Retaliatory Justice (The Talionic Files #1)

by Tawa M. Witko

  I walk to the large board and draw two circles on top, placing Carmine’s and Enrico’s names in the circles. From memory, I start replicating some of the information I have on my personal Sicignano wall but mostly I want their feedback. It’s obvious that I’m missing something and maybe they can help me find out what that is.

  2 Chef Dominique

  Dominique Walker

  June 4th

  “Dominique, make sure that the fish chef knows about the change?” Chef Sampson orders, looking at his clipboard.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply dutifully.

  I walk up to Tyler. “There was a problem with the catfish; we had to switch it up, going with the trout instead.”

  “Really?” he asks annoyed.

  I shrug and notice he looks a little off. “Hey, you okay?”

  He waves me off so I shrug again and turn around, following Chef Sampson around, making sure I have everything down that is supposed to be going on. That is one of the responsibilities of the sous-chef, to make sure the kitchen is running smoothly. As his assistant, I do a lot of the menial tasks but I am also learning about the intricacies of managing a kitchen, which is something I will need to know if I am ever going to have my own restaurant.

  Within the hour, our dinner service is in full swing. So far it is going well. We are very busy and there has been only one complaint related to the lack of catfish that was originally advertised. I glance around and smile. This is what I love the most, the point when everyone is running around doing their part. It’s like a well-oiled machine. I am helping on the vegetable line because they have a new chef who is not used to our fast pace, when I glance up. Much to my dismay, I see Tyler sway while his hands grip the counter. I rush over there but by the time I get there, he is on his knees.

  “Tyler, are you okay?” I ask frantically.

  “I feel dizzy,” he says swallowing hard.

  I grab a cloth from my pocket and pat down his forehead. “You should probably lie down.”

  “Dominique, take over for him. Donald, get him out of here, Trina take over for Dominique,” Chef Sampson hollers over the commotion.

  I jump up, washing my hands swiftly before I begin plating the ticket in front of me. I am moving quickly as we don’t want there to be a delay in getting the food to the customers. I start directing people, concentrating on the special, a blackened Cajun trout over rice, which is one of my favorites, while the other fish cooks deal with our regular fish fare. By the time the dinner rush is done, I am high fiving the crew.

  “Dominique, come with me,” Chef Sampson says crisply.

  “Umm, okay,” I look at him hesitantly not sure what’s going on or if I did something wrong.

  “Mr. De la Fosse, Chef Dominique,” Chef Sampson states motioning to a man at a table.

  “Chef Dominique, it’s a pleasure. I am told you are responsible for the exquisite trout this evening,” he says with what I identify as a distinct Louisiana French accent. He must be from the area.

  I open my mouth to say something just as he stands. Oh, lord! This man is gorgeous. His bright green eyes a stark contrast against his dark skin. He is wearing a very expensive Armani suit with a simple maroon silk tie and a very distinct tie clip that has a strange symbol on it. He straightens his jacket and smirks, knowing that I am admiring him. He reaches his hand out to me, which I take.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I reply sheepishly, knowing that a slight blush is creeping across my cheeks.

  “Sit,” he offers, pulling out the seat in front of me.

  I panic and look up to Chef Sampson for some guidance. But he doesn’t say anything; instead he turns and starts walking back to the kitchen. I turn back to the handsome man before me and he gives me a smile, showing off a perfect set of pearly white teeth.

  “I apologize, Mr. De la Fosse but…”

  “Phillipe, please, call me by my given name,” he says with another bright smile, once again motioning to the chair.

  I sit hesitantly. “Phillipe, I must return to the kitchen. Thank you for requesting to meet me. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “Perhaps another time,” he says as I stand.

  I don’t say yes or no. I just give him a small smile to which he nods slightly. Practically running back to the kitchen, I push through the doors and ignore the looks I’m getting from the other chefs. It’s rare that someone asks to meet a line chef so I know what just happened is unusual. I sigh and snatch the next ticket at my station. By the end of the night I am exhausted. We were so busy and being down one chef made it difficult. I can’t wait to get home and throw my feet up.

