"If you let me finish," Eric said and paused, waiting for another interruption.
"Go ahead."
"I was tying up some loose ends. Clearing personal debts."
"And?"
"I think I found a way to take some of the weight off our shoulders."
"I feel like I should record this. Play it while I drink myself to sleep tonight."
"I'm serious," Eric said, "this is a good deal for us."
"Get to the point, then."
"Remember the big group we had book the whole place a few months back for that christening? The Letizia family? The father, Carlo?"
"The mafioso we gave a fifty-percent discount to? Yeah—yeah I remember him."
"Just because he's Italian..." Eric licked his lips. "Look, what matters is he got a line on some inventory. Dirt cheap, no questions."
"Inventory? Equipment's taken care of. Shit, we don't get enough clientele to justify needing replacement silverware or linens."
"Nah, it's not like that."
"Then what is it?" Jerry asked.
"Meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat."
"Explain to me, Eric—slowly—just what the fuck am I going to do with black market meat."
"That's the best part. We already got clientele willing to pay to have us prepare this stuff on the sly."
"You lost me."
"This isn't past-the-expiration-date ground chuck here, Jer. We're talking exotic stuff, product that individuals are willing to pay big money for us to prep."
"What do they want in return?"
"We prepare the meals, get paid a little extra for it by the client, and they get to use our establishment for special events and meetings with those clients or other associates."
"So I cook a fucking, uh…a zebra? And they get to sell drugs and guns and white slaves out of our restaurant. This is the arrangement they've proposed?"
Eric raised his hands in mock surrender. "I told you, I'm not about to ask questions. These fellas want to eat weird shit, they're welcome to it."
"The answer is absolutely fucking no," Jerry said between his teeth.
"There's nothing to lose."
"Are you kidding? What about jail time, our lives—the business?"
"It's not like that. Carlo's good people."
"How much you owe him?"
"What?"
"How much do you owe him? This arrangement stinks of you fucking up on horses or poker or fucking football spreads—something."
"Hand to God, Jer, it's not like that."
"You've always been a shitty Catholic. The answer's still no."
"Jer," Eric said. He stood from his chair. "You said it yourself; we're in the red for years now, right?"
"Yeah, and the last thing me, you and our families need is debt and the breadwinners doing time in Riker's for god-knows what."
"We need this. If it doesn't feel kosher, we walk away at your say-so."
"It already doesn't feel kosher."
"How can you knock it if you haven't tried it?"
"We're not talking about eating sushi or fucking foie gras."
"Just one time, Jer, just one time."
Jerry punched the desk again. "I said no."
"Fine, then I'll do it."
"You can't cook."
"I've watched you before, it doesn't look that hard."
"Oh, go fuck…" Jerry paused. "No, you're fucking with me."
"I mean it. I'll cook. A few of these jobs and I'll have enough to buy out your share and you walk away clean."
Jerry swallowed. "No. You—you stay the fuck out of my kitchen." He rubbed his eyes. "When do they want to do this and what the hell am I cooking?" His shoulders slumped.
Eric smiled. "This is gonna work out great, you'll see." He stepped over to Jerry and hugged him awkwardly. "I'll tell Carlo to come in."
"He's here?"
"You know how to cook dolphin, right?"
Jerry stared at the animal laid out on his cutting station. "That's an entire dolphin." Its tongue hung out of its snout, dry and surprisingly white. Jerry couldn't remember if he knew dolphins had tongues.
Eric scratched his chin. "Yeah."
"They brought this thing here completely unprepped." Jerry rubbed his temples. "Eric, you assholes sent my staff home—paid, mind you—and now I gotta dress an entire fucking dolphin by myself?"
"You were the genius Culinary Institute student, you can do this."
"I hate you." Jerry grabbed a butcher knife and fought against the temptation to turn it on Eric. "Better get to work. I'll treat it like tuna. I got, what, three or four hours, right?"
"Give or take."
