by Matt Whyman
Joaquín eyed him warily, which wasn’t unusual, thought Titus. Ever since he’d signed up with his wife’s ex-trainer, the guy had related to him as if he might bite. Even so, Titus was keen to make sure the young man made the most of what would be his final run. He even consoled himself with the fact that his victim was about to die doing something he loved.
‘You’re welcome to lead the way,’ suggested Joaquín, only for Titus to decline the offer.
‘After you,’ he said, and gestured for him to set off. ‘I insist.’
When Angelica nominated Joaquín as a suitable candidate for her to cook, Titus had reacted with surprise. She had often spoken fondly of him, he pointed out, which was an observation backed up by Amanda. As an unwritten rule, the family always opted to feast on the troublemakers and the irritants. Surely Joaquín was one of the good guys? In response, Angelica had argued that the young Argentinian would offer them something that Titus had been longing for: lean meat with the minimum of fat.
‘He’s in peak condition,’ she argued. ‘And there’s no point in working out unless you’re going to eat healthily, too. You need to take a holistic approach to fitness, Titus. Joaquín is just what we need to make this a feast that hits the spot but won’t leave us feeling bloated for days afterwards.’
When Angelica spoke with this intensity, Titus knew not to stand up to her. They had plenty of respect for one another, but his wife called all the shots in the kitchen. Amanda often poured scorn on this arrangement, accusing Titus of being a dinosaur who needed to man up and wear a pinny with pride, but the fact was it worked for them as a family. When it came to the feasts, Angelica’s cooking was peerless. With no recipe books to draw upon for inspiration, she had forged a culinary pathway for herself, which her family hungrily followed. As the provider, it was down to Titus to take care of the hunting. He was keenly aware that Ivan had reached an age where he really needed all the experience he could get. On this occasion, however, it wasn’t football practice that got in the way. It would just be weird, Titus figured, to show up for a training session with his son in tow, and he didn’t wish to unsettle Joaquín in any way. Ultimately, he wanted the young man’s final run to be something he enjoyed without distraction.
‘Let’s do this thing,’ said Joaquín on breaking into a stride. ‘No pain, no gain.’
After less than twenty minutes of jogging under the glare of the sun, it became clear to Titus that his personal trainer was completely free to soak in his surroundings. Even when he called out to the young man to ease up the pace, he was so far back his voice just failed to reach him.
‘Slow down, dammit,’ Titus muttered to himself, and made an effort to quicken his footfalls.
Of course, he knew that this was Joaquín’s way of pushing him. It just meant he had burned up every last ounce of energy by the time he reached the trail through the pines. This was where the kill was supposed to happen, were Titus not fit to drop. As he struggled to catch up with the young man, twice turning his ankle on the uneven surface, Titus sensed the muscles in his chest and legs scream out for him to stop. If his body was trying to tell him something, his mind made every effort to do likewise. Not only was Joaquín currently well out of his reach, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was pursuing a nice guy with a good heart. It simply didn’t justify his selection for the table in any way. By the time Titus found Joaquín waiting for him at the trail exit, he was in no fit state to speak to the man, let alone strangle him.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Joaquín, jogging from one foot to the other as if he’d merely been warming up all this time.
Titus dropped his hands to his knees, panting so acutely he made a rasping noise with every inhalation. Metaphorically speaking, he wanted to murder the guy, but only for testing him to the very limit of his physical ability.
‘I’ll survive,’ he said eventually, and looked up. With the sun in his eyes, Titus saw only an upright figure with his whole life ahead of him. ‘But I’ll pay for this when I get home.’
‘Dinner has been delayed,’ Angelica Savage told Oleg several days later. ‘We’ll have to wait a little longer for the next feast.’
The pair were browsing the chilled-meat aisle in the grocery store at the time. Angelica often took Oleg to assist her in the weekly shop. She didn’t really need his help, but he appreciated the company and the change of scene.
‘We can’t wait,’ he said quickly and with a note of panic at what he’d just been told. ‘Priscilla doesn’t have much time left.’