  “Dominique,” I hear as I exit the back door.

  “Mr. De la Fosse,” I yelp, startled.

  “I thought I asked you to call me Phillipe?” he teases.

  “I’m sorry,” I reply with a smile. “How can I help you, Phillipe?”

  “I would like to take you out for drinks,” he smiles brightly and then adds, “to discuss a business proposition.”

  “It’s kind of late. I should probably be heading home.”

  He laughs. “Dominique,” he says with a grin as he places his hand on my shoulder and winks. “We are in N’awlins, the night is still young.”

  I push my hair behind my ear. “I’m not dressed to go out.”

  His smile is literally blinding. “Your beauty is enough.”

  I open my mouth to say something but then close it. I stare at him for a long moment weighing the possibilities. He could be a rapist or a murderer but he doesn’t seem like that. I don’t know, I suppose he is just used to getting his way, most handsome men are. He must sense my hesitation because he places his hand over his heart as he turns me in a different direction.

  “I promise you that I will be the perfect gentleman.” He then bows for emphasis.

  I giggle involuntarily and finally nod.

  “Wonderful,” he says with another hearty laugh.

  We walk a few blocks until we reach the Bombay Club. Oh, man, this is not good, people normally dress up when they come here, whether it’s late or not. I’m still sorely underdressed. I nervously bring my jacket around me tighter, frowning.

  “What’s the matter, Dominique? Do you not approve of my selection?” he asks with a smirk.

  “I’m not dressed up enough to go in there.”

  “Nonsense,” he says as we approach the hostess.

  He asks for a table in the bar and she directs us to a small booth, eyeing me a couple of times. He motions for me to take a seat, which I do, and immediately pick up the Martini menu. The Bombay Club is known for making some of the best martinis in New Orleans and since I am there, it seems a pity not to try one. As I am deciding my selection, the waitress comes over and I hear him ordering.

  “We’ll have an order of the calamari and mussels. I’d like Grey Goose, straight and my lady would like…” he pauses and turns to me, nodding his head slightly.

  “I’d like one of the breathless martinis.”

  “Excellent choice, ma’am,” she answers with a smile.

  I watch the waitress leave and then glance around the bar. They have a nice set up. The jazz band in the other room is playing a lively tune and I find myself bobbing my head slightly to the beat filtering into the room. There are a few people inside, another couple at a table a little bit away from us and three people at the bar. One is a business man who is nursing his drink and a little further down the bar is a couple embracing. He is sitting on the stool and she is standing between his legs, her head nuzzled in his neck while he rests his head near her ear. I watch them for a while as he whispers in her ear and she throws her head back laughing, her long hair falling down her back. Feeling eyes on me I turn away from the couple and find Phillipe watching me. His eyes are now slightly darker then they had been.

  “You are quite beautiful, Dominique.”

  “Thank you but you aren’t exactly catching me at my best,” I say, bobbing my head again and
taking a deep breath.

  “Then allow me to catch you at your best?” he counters smoothly.

  “Phillipe,” I say turning away from him but don’t finish my sentence.

  I am not trying to play hard to get but I am not interested in a relationship right now and one-night stands aren’t my thing. I know Santiago will probably rail on me about this, saying I should just go for it, but going for it in regards to men rarely works out well for me.

  “Where did you train, Dominique?” he asks, apparently trying a different tactic.

  I turn to him just as the waitress brings us our drinks. I smile as I take a sip of the chocolaty goodness. Wow, this is really tasty. Moments later the waitress is bringing us our food. The calamari is very good, although I probably would have done it a tad different. I glance at Phillipe and notice he is still waiting for a response from me.

  “On the job mostly, I started cooking as a child and it sort of came naturally for me,” I set my food down and give him a very serious look, “but I have worked extremely hard to move up the line. No one has handed me anything. I have earned it.”

