Chapter 1 #2
If he hadn’t intervened, I’d probably be kicking and screaming from the trunk of a limo on my way to the goblin mines.
“Thank you,” I say. “For that. I don’t even know what to say.”
The orc’s smile transforms his intimidating features entirely. He looks like a damn puppy. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re Mei Tan.” He sounds genuinely delighted. “From Bowl Goals. I watched your spicy pork episode twelve times.”
I blink up at him, still processing the way the conversation flipped from life-threatening violence to a trip down memory lane. “You... what?”
Words are hard to come by when your brain is short-circuiting.
“The way you balanced the gochujang with the honey and rice vinegar,” he says, shaking his head like he’s remembering a religious experience. “That cross-section shot when you cut into the pork belly? I had to pause it. Take a moment.”
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me. Probably right next to where my dignity used to live. “You threw a troll into a neon sign because you liked my pork recipe?”
His eyes damn near twinkle with starlight as he giggles. A full-grown orc. Giggling. “I threw a troll into a neon sign because he was threatening you. The fact that you’re the chef who got me through a three-day power outage last winter with your hot pot tutorial is just a bonus.”
Despite my empty bank account, my failed business, the Goblin Alliance that wants to keep me indebted for a lifetime of servitude, I feel a warm glow in my chest. It’s been a while since anyone recognized me for my food rather than my social media metrics or my current business failure.
“I appreciate it, I really do,” I say. “But I actually do owe that money in less than twelve hours. And I actually don’t have it. So while I appreciate the dramatic rescue, I’m still pretty much screwed.”
The orc studies me for a long moment, those unusual green eyes thoughtful. “I’m Tovek Greenfist,” he finally says, extending a hand the size of a dinner plate. “I own a bar about six blocks from here. The Drunken Dragon.”
I shake his hand, mine completely disappearing in his grip. “Nice to meet you, Tovek. Wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Here’s the thing, Chef Tan.” He releases my hand and gestures for me to walk with him, away from the broken sign and lingering onlookers. “I’ve got a problem that might solve your problem.”
“I’m listening.” At this point, I have nothing left to lose. In twelve hours, the goblins would basically own me for the rest of my life.
“The Drunken Dragon used to be a decent spot. Good customers, steady business.” Tovek’s face darkens. “Then the Sunrise Casino opened across the street with their fancy cocktail lounge and ‘molecular mixology’ bullshit. Been bleeding customers ever since.”
We turn down a slightly quieter side street, where the neon is more muted and the buildings look like they were constructed sometime this century rather than imagined into existence last month.
“I’ve got a kitchen,” Tovek continues. “Fully equipped. Hasn’t been used in years except for microwaving frozen bar snacks. Previous owner thought food was too much hassle. More like no one else really had the time or skill to use the stove.”
My pulse quickens. I can almost smell phantom cooking oil and hear the sizzle of ingredients hitting a hot wok.
“You’re offering me your kitchen,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. Hope is a persistent little shit.
“I’m offering you a deal.” Tovek stops walking and turns to face me.
“You get the kitchen. You create a menu. Something that complements drinks but stands on its own. Something with your signature heat. We split the food profits 60-40 in your favor, and you help me revitalize the place and bring in a new crowd. The bar sales stay mine.”
“And in exchange, I get a place to cook and earn back what I owe.” I narrow my eyes. “What’s the catch?”
Tovek’s grin shows off more of those impressive tusks. “The catch is the place is a shithole. The equipment’s old. The clientele is what nicer folk call ‘niche.’ And we’d need to make it work fast, because I’m not exactly swimming in credits myself.”
I should say no. This orc already stepped in for me against the goblins. If I work with him now, what kind of trouble would I invite to his business? Grishnak is not going to let me go easily.
Besides, I’ve been screwed over before by seemingly generous offers. That’s why I’m in this mess in the first place.
“Why?” I ask.
Tovek looks at me steadily. “Why are you doing this? You don’t know me. You know the me in front of the camera running Bowl Goals. That’s not the same thing.” I keep my voice level. “So what’s actually in it for you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. The neon from the cross-street bleeds across his face. Pink, then blue, then pink again.
“My bar is dying,” he says finally, like it costs him something to say it out loud.
“I’ve tried everything I know. Better spirits, live music on Fridays, a loyalty stamp card that approximately nobody uses.
And none of it has moved the needle against the Sunrise.
I need something I don’t have.” He looks at me with those strange green eyes, steady and direct. “You’re something I don’t have.”
And then, quietly, he adds, “Also, the goblins want to see me fail. And it’s not in me to let them win.”
Flowery language and flattery barely go anywhere with me. I’m my worst critic. It’s hard to believe even the most forthright compliments.
But anger? Spite? I understand that perfectly.
“Hell, you should have led with that,” I say. “An enemy of my enemy is absolutely a friend. I want to see this kitchen first, though,” I add quickly. “And I’ll need complete creative control over the menu.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Chef.” Tovek’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Fair warning: it’s not the gleaming setup you probably had at the Pharaoh’s Palace.”
“The Pharaoh’s Palace kitchen had fourteen different enchantments just to keep the temperature stable and exactly one competent line cook.” I hoist my backpack higher on my shoulder. “Sometimes simple is better.”
“In that case, you’re going to love The Drunken Dragon.” Tovek laughs, the sound warm and genuine despite his fearsome appearance. “It’s the simplest damn place in New Vegas.”