Angelica was pushing the cart while Oleg rode alongside her on the store-issue scooter, though he had braked on hearing the news.
‘Then our guest will have to learn to be patient.’ Angelica turned to face him. On seeing his troubled expression, she tipped her head to one side. ‘Unless you mean she literally can’t wait because she’s, well … dying?’
Over the public-address system, a store worker broadcast details of the daily deal for sliced white bread as if he might burst into tears of boredom. Oleg looked to the basket of his scooter for a moment, waiting for the announcement to finish.
‘A feast is all I can offer her.’
‘It’s certainly one to tick off the bucket list,’ agreed Angelica, thinking that at least the old lady wouldn’t have long before she took the secret to the grave. She didn’t like the idea of anyone joining them. It had taken her a while to feel comfortable with Amanda. On this occasion, it was Titus who had persuaded her that it would make an old man happy. Angelica didn’t share Oleg’s belief that somehow human flesh would save Priscilla. Even so, she didn’t want to crush what hopes for the future he might have left.
‘I’m sorry, Oleg, but your lady friend will have to hold on for a little while,’ said Angelica gently, and swapped her attention between the shelves as if each one was as disappointing as the other.
‘Oh.’ The old man looked crestfallen. ‘What happened to the personal trainer?’ He drew level with her once more. ‘From your description, he sounded like the meat would just fall off the bone.’
Together, they moved towards the mince.
‘You’ll have to ask Titus … He came back with the promise that he’d find someone more deserving for the table.’
Oleg sighed and rolled his eyes.
‘My boy is getting a little long in the tooth, perhaps,’ he said. ‘Given the opportunity, I imagine Ivan wouldn’t let us down in that way.’
Angelica paused to pick up a beef fillet. She examined the sell-by date, her mouth tightening, and then set it back down on the shelf.
‘Letting Ivan loose wouldn’t be wise just yet,’ she told him. ‘For his own reasons Titus hasn’t delivered this time, but he’s meticulous. Ivan will follow in his father’s footsteps one day, but he isn’t ready. He needs to learn not to get too caught up in the kill and to think about the bigger picture.’
‘A hunter’s eye.’ Oleg nodded as he spoke. ‘It’ll come with practice.’
‘So, what shall we have instead of a feast?’ she asked, as they moved along the aisle. ‘Lamb is good.’
‘It isn’t in season,’ grumbled Oleg. ‘Not that it stops the stores from flying it in from halfway across the world. It’s so excessive when we have all the meat we can eat right here on our doorstep.’
‘Oleg, local produce is off the menu this weekend.’ Angelica caught his eye and held it until she felt sure that he understood. ‘We’re not going to rush into serving up anyone. That’s how mistakes are made. So, what’ll it be? The lamb or a shin of beef?’
‘Either meat will have to tide us over.’ Oleg shrugged, grasping the handlebars of his scooter in readiness to move on. ‘Let’s just hope Priscilla lasts until we dine upon the finest!’
‘So, you’ve told her?’
‘In a sense.’ Oleg broke from her gaze. ‘Actually, she thinks I’m joking, but I will find a way to make her realise that joining us could transform the time she has left. I just need to be assured that we’ll have someth
ing to eat.’
‘It’s important that you relax. It’s not good for you to be this stressed.’ Angelica prepared to cut through the refrigerated ready-meals aisle, which was badly congested with shoppers and their trolleys. ‘You shouldn’t worry yourself about where the next feast is coming from.’
‘But I can’t afford to have faith in others at my time of life,’ Oleg shot back. ‘If Titus doesn’t put food on the family table soon then perhaps it’s time he let his son take over!’
27
The ham contained the fate of the three jocks from the school squad. Once Ivan was ready to strike, it would assume the filling for a Last Supper in sandwich form. The boy had invested a great deal of time and effort in researching the project. The trichinosis parasite, his chosen means of food poisoning, was most commonly associated with pork. Unfortunately for Ivan, public health measures across the state’s pig-farming industry meant any cut from the supermarket shelf was unlikely to be contaminated. And so, having trawled online through recent court records, Ivan located a farm shop that had twice been prosecuted for poor hygiene standards. It was a bus ride out of town, sported fly strips from the ceiling that really needed changing and staffed by a dull-witted man in a duckbill cap whom Ivan had marked down as inbred.