  “I believe that, Dominique,” he smiles and takes a sip of is vodka. “Are you happy at Arnaud’s?” he queries with a slight nod.

  “Yes, of course, why would you think I wasn’t?” I answer, somewhat defensively.

  He leans back and laughs as he pulls out his phone, which is buzzing. He looks around the bar still grinning like the Cheshire cat. What the hell is so damn funny about what I just said?

  “I like you, Dominique,” he laughs again and then checks his phone once more, frowning at whatever the text says.

  “You don’t really know me,” I counter, miffed.

  “Of course, you’re absolutely right. I don’t know you at all.”

  He watches me for several minutes. Long enough to make me feel a bit uneasy before he smiles and takes a sip of his drink. Okay, this is getting weird. I should text Santiago, have him come get me. Maybe I was wrong about this guy. He clears his throat and I glance at him again. He has a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “I only ask about your training because our restaurant is opening in a little over two weeks and we have yet to find an executive chef that fits our needs. I would like you to prepare a meal for myself and my associates to determine if you would perhaps be a good fit for us,” he says very seriously. The flirtatiousness is gone. He is all business.

  “You want me to audition for you?” I ask stunned.

  “Yes, Dominique, I would like you to audition,” he says and pulls out a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Are you interested?” he asks and I can hear the cockiness back in his voice as he hands me the card he’s holding.

  I nod as I look at it. It says Le Creole and under that, it has his name, Phillipe De la Fosse, owner. This is it. My big break. The opportunity to have my own kitchen; to be an executive chef in New Orleans. I glance at him with wide, determined eyes.

  “Yes, I’m very interested.”

  “Outstanding. We would like you to be at the restaurant Thursday. There are three of us so prepare accordingly.”

  ~*~

  “Santiago, what do you think?” I ask anxiously.

  He takes a moment while I nervously chew on my bottom lip. He is taking his time, tasting each piece, humming as his head tilts from side to side. He’s driving me crazy. Will he just tell me already?

  “Well?” I ask impatiently.

  “It’s divine, Dominique,” he says with a smile.

  I finally breathe out. “Divine enough that they will hire me on the spot?” I ask with an uneasy laugh.

  “Of course, and...” He rises and takes my hands in his. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “No, you haven’t,” I grin and then chuckle. “I take that back. There was that time you told me to give Frankie ‘the spitter’ White a chance,” I say with a wink.

  “Well, technically…” He pauses and then laughs. “Yeah, I was way off on that one.”

  We both giggle as he gives me a tight hug. Santiago has been my best friend since grade school. We grew up in the small town of Ormant, Mississippi. He was the bright and vibrant little boy that lived across the street from me. He bounced over to my house and introduced himself the day my dad, Artie Walker, took the job as Ormant High School’s principal. We were best friends from that day forward. Throughout school he was always more of a fashion icon than I was. I preferred the simple things in life, i.e. jeans, sneakers, and a plain old t-shirt. He tried to help me see the errors of my fashion ways but it never stuck for long. He still holds out hope for me but I think it’s a lost cause. Although, in my defense, I have been known to throw on a dress or frilly blouse if the occasion called for it.

  My parents divorced when I was eight. My mom left me and my dad so she could live her dreams. I never quite knew what that meant but a few years after that I discovered cooking as a way to deal with the loss of a mother in my life and also so I didn’t have to eat hot dogs, beans, and macaroni and cheese every night, which seemed to be the only things my father knew how to make. By the time I graduated high school, I had decided to pursue cooking as a career. So, with Santiago in tow, we headed to New Orleans and have been here for nearly five years. Unfortunately, my father was unable to pay for me to go to culinary school, as most are very expensive. I had to learn on my own, self-taught so to speak. Of course, not having that formal culinary education has been a hindrance to say the least. But, I’m not giving up. I know I can do it.

