50 - Ripley
RIPLEY
Theo was only able to clone two invitations, belonging to a power couple from New Jersey.
In the span of three minutes he’d located their high-end luxury car, hacked into its computer, and killed the engine remotely — all while eating a sandwich.
He did it right smack in the middle of the Lincoln tunnel, too. That part scared the shit out of me.
“You’re a fucking lunatic,” I’d told him. “You know that?”
I’d watched as he blew imaginary smoke from his fingertips, then went back to work. He earned an all-new respect from me, though. That was for damned sure.
Not having an invite meant I had to sneak in through the service entrance, of course. That is, if I wanted to enjoy the ball like everyone else. If there was one thing I’d learned over the course of my life, it was that it sucked being the odd man out.
Then again, I’d been the odd man out for most of life. In truth, it never really mattered to me.
Things were different, now.
I finally had something to fight for.
“Hey! Sorry I’m late!”
I mouthed the words to the trio of workers out on the loading dock, while pushing past them toward the open door. I was stopped immediately by security, as expected. Two guys in black suits, one in gray.
“Whoa!”
A big palm settled over my chest, shoving me back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re—”
I held something up in my fist, so fast that it made all three of them recoil. One of them even reached for his sidearm.
“EASY, EASY!” I shouted. “Are you guys assholes or something?”
“What—”
“I’m the truffle guy!” I said, shaking my fist. “See?”
I opened my hand to show the knobby, jet-black piece of shriveled up mushroom in my hand. The three of them stared down at it like I’d just broken their brains.
“Tell me you’ve never seen a black truffle before,” I grunted.
“Nope,” said the man in gray. “And you’re not on the list.”
“Oh, really?” I laughed. “Ernesto needs this now,” I pushed, sounding angry. “Not in ten minutes. Not in five minutes, but—”
I shoved past him, but he stopped me again. This time one of them actually did pull their weapon.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the man growled.
“Fine then,” I sighed, leaning heavily into the mock exasperation. “You explain to your boss why there’s no truffle in the truffle risotto.”
“Truffle… risotto.”
“Are you thick in the head?” I demanded, actually knocking on the guy’s head. “This thing has a shelf life of about three fucking hours, and it was picked two and a half hours ago.” I shook the truffle dramatically. “If I don’t get it to Ernesto within the next ten minutes…”
“Fine,” said the guy in the gray suit. “Give it to me. I’ll bring it to him.”
Ah, now I knew who was actually in charge. I shook my head defiantly.
“Screw that.”
“Screw what?”
“I’m putting this thing directly into the chef’s hands,” I shot back, “or I take it straight home with me. I haven’t been paid yet.”
“Paid?”
“For the truffle!” I shouted, getting even louder. “Shit, are you even listening? You can come with me, if you want. Show me where this asshole is.”
“Which asshole?”
“Ernesto!” I screamed again. “He promised he’d meet me at the door. I swear to God, if he stiffs me again—”
“Alright, fine,” the man in gray said. “Come on. I’ll walk you in and out.”
“Thank fucking God,” I swore, shaking my fist again. “For what this thing costs, it’d be a shame to waste it.”
He nodded to the others, then led me inside. We’d traversed three hallways and passed a series of walk-ins before we broke into the main kitchen. It was swirling with steam and chaos, and filled with people wearing black and white aprons.
“ERNEST—”
I cracked him hard in the back of the skull, halfway through calling out the name. The man dropped all at once, like gravity finally remembered him. I caught him before he hit the floor, then dragged him into the back corner of the nearest walk-in.
“Here asshole,” I said, shoving the ‘truffle’ in his mouth. “It’s a walnut, spray-painted black.”
I slapped the side of his cheek a few times and took off, but not before shoving a small stack of crates in front of his crumpled form. Someone would find him eventually, no doubt. But not anytime time soon.
At the front of the walk-in, there were aprons, everywhere.
I grabbed one. I put on a paper hat too, for good measure, and a pair of food-grade latex gloves.
When I opened the door again, I stepped into a fresh maelstrom of people; prep cooks, line cooks, servers moving to and from the ballroom.
No one batted an eye at me. Everyone’s focus was straight ahead, and that was good.
It would make moving undetected through this shitshow a thousand times easier.