‘Everything you see has been raised and slaughtered by Papa himself,’ he had said, as Ivan inspected the pork for sale behind the smeared glass counter. The boy had wondered if the man might be referring to his uncle or some such, but reminded himself to stay focused on the task at hand. The man had leaned over his chopping board just then, seeking Ivan’s ear. ‘You’ll find our prices are real appealing,’ he had promised. ‘It’s what comes from cutting out the pen-pushers.’
Having read up on the subject extensively, Ivan figured the man was referring to Agricultural Law Enforcement officers. Without a doubt, unless the farm tightened up its act before the next inspection, the place would be shut down or even condemned at a stroke. Ivan had passed the pig shed on the walk up the track to get here. The place stank of slurry, was clearly overstocked and the ground showed evidence of rat runs. The produce on offer here had to be riddled with the trichinosis parasite.
‘I’ll take three slices,’ he had told the man, holding up the same number of fingers for good measure.
Next came the preparation stage. There was no way Ivan could fool his victims into eating raw pork, after all. Basic cooking presented a problem, too. According to Ivan’s internet research, trichinosis could be killed off at a high temperature, As an oven-roasted ham would present Ryan, Bryce and Chad with no health risks at all, the boy had to consider other forms of processing the meat to make it look like a tasty treat while still preserving the parasites.
Curing was an age-old process and met Ivan’s needs perfectly. By entombing the ham in a salt mixture, all the moisture in the meat would be drawn out that otherwise allowed bacteria to thrive. What it didn’t kill, however, was his now favourite form of roundworm. Ivan had discovered that advanced preservative techniques in the commercial food industry had eliminated that risk, which ruled out just purchasing a pack off the shelf. So, to be on the safe side, in order to serve up a ham sandwich from hell, the boy had decided to cure his own slices from scratch.
The evening after his visit to the farm shop, while Amanda mopped the café floor, Ivan had set about putting his research into practice in the kitchen. His first task was the creation of a dry-curing mixture. This involved blending table salt with sodium nitrite, which he had lifted from the school lab. Ivan was precise in his measurements, anxious to get it right, before pouring the mix over his slices. With his plastic container filled to the brim, the boy was set to let time take over. By leaving it for three days in a cool environment, he could look forward to a ham that looked and tasted delicious, while still delivering a deadly charge.
The problem, he had discovered, centred on where to stash an open container of meat intended to maim and kill.
Ivan recognised the risk involved in hiding it anywhere in the kitchen. This was a vegan café, for one thing, and both Amanda and Angelica would easily sniff it out. He knew that nobody would find it out in the yard, but then the torpid Florida heat, coupled with the flies, would turn his hard work into something frankly stomach-churning. It was only when Ivan read about the effectiveness of using a water bath that he fell upon a solution. It was a method that provided a constant, cool temperature, which suited the curing process. What’s more, as Ivan stood upon the rim of the toilet in the café restroom, having carefully floated the container in the cistern above and then replaced the ceramic lid, he could be assured that it was a safe hiding place for the long countdown that followed.
Now, at the end of the process, alone in the kitchen after the café had closed, Ivan stood before the worktop and studied the fruit of his labours. Wearing a pair of disposable latex gloves, he shook away the salt mix and found that the meat slices had changed in texture and colouring. They were no longer so moist, springy or fleshy pink, but had acquired a darker, more leathery look.
