“Luis said get out,” says another sous chef on my left. He takes a step toward me, holding his cleaver just above waist level. I see it’s damp with fresh cow’s blood.

This whole thing is going south fast.

I really wish I had my sidearm right now, and I think of grabbing one of the knives or cleavers and beating a hasty yet armed retreat.

But I don’t want to make a scene, I don’t want any violence, and most of all, at this point and as a fellow chef, I don’t want to screw up the prep work for Bea’s hardworking and loyal crew.

So I hold my hands out and say, “Sorry to disturb you guys. Have a great night, okay?”

Then I get the hell out of there.

Back to my car, I’m pissed I didn’t get any info on Farzat, but then again, maybe there was no info to get from that crew of cooks and sous chefs.

At this point, I just don’t know.

I strip off my chef’s apron in disgust, open up the trunk of the car, and toss it in with a well-earned swear word.

My first attempt at getting a lead on this threatened terrorist attack on my hometown has just failed. I’m glad Cunningham wasn’t around to witness it.

I slam the trunk.

But I’ll be damned if I’m giving up.

I speak into the darkness.

“I don’t know who you are or where you are,” I say. “But I’m coming after you.”

CHAPTER 20

The next morning I slide into work with the muscle-memory of hundreds of cooking shifts, but my mind is elsewhere after last night’s failed attempt to get information out of Bea’s cooking staff. As I cut, chop, and prep, I run through last night’s events, wondering if I should have tried something else, like talking to Bea herself instead of the suspicious kitchen staff.

Marlene speaks to me twice and on the third time, she kicks me in the shin.

“Hey!” I yell out.

“Hey, yourself,” she says, wiping her hands on a cloth. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, I’m working here. What’s going on with you?”

“I tried to tell you twice … and you just grunted back at me. So what’s up? Still thinking about that married blonde?”

“No,” I say. “Just trying to get the prep work done. Sorry. What were you saying?”

She slaps me on my butt. “Fool. Just told you that don’t forget, we’re doing brunch … so don’t prep so many veggies, okay?”

I go back to work.