CHAPTER SIX
“When did baking competitions become so brutal?” frowned Tango. The team laughed, shaking their heads as the television was turned off.
“They’ve always been that way,” said Sara. “Judges have their favorites and it’s obvious. On television competitions, producers like certain bakers because they’re attractive on camera or are fan favorites. I don’t know what happened to this competition but something was definitely wrong.”
“That’s pretty cut-throat,” frowned Elias.
“Very cut-throat,” said Sara. “It’s why I choose to take all my own things, labeled with our name, and never borrow from anyone. We always have duplicates in the cars. So much of what we use is from our own gardens I don’t dare use anything bought at the store unless I have to.”
“Have you had people act like that with you?” frowned RJ.
“Definitely,” frowned Dylan. “A partner, and someone I thought of as a friend, in culinary school in Paris took credit for my recipe and my final product. He told the judges that I’d been out sick the previous day, which was a lie.”
“What happened?” asked Gator.
“Everything was on camera. None of us knew that we were being filmed. They saw the whole thing. How he watched as I mixed, baked, and decorated everything, barely taking part in any of it. He was expelled from school and I won a semester’s scholarship.”
“I think it might be a good idea for us to provide some security at this event,” said Luke.
The women all tried to open their mouths but he held up a hand.
“Listen, this isn’t just about all of you.
There are more than a hundred bakers there.
I know there are cameras in the center but I don’t know how many and I’m not sure how good they are.
“If we send in a dozen, maybe more, we can have eyes on everything. Ingredients being brought in, someone touching someone else’s work, all of it. I just think it might be wise.”
“That seems fair, Luke,” said Sara. “It’s not the contest that provides the security though, it’s the center. You’d have to talk to them.”
“Already have,” he smirked.
“Sometimes I want to spank your ass,” she frowned. “But you’re too damn cute and we’re both married.” Luke laughed, shaking his head.
“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” asked RJ.
“We take all of the ingredients, pans, utensils, and any previously prepped items to the center. We were sent an email this morning that the refrigerators would have individual locks so that at night or during breaks no one can get into them and mess with the cakes or pies, or whatever it might be,” said Taylor.
“Again, that feels like a huge step to protect sweets,” frowned Rett. “Are they worried something like that might happen?” He pointed to the television.
“I don’t know if it’s just like that,” said Sara. “This won’t be televised until the final rounds and announcement of winners. Still. A lot can happen in between that time.”
“Are there bakeries or bakers we need to watch?” asked Wilson.
“No. I mean, I can’t think of any. We don’t bother other bakeries. In fact, we send a lot of business to some, especially during Mardi Gras, Christmas, and other holidays. What do you ladies think?” asked Sara.
“I agree. We’ve stuck to ourselves and not bothered anyone. I can’t imagine this happening for us,” said Taylor.
“That’s helpful. We’ll make certain that we do background checks on all the businesses,” said Luke.
“Why?” asked Dylan.
“If a bakery is having financial problems, that’s a strong motive for wanting others out of the way. It’s just routine,” he smiled at the group. “You guys get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very big day.”
“I’d like to get to the center by ten,” Sara. “We can get everything set up and be ready to start with the first competition the following morning.”
“We’ll be ready,” smiled Taylor.
“Everything is going to be great,” laughed the other women. They were all professionals and they knew what was expected of them. Although there was a financial prize associated with each of the categories, for them, it was more about bragging rights and placing the sticker in their bakery window:
Winner: World Baking Championships
Sometimes just having the blue ribbon was enough, especially for this group of women.
Wilson, Luke, RJ, Elias, Tango, Gator, and Rett watched the women walk out of the cafeteria, their playbook in hand, ready to tackle whatever might come their way in the coming week.
“Anyone else get a bad feeling about this?” asked Luke.
“Fuck, yes. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to squash their dream of competing in this stupid shit,” said Wilson.
They all turned to him with eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t mean that. It’s not stupid to them.
But watching that fucking television competition makes me sick to my stomach. What the fuck are people thinking?”
“I think we forget how much ten or fifteen grand means to most people,” said Luke. “We’re lucky that we’re not fighting to keep our businesses afloat or having to worry about buying a new oven. Some of those people are worried about those things.”
“We work just as hard as those people for our money, Luke,” said Elias.
“I didn’t say that we didn’t work hard. Of course we do.
I’m just saying that we know if we have a slump, we have backup to help.
Many of those bakeries don’t have that. Fuck.
There’s an entire division for home bakers.
People baking cookies, cakes, and pies out of their own tiny kitchen just to pay the rent. ”
“I guess it’s the same with all the smaller security agencies we run up against,” said Tango. “Some of them are good and do damn fine work. They just can’t keep afloat with bigger agencies wanting to steal their cases.”
“Maybe that’s something we all talk about in the future,” said Luke. “I think for the fun of it, I’m going to ask Doc and Cruz to come to this thing as well. I get the feeling we might need medical assistance at some point in time.” Wilson stared at him and nodded.
“I’ll bring the medical kits. And the weapons.”