sighed, they had the same conversation almost every other week. She looked around. There were plenty of people in the kitchen, ‘La Española’ was a medium sized restaurant and at least half a dozen line cookers were working at any time, not mentioning Joan, Manny’s sous-cheff. It was early still, so everybody was doing prep-work.
There were several work stations, each dedicated to its own purpose. A woman worked at the salads’ station, cutting romaine lettuce from a huge case under the table. She had already arranged all of the dressings and big bowls of avocados, tomatoes and onions along the table, all within arm's reach. In another section of the kitchen, a latino man was working on the appetizers’ station – or tapas, as they were called in Spanish cuisine. He was toasting large quantities of sliced bread with olive oil and garlic. These would get prepared with different toppings – ham, bacon, olives, mushrooms – which already waited in neat bowls.
Likewise, the cooks in charge of the grill, the sautéing pans and the deep fryer were also getting ready for the working day. There were boiling pans and sizzling oil, smoked pork and ham; sausages, chorizos and morcillas hanging happily from the ceiling. The smells, and sounds were tempting, challenging, exciting…
She had already done her training in all of those stations. Imanol, Manny, had been her teacher, but also the rest of the cooks, who liked her and didn’t see her as a threat. She had gone from the easiest station, the salads one, step by step to what Manny considered the hardest: the seafood. She'd had four years of continuous –if not formal– training in most areas of a restaurant kitchen; and contrary to what she had told Anne earlier, she wouldn’t bother to be tucked up in one at all.
However, she could relate to Manny’s frustration, sometimes she felt it too. But there was no way she could make him understand, in fact she wasn’t sure she could understand it herself. What the hell was she doing serving tables? She could be cooking and probably making more money than she did at the Slàinte, even without a degree from any fancy cooking school. She knew she had the skill. Or she could be working as a receptionist in Wall Street, like Sandoval mentioned, or as a secretary, even a cop. She would be a great cop! If she could ever get over her distrust of them, of course. But no, she was a waitress, serving another cooker's creations instead of her own. *Hey, don’t complain, it leaves you plenty of time to play slayer!* She nodded, it was as simple as that: it left her plenty of time to play slayer.
“Actually, Manny, I hunt vampires and demons during the night. The Sláinte is perfect for that. Plenty of cops, you know, sometimes I hear things. So I get into my ass kicking boots and go kill monsters.”
She looked at him seriously for a few seconds, enjoying his puzzled expression. She could almost hear his mind working, trying to decide whether she had gone suddenly crazy or was just pulling his leg. Then she laughed, a laughter so heartfelt that startled everybody in the kitchen, and Manny relaxed, grinning as well.
“Niña loca. You almost got me there.” He said, and walked away to supervise some other thing, shaking his head as he went.
Feeling a little ashamed because of her joke, Cadee turned to the dismembered squid on her working table. She quickly sliced all the edible parts and placed them in yet another bowl, then she took the innards' one before somebody decided to clean up and throw its contents to the garbage. She knew of some who would enjoy the treat.
As she had thought, the usual collection of cats was waiting near the kitchen’s back alley’s door. It wasn’t unusual to find cats near a restaurant, they were clean animals and helped keep the place clean. Cadee loved cats, in fact, Flora and Freddo, her own, had come from a litter she had found in that precise alley.
“I have something for you, sweets,” she told the animals as she descended the couple of steps. The cats meowed and rubbed themselves against her legs, making her laugh. She poured half the content of the squid’s waste on the floor and watched them eat for a few seconds. Then she scanned the alley, looking for a particular cat; she smiled when she spotted him.
“There you are. You knew I’d save something for you, didn’t you?” She said, walking towards the big dumpsters close to the door. A big silver stripped tomcat sat there, watching her as well. She patted his head, and poured the rest of the squid in front of him. As usual, the cat simply looked at her, his expression priceless, not one glance at the food whatsoever. “Oh, come on, Tom, I know you like squid, who wouldn’t?”
The cat just cocked his head.
Cadee chuckled, she knew the game, and didn’t mind playing it. “You’re a bad boy, aren’t you?” she said, finally giving up. She opened her arms and the cat jumped to her, immediately nuzzling her neck. Cadee laughed, delighted by the thick, soft feeling of his fur against her skin, and rubbed his head. He smelled clean and wild, and she could feel his heart going very quickly against his ribs. The cat purred and burrowed into her hair, as if smelling her too, his bushy tail extended in pleasure. After a couple of minutes of mutual cuddling, Cadee put him onto the dumpster once more. “Sorry Tom, duty calls,” she said, and with a final pat to the feline’s head, she walked towards the restaurant again.
It wasn’t until she closed the door behind her, that the cat started to eat.
Guest starring Imanol Arias as Imanol 'Manny' García
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10:41 “Party Planning”
Greenwich Village – Alison’s loft
“Alison, I’ve found the most darling outfits for you!”