"How you boys doing?" Carlo Letizia sauntered into the kitchen with a wide smile on his face and reached a hand to Jerry. "Mister Cavanaugh, let me personally extend my gratitude for taking us up on this offer. I assure you, you won't regret it."
Jerry took Carlo's hand and nodded. "Of course, Mister Letizia. My partner assured me this would be…lucrative." He moved back to the dolphin. "Are there any special requests regarding the ingredient?"
Carlo thought. "Tonight's guests are very world-weary. I believe they would appreciate a little imagination. Something out of the norm but delicious, of course." He had the smile of a man who paid too much money for his smile.
Eric placed both hands on Jerry's shoulders. "Jer's a genius, Carlo, they won't be disappointed." He gently pushed Jerry away and approached Carlo. "Now, do you happen to have a minute? I was hoping we could have a private discussion regarding our arrangement."
"Absolutely, Eric. I was thinking the same."
"Fantastic. Just follow me to my office." Eric led Carlo to the back office—Jerry's office. "Jer, give a holler if you need anything."
"Sure thing." Jerry grimaced and reached for a pair of gloves. He watched Eric and Carlo enter the office and close the door. "Dirty motherfucker," he muttered under his breath. He gave the dolphin another once-over. It was a mammal—that much he remembered reading. Still, it was sort of a fish. It lived in the water, swam around and acted like a fish—a really smart fish. Jerry took his knife and sliced open the dolphin's belly, slowly carving a small chunk of fat and meat. He popped the sample in his mouth and chewed—it was tough and the flavor reminded him of liver with a strong fish aftertaste—pretty unpleasant stuff.
"Alright," he said to himself. "This sucks. Gonna have to drown out your taste there, Flipper." Jerry wandered over to his spice rack and began to pick and choose seasonings. "Fish that smart shouldn't taste like shit." He decided to play to his strength—Italian cuisine—and craft a seven-course menu. Something about dolphin seven ways appealed to him.
Jerry smiled. There was a strong possibility that he would quite literally live or die based on his cuisine. He hadn't felt this kind of adrenaline rush since his days at culinary school. Memories of the very first time he created his own take on a Bolognese—nothing too drastic—just a slight twist to the seasoning. It was the restaurant's signature dish and was so popular, Eric begged him for the recipe to see if they could take it to supermarkets. Jerry refused. He would never let his creation be anyone else's. That was a promise he would always keep to himself.
Now, here was a new opportunity to craft something that was his. For the first time in years, Jerry was excited to cook.
There were eight men including Eric and Carlo seated in the restaurant's dining room when Jerry rolled out the night's first course. The other six men were stone-faced. Jerry stood there silent until Carlo addressed him.
"Gentlemen." Carlo stood up. "Let me introduce our chef, Jerry Cavanaugh. He is Mister Fallon's business partner and the head chef here at La Bella. Mister Cavanaugh, please let me be the first to thank you for preparing the meal to come and for accommodating our very special requests."
The group applauded and Jerry could not help but smile. "Thank you, Mister Letizia. I…I, well, I decided to play to our establishment's strengths and present to you a seven
course meal including the ingredient provided. Since I felt it would be wise to use the entire animal, you'll find many interesting flavor profiles here." He swiftly began laying plates out in front of each diner. "The first course is an appetizer. I made a mixed pâté of most of the internal organs served on fresh focaccia bread. The proteins have been seasoned with basil, cumin, sweet peppers and garlic. Please enjoy." Jerry rushed back into the kitchen.
His own serving of the appetizer was waiting for him in the kitchen and he took a moment to sample it before plating the next course—braised dolphin tongue on polenta. He sighed with relief as the pâté melted in his mouth.
It was delicious.
Eric burst into the room while Jerry dressed the plates for the tongue dish. "Holy shit, Jer, was that really made out of that fucking mess on the counter from before?" He was grinning like a mental patient.
Jerry nodded. "They like it?"
"Carlo loved it. His associates are playing the cards close to their chests, though."
"Good, good." Jerry lowered his head to eye just the right amount of olive-infused foam onto the braised tongue. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah. What's up?"
