Devour, p.16
Devour, page 16
“Michael, I know I’m pulling a geek move, but would you do me one tiny favor?”
Michael turned toward Dalton. “Sure, what is it?”
Opening the wooden box, Dalton displayed his Japanese Shun Kaji knife set—perfectly arranged in velvet slots.
“I know—super geek. But I’ve watched your cooking show so many times, especially when you’re chopping veggies, and I don’t know, I just can’t seem to get the hang of it. Specifically your speed. Would you—if you don’t think I’m being ridiculous— show me how you do it?”
Michael frowned, then burst out laughing. “Why the hell not,” he said, taking the knives from Dalton. “Least you’ve got good taste. Shun Kaji—pricey, but the best. Nothing like Japanese steel.”
“You remember, from back in the day, how much I love to cook. And while certainly not in your league, I use the chef’s knife the most—just like you do on your TV show. So, if you’d show me your magic—I’d be hugely grateful.”
Just as Michael picked up the knife, the house phone rang. He stopped and looked around. “Sorry, Frederick, we’re short staffed until we get closer to opening.” Starting toward the lobby, he said, “I won’t be but a minute.”
Brain fog kept Jasmine from thinking with absolute clarity, so seeing Michael heading her way and without a plan of what to do in that second, she shot out the front door. Walking briskly around the building, she headed to the parking garage.
Confused, Jasmine could not understand why her date was at Michael’s restaurant. Undoing her ponytail, she smoothed her hair and pulled it back to retwist the band. Taking out her cell phone, she pulled up Michael’s number. Shaking her head, fingers trembling, she began texting and mumbled, “Holy shit.”
Dalton was admiring a bottle of 1995 Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon. Since he was a Wine Spectator subscriber, he knew Robert Parker gave it a 99 rating and it carried a $2600 price tag.
Just then, Michael’s cell phone pinged.
Dalton looked toward the front of the restaurant. Assuming Michael was still on the phone at the front desk, he looked at the screen: Jasmine. Not sure if it was locked, he swiped the screen.
Instantly, the message read: “I see you have a visitor. Gotta tell you about last night. It’s urgent. Call me.”
As Dalton read the message, his blood ran cold.
His eyes darted back and forth between the phone and the lobby.
In the distance, Michael shouted, “I’m coming!”
Panicking, Dalton pressed DELETE, then turned it over.
Just as Michael entered the room, Dalton was reading a bottle label.
“Sorry about that.”
“No worries,” Dalton spun around. “Just admiring some of the merchandise. This one is—according to Parker—just spectacular. And as much as I love wine and would love to inhale this one, I’m afraid it’s outside my budget.”
Michael chuckled. “Once again, I see you have great taste. We sell more of those than you would think. And yes, it’s superb. But I’m sure we can adjust the price—especially if you were interested in a case?” he winked, “I mean it is a very special occasion, right?”
Chuckling, Dalton said, “Yes it is, and perhaps we can work something out.” Replacing the bottle to the shelf, he pointed to the knife. “I know we’ve run out of time, but do you suppose you could—”
Michael looked down. “Oh yeah, sure.” He checked his watch. “I’ve really got to get moving; my manager will back any minute and we have to open. Let’s see, if I’m going to show you how it’s done, we’ll have to go to the kitchen. Not many veggies in the wine bins,” he grinned.
“Right,” Dalton said, holding the box out for him to take the knife.
“Yeah, just bring that and follow me,” he said, grabbing his clipboard and phone. “I’ve got a similar knife in the kitchen.”
Distressed yet calm, Dalton followed Michael through a set of double doors and into the kitchen. Grabbing a bag of red bell peppers from an industrial fridge, Michael laid them on an oversized cutting board and took down a knife from a magnetic rack on the wall that looked identical to Dalton’s.
“I’ll just use mine. No use getting yours dirty. Or dull.”
“Fair enough,” he nodded, watching Michael slice a bell pepper within an inch of its life and with a speed and precision he had never seen. Michael then pulled out a red onion and started to work. “You have to curl your fingers just so,” he demonstrated. “And the magic—as you call it—is in the wrist. See how I barely move my arm, but my wrist is completely fluid.”
“Impressive,” he nodded with enthusiasm. He watched every move, then checked his watch before discreetly laying his box of knives on the counter. “Amazing, Michael. I really appreciate you taking the time to educate a novice, but I know it’s getting late and I should get out of your hair.”
“You’re right, it is. And thanks for helping me out,” he said, moving toward the sink to rinse the knife.
Dalton abruptly reached across. “Before you put that away, can I feel it real quick? Just to see how it compares to mine?”
Michael looked at him sideways and laid it atop a towel. “Sure. Let me put it here while I rinse my hands,” he said, turning to soap his hands.
In that split second, Dalton picked up Michael’s knife with a towel, simultaneously removing his own knife from the box; then with his other hand, he slid Michael’s knife into the box, quickly putting his own knife in the opposite hand. Just as Michael turned, he played as though he were balancing it.
“Yeah, same balance and construction. Nice, right?” Michael said, wiping his hands and the knife before placing it back on the magnetic strip on the wall. He looked at it—hesitating for a fraction of a second—then his cell phone rang.