Alison barely had time to open the door wide enough to let her agent in before Connie had swept into the room and dumped a stack of large, glossy photos onto the coffee table.
Connie Webb was a petite woman, several inches shorter than Alison’s 5’9”, but what she lacked in size she more than made up for in presence. Having offloaded her burden, she dashed back to the entrance where Alison was still in the process of shutting her door, and grabbed Alison’s hand. Tugging her over to the couch, she grabbed the top couple of photos and waved them in front of Alison’s face.
“See? All of these are available for tomorrow night, we just have to pick one. We’ve got the entire top level of Graveyard booked for us. Have you ever been? It’s a gorgeous Victorian/Gothic place, you’ll love it. Now we just have to dress you appropriately.”
Connie dropped the photos and caught Alison in a fierce hug. “Six books, and getting stronger every time. After this weekend, Lucinda Graves will be the talk of the town. I expect we’ll be in all of the social papers, at least.”
“Okay, okay,” Alison laughed, hugging Connie back before disengaging to sit on the couch. “I knew you were excited about the nightclub booking for this launch, but I didn’t realise how much.”
“Are you kidding, Alison? This is going to be your biggest launch party yet – only to be topped by the one for number seven.” Connie grinned wickedly. “Also, I’ve arranged for a surprise for tomorrow night. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Alison raised an eyebrow. “As long as it’s not the same sort of ‘surprise’ as the male strippers you ordered for the last party. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I wish you’d warned me they were going the full Monty!”
Connie shrugged. “Hey, there’s a reason these things are adults only.” She patted Alison on the arm. “But never fear, my inhibited friend. It’s nothing so overt this time. I promise everyone will keep their clothes on. At least, until the party’s officially over.”
Shaking her head in mock resignation, Alison glanced at the photos. At the first one she paled visibly and stared up at Connie. “You can’t be serious.”
Connie sat on the couch beside her and peered at the photo in Alison’s hand. It showed a model wearing what could only loosely be described as clothing. A couple of leather straps crossed over her breasts, barely covering her nipples and little else, and an assortment of other straps covered her groin. It was clear that most of her bottom would be on display, though the photo didn’t show that angle.
“I might as well go naked, if you think I’d wear that,” Alison objected.
“Ah well, I had to try. You know, maybe I could…”
“No! I won’t let you turn up in something like that. Let’s keep some level of decorum.” Alison put the picture back on the coffee table, facedown, and gave Connie a sidelong glance. “I know you: you only brought that so I’d settle for something more risqué than I would normally.”
Connie laughed. “Yep, guilty as charged. Okay, let’s try the rest.”
“No black this year, please. I know it’s a Goth club we’re going to, but you’ve had me in black for the last three launches. I’m ready for a little colour.”
“Aww, not even this?” Connie held up a photo of a model wearing a gorgeous black beaded corset with a short skirt.
“It’s pretty, but no. And remember, I don’t have slender thighs like these models.”
“Tsk, such a shame. I was looking forward to seeing you in that.”
Connie put the photo away and they fished through the rest until they’d narrowed it down to a handful. She vetoed Alison’s favourite as being too demure. Eventually they settled on a blue dress with a plunging neckline, an open back and a floor-length skirt with two thigh-high slits. It was perhaps a trifle more risqué than Alison was comfortable with, but at least it wasn’t black.
“It’s a pity the model’s standing in such an awkward pose,” Alison remarked. “But I think that’ll look nice and swishy when I’m walking. I just hope my boobs don’t fall out of it.”
“Lovely choice,” Connie said. “And your boob will be fine. I’ll get that picked up for you this afternoon. Your hair stylist and makeup artist will be arriving here at your apartment at around 5pm, so be ready for them. Oh, and that surprise I mentioned earlier? It’s a surprise guest. I was thinking he could be your date.”
“Uh… I think I may already have a date for the party.”
Connie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Do tell. He’s not another loser like that last guy you had, I hope.”
“No, no, he’s really nice. He’s a cop. And, well, we used to go out years ago.”
“Hold on, was he the one that came to the book signing on Monday? The one you blew me off for so you could go to dinner with him instead of me?”
Alison nodded. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Connie gave a low whistle. “Nice. If it doesn’t work out between you two, let me know. I could show him a thing or two.”
“Connie, you’re impossible!” Alison laughed. “But I think we may have something. I don’t know, it’s still early days. We’ve both changed a lot since we knew each other last. And I’m not sure how well he’ll fit in with the crowd tomorrow night. He’s more Alison’s kind of guy than Lucinda’s, you know.”
“Pfft. He’ll be fine. With all that free booze? I defy anyone not to enjoy themselves tomorrow. It’ll be an event to remember, I promise.”