"Why are you sitting out there with them?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, these are business meetings—according to you. So, I guess that makes me wonder why you're a part of it. I thought the only business we had with this whole mess was serving the food and providing a meeting spot. I didn't think one of us would be actively involved in the meeting." Jerry stood straight. "Can you toss me a towel?" He pointed behind Eric.
Eric found a clean towel and handed it over. "Listen, just…just cook and don't worry about the rest."
"What did you get yourself into, Eric?"
"I told you, it's nothing like that."
"Oh okay, so you're just all of a sudden some kind of big player in the underground crime world." Jerry snorted.
Eric looked away and chewed his lower lip. "Just keep your head low, Jer. I told you, a few of these and I'll buy you out. You walk away clean."
"That's bullshit." Jerry composed himself before he screamed, "I've broken my ass to make this place only half a goddamned failure. Now you pop up with this shady shit and expect me to lay back and enjoy the ride?"
Eric ran a hand down his face and frowned. "Look, I fucked up…like, big time fucked up. I can't explain it any better than that. Carlo did me the favor of setting these meets up so I can work out my penance."
"Your penance? Who the fuck are these people?"
"Very powerful people that don't like getting grifted, is all, Jerry. Let me get back in there. You need help bringing out the next course?"
"No, I can handle it."
"Okay, good. See you out there."
The meets continued every week, at exactly the same time. Carlo would arrive with the newest oddity to challenge Jerry a few hours before the dinner. He filled three notebooks with interesting approaches to tackle the strangest types of meat put in front of him.
Bald Eagle? Surprisingly good with a jelly made of beer and its own bones.
Gorilla? Born to be cooked medium rare and served with mint/mango chutney.
Platypus? While unbelievably difficult to prep, worth every minute it took to prepare an ice cream using brain and shavings from its bill.
Jerry hadn't had this much fun cooking since he was sitting on his mother's lap and learning to make steak and onions. Those stone-faced clients were even warming up—smiling and drinking while they marveled at Jerry's imagination at work.
"What have we got this week?" Jerry asked Carlo as he walked into the kitchen.
"Actually, Mister Cavanaugh, you have the night off." Another man walked into the kitchen in full cook's attire.
The stranger eyed the kitchen and frowned. "I need to go back and pick up a few pieces of equipment, but this will do."
"I'm sorry, who the fuck is this?" Jerry moved to stand in front of the stove.
"Please, Mister Cavanaugh, it's not like that. Tonight I would like for you to join me for a special meal."
"Not to be rude, but I specifically told Eric to inform you that I didn't want anything to do with your meetings. I had my reservations about doing the cooking, but I did it anyway. That's all the action I want out of this."
"And I appreciate that, your talent and your ability to mind your own business is very impressive. This is why I wanted to meet with you tonight and discuss a few things."
"Just me?"
"Just you."
"What about Eric?"
"We'll get to that."
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
Jerry slipped his apron off and handed it over to the interloper. "Don't fuck up my kitchen."
The intruding chef sniggered.
Carlo walked out of the kitchen and into the dining area. Jerry followed.
"Have a seat." Carlo pointed to a chair facing away from the restaurant's front door. There were two larger men in sharp suits flanking it—no hope in making a break for it then.
Jerry did as he was told and sighed. It felt strange to be seated in the dining area where he could hear his kitchen being used. "I don't think I've sat out here to eat since we put the menu together."
"How long ago was that?"
"Too damn long."
Carlo poured Jerry some red wine. "I hope you like the wine. I called in a few favors to get this pulled from a very exclusive cellar downtown."
Jerry nodded. He knew nothing about wine, in fact he hated it. Still, the choices here weren't his. He took a sip of it and smiled. "Very nice, thank you."
"Did Mister Fallon ever explain to you why the arrangement to serve in your restaurant was made?"
Jerry shook his head. "I figured he owed you or your partners money."