Retrieving his phone, he tossed his chin toward the other room. “Okay, let’s head out,” then spoke into his phone, “Hang on just one second.”
Walking Dalton to the front door, he shook his hand. “Remember, all it takes is practice. Hell, I couldn’t cut a straight line when I started. Talk to you soon.”
“Thanks again,” Dalton said, walking toward the exit, as Michael waved over his shoulder and returned to his call.
36
Tongue Soup
Parked behind an enormous truck across the street from the restaurant, Jasmine was slouched down in her car, watching for Dalton to exit the garage. When he was out of sight, she got out and headed into the restaurant. Inside, Michael was filling money drawers at a corner table. When she entered, he looked up and smiled, “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” she said, fidgeting with her car keys.
In the awkward silence, he just watched.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, laying her keys and phone on the table. Taking a cup from the service counter, she joined him and poured from the French press.
“Jaz, you okay?”
“Yeah.”
Smiling, he watched her hands shake. “I can see that.”
She stared into the steam. “Why didn’t you call me back?”
A deep frown creased his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I sent you a text.”
He picked up his phone and swiped the screen. “I don’t see one.”
“What?” Looking frantic, she said, “I just sent it. Not 15 minutes ago!”
“Okay, but phones aren’t a perfect technology. What’d it say?”
Rubbing the sides of her head, she sighed, “This fucking headache of mine.” Taking a long sip of hot coffee, she said, “The guy you were showing wine to?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s the creep I went out with. Didn’t you get my drunk dial?”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s James Nash.”
With eyes wide open, he shook his head and frowned. “No, that’s Frederick Dalton.”
Emphatically, she shook her head. “No. James Nash. The contractor I told you about. Works in Carmel? Lives in Mill Valley? Or there about.”
He shook again. “Jasmine, that’s Warden Dalton. Of San Quentin Prison.”
Her jaw slacked. A frown grew deeper by the second. And as Michael watched, they both felt a deep confusion sweeping over them.
Michael had known Jasmine long enough to know that when she said something, she meant it. She had always been rational and focused at all times. But at the moment, she looked exhausted and ragged around the edges. He took a deep breath and considered matters before reacting impulsively.
Softening his creased brow, he watched her pour another coffee.
“I’m completely confused, Jasmine. I went to the man’s office. At San Quentin prison. Not 40 minutes from here. Yeah, I mean, he’s sort of an odd duck, but—”
“But a creep,” she blurted much too loudly. “He took me out to my favorite place,” she said, tossing her chin toward the Fairmont. “Then, when the night was over, he walked me back to my car and, and proceeded to…”
When she hesitated for too long, he leaned forward. “What?”
She pushed her hair behind both ears and took a deep breath. “He practically sucked the tongue out of my fucking mouth, Michael. I mean…if I didn’t know better, and hear me out, but I swear it was like he wanted to…”
Clearly uncomfortable, she kept shaking her head and frowning.
Taking her hand, he leaned closer. “Jaz, it’s me. You know you can tell me anything. And as complicated as our situation might be right now, it will get better. Now, what did he do?”
She took another deep breath. “It was like he was…trying to bite my tongue. Out of mouth. Almost like, like he wanted to eat it.” She shook her head. “It was…it was fuckin’ crazy! Oh, and not to mention…” she looked off into the distance.
“What?”
“I think, from what I can remember, he had some sort of syringe that he tried to stick in my neck. Seriously, it completely freaked me out!”
“What the hell?” He said, squeezing her shaking hands.
“The only way I got away, I think, is he slipped, or tripped, or something, but when he started to fall backwards,” she nervously snickered, “He stuck himself in the side of his neck.”
They sat silent for several minutes, trying to absorb the insanity.
“Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to get a cab…”
He started pulling paperwork together and said, “Look, I’m gonna figure out this Dalton…or Nash bullshit. Whatever it is. Just gonna take me a little time. But I’m certain it’s Dalton. I mean, I served with this guy back in the Army. Like I said before, he was always…just odd. I mean, really odd. But Jaz, I went to his freaking office. And he’s for sure a Warden. As for the other…” He looked away—staring at nothing.
“What?”
“My gut? He’s stringing you along. For what reason, I don’t know. As for the tongue thing. Well, that’s just fuckin’ wacky.”
Looking like she had swallowed something fowl, she said, “Great.”
“Yeah, I know. Like you said—and as I’ve known from the past—he’s a creep.” Standing, he slid his phone in his pocket and stared out the window. “I still can’t believe I didn’t get your text.”
She stood. “Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“I promise it was freaky.” She looked down at her trembling hands. “I had to use ice cubes in my mouth just to bring the swelling down.”
“Babe, I’m so sorry. And like I said, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Looking away, she lowered her voice, “He nearly yanked my—”
“What?”
She shook her head. “The way he wrapped his hands around my neck—”
“WHAT?”
She pulled down her turtleneck, revealing heavy bruising.
With nostrils flaring, he growled, “This prick does not get to do this to you. I will put a stop to it. Right now!”
