There’s a murmur of disapproval from my former comrades-in-arms, and I feel a savage sense of contentment that at least they’re backing me up.

Fontaine adds, “Anything else … Rooney?”

“More of a suggestion,” I say grimly, sitting down. “Maybe we should move this briefing to a church. It’s going to take a miracle to get us through Mardi Gras without blood in the streets.”

CHAPTER 73

“Hurry up on those waddles! And gimme more crunchies, quacks, and meows!”

I do my best to obey Marlene and pick up the pace. But hunched over the sizzling-hot stove, I’m already working faster than I ever have in my life.

My knife and spatula are a blur as I whip up sautéed gator sausages, fried shrimp po’boys, seared duck breast, and our ridiculously popular blackened catfish sandwiches. I slide them across the counter conveyor belt–style, nonstop, one after the other.

“You heard the woman, Caleb,” a fresh voice says. “Quit slacking off.”

I feel a friendly elbow to the ribs from Killer Chef’s newest employee: an accomplished fine-dining restaurant manager with many years of experience and impeccable credentials, who was looking to make a mid-career change.

Yep, you got it right. Vanessa.

Wearing a Killer Chef T-shirt cinched at the waist and a red bandana tied around her hair, she’s wrapping sandwiches in wax paper, bundling them with napkins, and helping hand them out to the hordes of hungry revelers swarming our truck. Her early years as a waitress are paying off: She’s managing the lunchtime madness like a pro.

“Is that any way to talk to your new boss?” I ask her with a smile.

“Uh-oh, is my new boss going to have to … punish me?”

Marlene calls out, “Hey, you two, save the flirting for your own time, wouldja?”

I put my head down and get back to work. I’m grateful to have these two amazing women by my side—even though I’d begged them both not to be here.

I pleaded with Vanessa and Marlene to leave the city before Mardi Gras or at least stay home, safe and out of the way. I told them the risks they’d be facing, the danger they’d be putting themselves in. Vanessa just repeated what she had said earlier: if I was staying, so was she. And she showed up this morning to work the brunch shift and join our Killer Chef team.

As for my ex-wife, Marlene just laughed in my face.

“Let ’em blow me up,” she said. “What do I care?”

Dark humor. Typical. But then she shook her head and grew serious.

“No,” she said. “No goddamn way am I staying home. It takes more than a couple of crazy assholes to scare me off, especially on our busiest day of the year. Killer Chef is going to be feeding folks on Mardi Gras, Caleb, whether you like it or not.”