"Sort of." Carlo cleared his throat. "The men that have been visiting your establishment—full disclosure—have hired me to provide them with access to specific culinary…rarities. That much you know. Now, what Eric did was upset these individuals. He stole from them."
"Stole?" Jerry made a face like he smelled something rotten. "Eric's an idiot and loose with his cash, but he's no thief, Mister Letizia. I've known him too long for that to make sense."
"Really?"
"Absolutely."
"Do you remember a dishwasher you had working here until recently? A young man by the name of Ernie Reyes?"
Jerry nodded. "Yeah, he stopped showing up to work a few weeks…"
Carlo smiled joylessly. "Mister Reyes worked in a few other restaurants before yours. As a matter of fact, the last six belonged to my clients."
"Wait, your clients are restaurant owners?"
"Yes, Mister Cavanaugh, but most importantly, they are also chefs."
"Chefs? Then why the hell was I cooking for them? What does any of this have to do with Eric?"
"Well, clearly they couldn't risk the…consequences of preparing illegal food in their establishments and since your partner hired Ernie to work in their kitchens to steal their recipes…"
"Bullshit."
Carlo was ahead of Jerry. He fished a paper from his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the table. It was a copy of a contract between Eric Fallon and Global Food Enterprises. Jerry didn't have time to read it through, but something called Fallon's Frozen Foods was listed as a trademarked product. He stared at the paper blankly. "I don't understand."
"Your partner actively stole recipes from some of the most popular restaurants on the East Coast and tried to sell them as his own. As a matter of fact, I think you'll find your famous Bolognese on that list of potential products. I seem to remember that being a popular dish before your restaurant stopped offering it."
"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Jerry's face was flushed. "Where is he? Where is that piece of shit?"
"Busy, but I assure you…oh, our dinner is ready."
The intruding chef sauntered in with two steaming plates.
; "I trust you enjoy Veal Saltimbocca?"
Jerry eyed the dish as it was placed in front of him. "This isn't Eric, is it?"
Carlo laughed and took a bite of the veal. "I'm a businessman of loose morals, but not a monster. Eric is fine, for now. What happens next is up to you."
"Up to me?" Jerry scooped up a bite of veal and spinach. He slipped it into his mouth—it was just shy of perfect—just a little too much garlic.
"Yes, see…this arrangement was put into place as Eric's penance when he was caught. We believed he hadn't finalized any deals, so we decided that perhaps our needs could be met and your partner could in essence, pay for his crime. I apologize that you had to be involved without knowledge."
"Okay, that makes sense…I guess." Jerry shoveled another mouthful of veal into his mouth.
"Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out to plan."
Jerry looked up from his plate. "Hmm?"
Carlo slid a phone over to Jerry. "Hit dial."
"Okay." Jerry pressed dial and the phone connected to an unknown number.
"Speaker, please."
Jerry pressed the speaker button.
"Jerry?" It was Eric's voice.
"Eric?" Jerry looked at Carlo, confusion in his eyes.
"Mister Fallon, this is Carlo Letizia. I'm here with your former business partner."
"Former?" Jerry asked.
"Ah yes, Mister Fallon has graciously given me his stake in this restaurant. You and I, Mister Cavanaugh, are now partners. Isn't that right, Mister Fallon?"
"Y…yes." Eric sounded as if he was crying.
"See, Eric decided his penance was done, even if my clients never implied it. Two weeks ago, an associate of mine was at one of those nice organic supermarkets and he found this." Carlo leaned over and brought up a small box. It was labeled: Fallon's Frozen Organic Foods – Lamb Tikka Masala. "Surprising, no?"
"Fucking shithead."
"I swear to God, Jer, I didn't involve you in none of it. I…I just needed to pay off these Russians and…and I got…oh please, I'm so sorry."
Jerry sighed. "Got mixed up with Russians too, huh?"
"That's actually who Mister Fallon is with right now. Other clients of mine." Carlo leaned over again and pulled another box out. "I thought you would be particularly interested in this one."
THUGLIT Issue Eleven Page 4