  I worked at a lot of small restaurants the first three years in New Orleans, gaining experience on how a kitchen is run and learning everything I possibly could. Cooking is natural for me, just as fashion is for Santiago. Through an extreme amount of hard work, I landed a job as a line cook at Arnaud’s restaurant, one of the premier restaurants in the great city of New Orleans. Over the past couple of years, I have worked myself up to becoming an assistant to the sous-chef and hopefully one day I will run my own kitchen. Of course, I might just get that sooner rather than later if this audition with Le Creole goes as I hope it does.

  “What kind of wine are you going to serve with this?” Santiago asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “I was thinking, a Louis Jadot Gevrey-Chambertin. I love the raspberry fruity taste it gives once the earthiness passes. What do you think?” I ask a little unsure.

  He nods. “That will be good.” He gets a thoughtful look on his face, “Dominique, do you need any help paying for all this?”

  I shrug. “No, I got it but I think we will be eating ramen noodles for a few weeks.”

  He breaks out into a shrill laugh. “Well, knowing you I am sure you could vamp it up.”

  There is a knock on the door and Santiago smiles widely. He runs to the door and swings it open. He immediately wraps his arms around Jackson, kissing him passionately. When they come up for air, Jackson waves at me, as red creeps up his neck.

  “Hey, Dominique,” he says in his straight Louisiana drawl.

  “Hey, Jackson.”

  “That smells great. Is that what you’re making Thursday?” he asks stepping inside.

  I nod. “Yes, would you like a taste?”

  “You bet I would,” he answers, dragging Santiago back inside.

  He smiles as he takes a seat at the table. He cuts a small piece and then moans in delight, giving me the thumbs up sign. What I have found is that Jackson always seems to know when I am cooking. He has liked everything I have made so I’m not sure he is the best judge. God bless him though as he is a real sweetheart. He and Santiago have been together for a year now. Santiago never had a boyfriend when we were younger. He came out to me when he was twelve. I didn’t care. He was my best friend, whatever made him happy was cool with me. The town however was too small minded for him to go out with anyone, so I was generally his ‘date’ for prom and everything else, which of course I didn’t mind at all. Since moving to New Orleans though, he has dated a lot, but this s
eems different. He is really smitten with Jackson.

  “Don’t wait up,” he sing-songs as he takes Jackson’s hand and leads him out the door.

  “Behave!” I shout at his retreating figure.

  He spins and winks at me. “I will make no promises.”

  June 8th

  I am so nervous. The last couple of days seem to have sped up. Once I tweaked my meal, I bought everything I would need. Mr. De la Fosse had advised me that I would have full use of the Le Creole kitchen, which is completely stocked. I went by yesterday to acquaint myself with the facilities and make sure they had everything I would need to prepare my meal, which of course they did. Phillipe told me he would like me to serve the meal at six sharp so that’s what I will do. I have asked Santiago to help me today, not that I really need him physically, but he has a tendency to calm me down when I start getting too antsy. I turn and glance at Santiago, as the Black Eyed Peas blast into the kitchen. He shrugs at me and turns back around, moving and swaying to the music as he dices vegetables. I glance at his cutting board and shake my head as I walk over to him.

  “It needs to be smaller, Santiago. Like this.” I take the knife and demonstrate how I want him to cut my mushrooms.

  He nods and smiles as I finish prepping my quail. Once that’s done, I go back to my clams, mixing ingredients together so that I can bake them. I glance at the clock and sigh, thirty minutes. Why is it that no matter how much time I allot myself I always seem to cut it close? Maybe that’s true of all chefs. I get my cake ready and shove it in the oven, timing it so it will be ready while they are eating their entrée, which will give me time to plate it and get the Café Brûlot ready.

  “Oh my God, is that him?” Santiago says, peeking out of the kitchen. I nod disinterested. “Holy crap! He’s gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome,” he sighs dramatically.

  “Excuse me; are you lusting after my potential boss when you already have a boyfriend?” I ask as I plate my baked oysters.

  “Hey, I can look, I just can’t touch,” he declares to which I roll my eyes. “So why didn’t you go out with him? He’s obviously interested in you,” he asks.