In the two weeks since LaRue had gotten home, he had ran over and over in his mind things he could have done differently after leaving Ford’s estate. After killing her, he hadn’t bothered cleaning anything up. After looking through her appointment book, he saw she had nothing listed for another two days.
Ray had one of his old associates watching the house. He watched LaRue’s car leave, then slipped in through the unlocked door. From there, Ford’s body would disappear with nothing more than the few bits of blood left behind.
“We did everything we could Chef D.”
“I know that Ray. I’m just worried about Tony.” LaRue sipped his coffee. One of the few things he insisted he traveled with was his coffee grinder and French press. He had ground two this morning, which was the last of his beans.
Previous Chapter
Related Chapters
Killer Chef Twenty Seven
LaRue sat in his office. He was having a ‘writer’s rush’ as he called it. Writing about himself was boring and usually took a long time for that reason. However, there were times he almost found it impossible to keep up with the flood of words rushing to the page. Both he and Emily were back at home. He sat in his office and had been writing nonstop for two hours. Emily and Cowatv were playing outside. Coffee steamed from the cup beside him, almost forgotten in his quest to get words on the page. Beside his cup was a syringe filled with his ten percent solution and Vitamin B12 . What does it mean to be ‘America’s Guest?’ It means that millions of people trust me enough to think of me as family. Beyond Grandpa Lou an
Killer Chef Twenty Eight
That information was going to make this hit more personal that anything LaRue done before. He was nervous. Hell he was scared. In the past, even when his events might have ended in his death, the chef had taken the brazen confidence he had learned from Tommy. With more swagger than smarts, LaRue simply did what he was told. His time with The Box would now be personal. After making one final note, the chef grabbed his two prepared injections left his office and his home. He read Em’s note taped on the door. ‘Doc, I’m with Cowatv at Statler Park. We will spend a few hours here. You know he’s always tuckered out afterwards. I’ll stop afterwards, grab a hotdog and let
Killer Chef Twenty Nine
With this, Tony started to laugh. “It’s too bad we’re not on the same side, Chef. You got cojones the size of Yankee Stadium.” “Who said we’re on different sides? What side are you on?” “I am on my side Chef.” LaRue laughed. “Tony that’s like saying you use water when you take a bath.” He grabbed the recorder and threw it into the front of the car. “Ok, so you heard my proposal. Let’s assume Teddy is somewhere else.” He raises his voice and talks to Teddy. “Sorry Ted, I’m going to treat you as invisible. But I’m sure that’s no different that Box treats you.” He turns back to Tony. “Ok, fat boy. Me and you. Mono a mono.” Tony leans forward and cups LaRue’s fac
Killer Chef Thirty
“And so to you, my friends, I lift my glass. I am honored to be, as always, the Host of the World.” LaRue sat down and poured himself a glass of red wine. In front of him was a plate of pasta and a simple salad. “This season has allowed to reconnect with myself, but more importantly, I have reconnected with you.” “This is why the meals this year have been different. Simpler.” Twirling some pasta on his fork, “life gets complicated. Your meals shouldn’t be.” He takes a drink. “Until next time, I’ll keep a place set for you.” “Cut.” “De-Von, that was your best’n yet.” “Thanks Mr. Melvin.” He slid the plate of pasta acr
Killer Chef One
You know him or at least think you do. Devon LaRue has been on television longer than some of his fans have been alive. LaRue opened his first restaurant in 1992, his second three years later. By the end of the decade, world leaders and celebrities alike were vying for the best seats in his now three restaurants.But Devon LaRue was not what he seemed. It was as a young culinary student in 1982 that LaRue found himself at the scene of a murder. LaRue admitted later he had been high on a few drugs; he just didn’t remember which ones. The victim was Amie McAvey, a girl that had a history with LaRue. Amie and LaRue had dated and had broken up, dated and broken up, dated and broken up. Each breakup had been precursor by violent breakup arguments. When he came down, LaRue found himself in a cell, covered with blood. He had gotten sick, the drying puddle of vomit on the floor and on the corner of the long sleeve shirt he had borrowed from his roommate.
Killer Chef Two
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” LaRue began, “this meal can be eaten with both world leaders and factory workers. Everyone from farmers and faith healers can enjoy this. I know this, my friends, because I have enjoyed this meal with them all. I’ve often been called The Host of The World, but” he stopped and smiled that smile that he had flashed so often, his gray flecked strawberry blonde hair bounced back and forth. “But,” he continued as he held a glass of red wine in a salute gesture, “I am only gotten to be the Host of The World because you, my friends, have allowed me to become the Guest of the World, first.” He took a small sip and set the glass down. LaRue stood. His gray eyes sparkled. “This is the final show before I go on holiday. Although I regret that I will not be spending time with you each day, I always come back with recipe ideas and a renewed
Killer Chef Three
LaRue rubbed his eyes as he stepped off the plane. He had landed in Al-Bayda Airport several times. The country of Yemen was a sewer and he hated travelling here.He caught his reflection in the men’s room mirror. His blondish-red hair had been dyed black, his gray eyes now brown. He had grown tired of this play acting. The disguises, the aliases, the different accents. He loved the killing, the shot of adrenaline, the look in the eyes as the life leaves, never got old. He was here one final time. ‘Tommy’s final assignment,’ he thought. Tommy’s face drifted in front of him. ‘I would kill you slowly if you were here,’ he said softly. ‘You dragged me into this . .this . .” he gestured to the disguise he wore, “this acting shit.”He got into the nondistinctive sand-colored sedan and started pointing angrily at the figure in the mirror
Killer Chef Four
“Doc, Ray’s on 3 for you.” He watched Emily walk away, enjoying the way her body filled out her dress. LaRue remembered their first meeting. He had been interviewing just a few. He had only been out of culinary school for a year, but with his confidence and a loan from Tommy, the young chef felt ready to open his first restaurant, and needed an assistant. Emily had been his fourth interview and, honestly two of the first three were more qualified than she was. It was a basic mistake that made the difference. She had been running late, a trait that would haunt her off and on no matter how much she worked on it. She had misread his name and thought it was Devon Rue. To be clever, Emily thought she would make a joke and say since his initials were ‘DR’ she should just call him ‘Doc.’ One LaRue figured out her mistake, he knew she would be the one to hir