Read Online Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara by Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale, Astrid Amara, Nicole Kimberling - Free Book Online Page A
Tags: Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Gay, Fantasy, Gay & Lesbian, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, Paranormal & Urban
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stepped back outside for some air. Gunther waited outside.
“From your face I gather that you’ve found something?”
“Have a look for yourself,” Keith suggested.
Gunther held up a demurring hand. “I trust you. What do you want to do now?”
Keith scanned the faces of the kitchen staff and of the servers who were looking anxiously on. It would be impossible for all of members of staff to be innocent. Cindy Bullock’s manicure made it clear that she never picked up a kitchen knife.
“Put a uniform on this door, clear the dining room, and call for a paddy wagon. We’re detaining and questioning all staff. We’ll also need to find the names of any not on shift tonight and have PPB bring them down to the station. Particularly the butchers. Someone with skills skinned those carcasses. I’m thinking we’re looking for one front of the house person and one or two members of kitchen staff who were in on it with Ms. Bullock.”
Gunther gave a slight salute and departed the back kitchen. Keith walked up to the line but didn’t walk through. Each and every one of those five guys had at least one knife. Plus, they’d be more cooperative if he respected both their territory and hierarchy. He held up his badge. “My name is Keith Curry. I’m a federal agent. Who is the person in charge here?”
Unsurprisingly, it was the Black guy who had spoken first. His name turned out to be Baratunde and he was the chef. He outweighed Keith by at least forty pounds but seemed overall even tempered. “I need to ask you to shut this down and bring your people out to the dining room to be interviewed.”
“What about the tickets?” He indicated the unmade orders with a wave of his tongs.
Keith shook his head. “Shut it down. For tonight, anyway. We’re already clearing the customers. This is a crime scene.”
The other man nodded slowly. Behind him, Keith could see one of the cooks texting someone. “And I’m going to ask to hold your phones for the time being, starting with his.”
Baratunde whipped his head around to fix the young cook with a glare. “Damn it, Jesse. Bring that here. Haven’t you got any sense?”
Jesse cowered as he handed over the phone. “I was just texting my girlfriend to say I’d be late, chef.”
“Your woman can wait.”
Keith found it sentimentally amusing that as an agent he inspired less fear than the chef.
Baratunde collected the phones into a square plastic refrigerator insert. As he handed them to Keith, he said, “Jesse’s just a dumb kid, sir. He wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”
“Sure, I understand.” He waved the chef into the back kitchen where they could have relative privacy.
“I’m going to ask you straight out. Have you ever been in this locker?”
“No, sir. It’s Ms. Bullock’s private refrigerator. No staff is allowed in there.”
Keith leaned back against a stainless steel prep table. “You and I both know that somebody must be allowed in. Ms. Bullock is not cooking for herself.”
This drew a slight smile from Baratunde.
“Not my staff.” The chef’s tone was final. “None of my boys have ever stepped foot in there.”
“Who then?”
“There’s a private catering company that uses this space on Monday nights when the restaurant is closed. Forbidden Pleasures, I think they’re called.”
Of course, Keith thought. “Do they share all this equipment?”
The chef nodded. “It’s part of their rental contract. They clean up fine, but they’re hell on the knives.”
“Do you have contact information for this company?”
“No, sir. We’re not allowed on the property on Mondays. Not even me.”
“Did you ever think that maybe Ms. Bullock was hiding something?”
“Sure,” the chef said. “Look at that big-ass lock.”
“What do you think is in that refrigerator?”
“Heroin.” The answer came without pause and with certainty. “Or maybe coke. Some kind of drugs anyway.”
Keith nodded thoughtfully. That is exactly what
“From your face I gather that you’ve found something?”
“Have a look for yourself,” Keith suggested.
Gunther held up a demurring hand. “I trust you. What do you want to do now?”
Keith scanned the faces of the kitchen staff and of the servers who were looking anxiously on. It would be impossible for all of members of staff to be innocent. Cindy Bullock’s manicure made it clear that she never picked up a kitchen knife.
“Put a uniform on this door, clear the dining room, and call for a paddy wagon. We’re detaining and questioning all staff. We’ll also need to find the names of any not on shift tonight and have PPB bring them down to the station. Particularly the butchers. Someone with skills skinned those carcasses. I’m thinking we’re looking for one front of the house person and one or two members of kitchen staff who were in on it with Ms. Bullock.”
Gunther gave a slight salute and departed the back kitchen. Keith walked up to the line but didn’t walk through. Each and every one of those five guys had at least one knife. Plus, they’d be more cooperative if he respected both their territory and hierarchy. He held up his badge. “My name is Keith Curry. I’m a federal agent. Who is the person in charge here?”
Unsurprisingly, it was the Black guy who had spoken first. His name turned out to be Baratunde and he was the chef. He outweighed Keith by at least forty pounds but seemed overall even tempered. “I need to ask you to shut this down and bring your people out to the dining room to be interviewed.”
“What about the tickets?” He indicated the unmade orders with a wave of his tongs.
Keith shook his head. “Shut it down. For tonight, anyway. We’re already clearing the customers. This is a crime scene.”
The other man nodded slowly. Behind him, Keith could see one of the cooks texting someone. “And I’m going to ask to hold your phones for the time being, starting with his.”
Baratunde whipped his head around to fix the young cook with a glare. “Damn it, Jesse. Bring that here. Haven’t you got any sense?”
Jesse cowered as he handed over the phone. “I was just texting my girlfriend to say I’d be late, chef.”
“Your woman can wait.”
Keith found it sentimentally amusing that as an agent he inspired less fear than the chef.
Baratunde collected the phones into a square plastic refrigerator insert. As he handed them to Keith, he said, “Jesse’s just a dumb kid, sir. He wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”
“Sure, I understand.” He waved the chef into the back kitchen where they could have relative privacy.
“I’m going to ask you straight out. Have you ever been in this locker?”
“No, sir. It’s Ms. Bullock’s private refrigerator. No staff is allowed in there.”
Keith leaned back against a stainless steel prep table. “You and I both know that somebody must be allowed in. Ms. Bullock is not cooking for herself.”
This drew a slight smile from Baratunde.
“Not my staff.” The chef’s tone was final. “None of my boys have ever stepped foot in there.”
“Who then?”
“There’s a private catering company that uses this space on Monday nights when the restaurant is closed. Forbidden Pleasures, I think they’re called.”
Of course, Keith thought. “Do they share all this equipment?”
The chef nodded. “It’s part of their rental contract. They clean up fine, but they’re hell on the knives.”
“Do you have contact information for this company?”
“No, sir. We’re not allowed on the property on Mondays. Not even me.”
“Did you ever think that maybe Ms. Bullock was hiding something?”
“Sure,” the chef said. “Look at that big-ass lock.”
“What do you think is in that refrigerator?”
“Heroin.” The answer came without pause and with certainty. “Or maybe coke. Some kind of drugs anyway.”
Keith nodded thoughtfully. That is exactly what
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