Fear shot across her eyes. “Michael, don’t do anything stupid. I mean, if he’s, you know, looney, we have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Michael took her by both arms, pulled her near, and looked into her eyes. “He has no idea what I’m capable of.”
37
Relative Stranger
Forty-five minutes later…
When Scott entered Michael’s restaurant, he was not prepared for the place to be so beautiful. Sure, it was a handsome building from the outside, but then so many buildings in downtown San Francisco, while equally handsome, looked alike. But the moment he entered the front lobby, he was taken aback at its plushness. The decor was stunning. The space smelled like money.
He removed a worn San Diego Padres cap and smoothed his hair, checking his clothes—modest as they were—hoping to put his best foot forward. While he had never worked at a restaurant of this caliber, he was well-aware of what all eateries required besides good food: efficient dishwashers and clean restrooms. Both were jobs he had spent too much of his prime years performing—a lack of education and too many legal troubles had proved challenging for job hunting.
Fortunately, this situation could prove to be different, given he knew the owner. Since they had not spoken much over the years, the chances of it being a warm reception were slim.
Hearing voices inside the restaurant, he inched his way through the entry until he saw a couple sitting at a table in the corner.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
Startled, Michael jumped when he heard a voice behind them. Spinning in his chair, he had a look on his face—one part surprise, one part confusion—followed by an odd grin that eased across his face.
“What in the hell are you doing here?”
With an awkward expression, Scott said, “Uh, looking for some halfway decent food in this two-bit town?”
Waving him over, Michael quietly said to Jasmine, “You’re not going to believe who just walked in.”
Jasmine watched as the two approached one another. Opening his arms wide, Michael said, “Come here, you crazy rascal.”
More relaxed, Scott approached. Jasmine grinned, watching what most guys do when welcoming one another: an uncomfortable hug combined with rapid pats on the back.
Escorting him to the table, Michael said, “Scott this is my manager Jasmine Barthold. She’s the real brains behind all this. Jasmine, this is my big brother, Scott. Although I’ve always called him Scottie.”
Jasmine’s expression shifted from confusion to elation in an instant. “So nice to meet you. And what a…surprise.”
Michael stared at his brother. “No shit! I can’t decide if I want to punch you in the face for being a stranger for so freakin’ long or hug you again.”
Scott grinned awkwardly. “Well, a hug sounds less painful!”
“True,” Michael laughed. “Come on, join us for a drink. But it’ll have to be coffee. We’ve got too much work to do.”
Enjoying the two brothers reconnecting, Jasmine said, “Gentlemen, I’m sure you two want to get reacquainted after all this time, so if you’ll excuse—”
“No, stay. It’ll be—”
“Michael, my head is about to explode.”
“C’mon, five minutes, then you go home and crash for a nap before we open. Please?”
“Okay,” she smiled, walking to the counter for some coffee.
Instantly, they began talking with great animation and surprising warmth. This went on for twenty minutes until Jasmine ran out of coffee and patience. Fidgeting, she continued squeezing her temples until she could no longer tolerate it. She looked at Michael, then her watch.
“Okay, Scottie, what’s up?”
“Uh, either you got some place to be or you’re expecting trouble,” Scott replied.
“Huh?” Michael said absently. “No, it’s just we open soon, and there’s still a lot to do.”
“Okay, I’ll just cut to the friggin’ chase. Reason I’m here is…I need a job.”
Michael hesitated, “Okaaaay.”
Even though seeing his brother had been a nice surprise, Michael considered how the two of them had lost touch long ago. He was also skeptical why Scott had suddenly shown up.
Uncomfortable and feeling put on the spot, Michael said, “We’ve pretty much got our bases covered, brother.”
Scott hung his head.
Michael looked toward Jasmine. Shrugging, she smiled before giving a tiny nod. After an uncomfortable silence, he sighed. “Hell, I guess we can always use a good dishwasher.”
Scott looked up. “I’m the best you’ve ever seen. I can show you the places I’ve worked,” he eagerly said, removing a rumpled sheet of paper from his jacket.
Engaged but hesitant, Michael spun his pen on the table.
Scott stopped short, looking from Michael to Jasmine and back. “Look, I know I’ve been bad about keeping in touch. And I’ve had my run of bad luck. But Bro, I’m serious, I need a job. I’ll work hard and not give you a lick of trouble. Scout’s honor.”
Michael shook his head. “You were never a Boy Scout.”
“True, but I can tie a mean knot.”
They laughed, and glancing toward Jasmine, Michael said, “Here’s the deal. We pay minimum wage. You don’t get extra ‘cause you’re the owner’s brother. The hours aren’t bad, just late. But here's the thing, there’s no tardiness, no stealing, and no drugs. Got a problem with any of that, Scottie, you best tell me now. I’m dead serious.”
Scott shook his head. “Nope. None.”
Looking like Michael was going to change his mind, Scott leaned into his brother’s face. “Michael, I swear. I’ll keep it 100% clean. And I can start whenever you need. Hell, how about right now? Just show me the kitchen.”
When he began to hesitate again, Jasmine said, “You know, Michael, it’s actually good timing. Especially with the graduation push.”