‘Do you want to be the taster?’ he asked, addressing Tinky Dinks, who had just peeped out from his school bag on the floor. Ivan removed a slice from the container for a closer inspection. Holding the ham to his nostrils, he found it didn’t smell off at all. For a lethal time bomb in food form, this was just the appearance and aroma he had been hoping to achieve. What’s more, having effectively preserved the meat, it would keep until the time was right for him to strike. Ivan glanced back at the gerbil and grinned. ‘Only joking,’ he said, returning the slice to the container. ‘But if you’re hungry, I can find you something to eat. Let’s face it, this place is stocked with food that’s only fit for woodland creatures.’ He looked up and around as he spoke, scanning the shelves for something suitable. It was only when he reached for a jar of porridge oats that he stopped and tutted to himself. ‘Now that would be careless,’ he said, and stripped off his gloves.
‘What would?’
The voice from behind him caused Ivan to gasp. Hurriedly, he tossed the gloves into the bin and turned around. Crystal stood at the door. She smiled wryly at him.
‘Hey there!’ Ivan leaned against the kitchen counter as casually as he could. ‘You startled me.’
‘Amanda let me in. I was curious to see how this place was working out.’ Crystal wore her hair in bunches, which made her look like an overgrown five-year-old. Just then, however, Ivan felt in no position to question her appearance. ‘So,’ she said, and closed the door behind her. ‘What are you hiding?’
A spike of dread passed through Ivan. Having attempted to shield the plastic container from her view, he suddenly felt completely exposed. Crystal was looking at him intently. Lost for words, the boy just stood there without blinking. At that moment, all his efforts threatened to come to nothing. He couldn’t simply tell her he’d been curing meat. She’d want to know what it was doing in a vegan kitchen, and no doubt an interrogation would follow. Just thinking ahead like this left him close to crumbling.
‘Crystal … ’ He considered offering to make her a cured-ham sandwich. It would be a pity, he thought, having got to know her lately. Here he was facing the only person at school who showed an interest in his life, and now he’d have to dispose of her. Ivan took a breath to ask if she liked mustard or mayo, only to see her eyes drop to his school bag.
‘Don’t move,’ she said suddenly, and took a step back. ‘Ivan, this place has a vermin problem.’
It took a moment for Ivan to realise that Crystal was talking about the gerbil. He glanced down to see the creature padding over the top of his bag, and seized his opportunity to shove the plastic container behind a bag of flour.
‘That’s no vermin,’ he said, sounding markedly relieved. ‘I saved Tinky Dinks from a life of being prodded half to death by pre-schoolers. He goes everywhere with me now.’
Ivan crouched to pet his little charge. When he returned his attention to Crystal, she looked like she had slipped
into a trance.
‘You are weird,’ she said eventually, nodding as if confirming something to herself. ‘But also kind of wonderful!’
For the second time since Crystal walked in on him, Ivan sensed some heat in his cheeks. The boy felt funny all of a sudden. A little lightness in the head and heart. He didn’t like it one bit.
Amanda had just put the mop and bucket away when the two figures appeared at the café door. She had locked up after letting Crystal in, which forced Lev and Kiril to knock on the glass for her attention.
‘Are you trying to tell us we’re not welcome?’ asked Lev when Amanda opened the door for them.
‘Just keeping the carnivores at bay,’ she said, as Kiril followed him in. ‘Business is good and word is getting around. The last thing I need is some meat-eating punk robbing us of our takings.’
Kiril nodded, while Lev looked at her quizzically.
‘So, what are you saying?’ he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘Vegans never commit a crime?
Amanda consulted her thoughts for a moment and then shook her head.
‘We’re the ones with the ethics,’ she told him. ‘You can almost smell it in here.’
Kiril lifted his nostrils.
‘All I can smell is bleach,’ he told her, and then gestured at the till. ‘Bleach and nice, clean dollars.’
She watched him cross the café floor, well aware that his bag contained the next delivery of notes to be laundered. Amanda wasn’t at all comfortable about this aspect of the new venture. Lev and Kiril were harmless enough, however. She could’ve grown to like them, in fact, if they weren’t just here to feed the till with dirty money. At the same time, she was well aware that without this financial backing, she’d still be fending off men in cheap bars who thought it acceptable to hit on her just because she served them drinks.
‘Everyone is happy with how this has turned out,’ Lev told her. ‘Zolotov is so pleased he’s willing to finance a whole chain.’
