Deja Ortega: Oddsbreaker Page 16

  “I saw that you only came in second in the gameshow portion of the contest,” he said, turning his head and smiling at her.

  “Yes, I was this close to winning. But that blasted Chef Glass beat me.”

  “Well, it was a close one. You did very well,” he said in earnest.

  “Thank you. My sous chef helped quiz me for hours on end. Given that and the contest itself, my brain is rather…mushy right now,” she admitted. Showing a little vulnerability didn’t hurt. In fact, doing so usually provided the wooer with an opening to offer assistance.

  “Then I am glad I have the honor of taking you out for a night of fun.” Bastian chuckled, placing one large, navy-blue hand over her small brown one and squeezing a little. Once they’d reached the lobby, Chef Boyar spoke to the concierge and ordered some transportation.

  “So where are you taking me, Bastian?” she asked.

  “Just to one of my old haunts, EvaLynn—may I call you EvaLynn?”

  “I don’t see why not,” she answered in a flirtatious tone.

  “Well, EvaLynn, I think you’ll enjoy the place I am escorting you to. It made me into the chef I am today. Saved me from a misspent youth, in fact,” he related in a confiding voice.

  “Oh, really? Now I am intrigued,” Deja said, pleased with the direction of the conversation. The more she could learn about Chef Boyar, the better.

  “Ah, here is our chariot,” Bastian said when a long, red limousine pulled up outside. Wow. Splashy.

  First, the chef opened the lobby door for her. The limo’s driver, a slender human blonde, held open the vehicle’s door for both of them. Deja entered first and Bastian second.

  Inside, the windows were heavily tinted, so she couldn’t see outside too well. That was somewhat disconcerting; she liked to know where she was going. But she decided not to complain. Besides, the interior of the vehicle had a killer mini bar and some comfy, red leather seats. The ceiling of the limo was high enough that Bastian, when sitting, didn’t need to duck his head.

  Seeing the direction of her gaze, the Vinadroan grinned. “Up for a bit of refreshment, I see. Well, we do have a bit of a drive, so we might as well make the best of it. First, I’d better give our destination to the driver, though.”

  Deja expected the chef to speak to the chauffeur, who was already behind the wheel again. But instead, Bastian turned to a small console in the wall and tapped out some directions in Vinadroan. Deja wished she were wearing her LinguaLenses. Then she’d know what manner of place he was taking her to visit. But she’d just have to deal with the suspense for now.

  “Now,” Chef Boyar said, sliding over to the mini bar on the other side of the compartment, “would you care for some of your customary gehut or icewine? We have both.”

  Deja almost clenched her jaw. How does he know that? He must be spying on her—either for nefarious reasons or for romantic ones. Hmm. Maybe both.

  “How about just some icewine for now. Green, if possible,” she said in a tone she hoped sounded casual.

  “Yes, green icewine coming up. A nice vintage, too, as it is fifty years old.”

  “Perfect. It’s about as old as I am,” she lied on purpose, wondering if he would miss a beat. He didn’t.

  He poured a glass for each of them with a steady hand and then gave her one. She sipped it. “This is top shelf. I’ll give you points for that,” she said, but resisted taking another drink. She needed to stay alert.

  “Indeed. I think you deserve only the best,” said the Vinadroan, his navy-blue eyes unwavering as he gazed at her. As he spoke, he toyed with one of the smaller gold hoops in his left ear.

  “Why, thank you.” She flashed a sassy smile although she actually felt more like his next meal than his date. His gaze had an amorous yet predatory edge to it. This man was more than a skilled chef. As he’d shown in his past competitions and in his interactions with her, he knew a thing or two about strategizing and outmaneuvering others. In truth, the Vinadroan could very well be Famous’s right-hand operative or even Famous Foodie himself.

  “So how did you come to enter the Ultimate Chef of the Galaxy Contest?” he asked, playing with his earring again.

  She decided to give a mixture of truth and untruth. “Oh, my dad and I watched the show almost every year when I was growing up. He was a self-styled gourmand, you see, and we traveled many places because he was in the shipping industry.”

  “No wonder you have good taste,” Bastian said with an appraising and cunning look.

  “Thank you kindly,” she said. “What about you? How did cooking steal your young heart?”

  “That is a good question. My heart was rather set upon vices like thievery for quite a while. But I did that to survive. You see, I was orphaned at a young age. I didn’t have any other talents. Or so I thought.”

  “Go on,” she prompted when he paused.

  “Well, I would like to show you rather than tell you. For now, let’s just say that a talented individual took me under her wing. I’m taking you to meet her.”

  “Sounds like someone I’d definitely like to see,” Deja said with genuine warmth.

  Chef Boyar nodded. “And so you shall. Looks like we are here.” The limo slowed and Deja handed her drink to Bastian who held out a hand for it. “Thanks. We’ll leave our drinks here and get fresh ones inside.”

  “Perfect,” she said. The female driver opened the door on Bastian’s side of the vehicle. The tall chef stepped out onto the cracked pavement then held out his hand to her, which she took. He guided her out of the limo and onto a semi-bustling city sidewalk. Glancing around, Deja was surprised to see somewhat dilapidated shops and offices flanking a pristine-looking eating establishment that was six stories tall and made from brown brick and dark wood. A massive wooden spoon was mounted on the roof with a sign proclaiming the place to be called, unsurprisingly, “The Wooden Spoon.”

  “My, what a charming eatery!” Deja declared in all honesty.

  “Thank you,” Bastian said with a delighted smile, showing both fangs fully. “As of one year ago, it’s mine. The Wooden Spoon is this province’s communal kitchen and restaurant. This bistro-slash-lodging is also the source of my culinary salvation.”

  “I’m impressed,” Deja admitted. “I’d love to see everything.”

  “Well, then, let’s get to it!” With that, Chef Boyar led her in the front doors, which two purple Vinadroans swept open in a coordinated, smooth motion. As Bastian and Deja strolled inside, the two aliens bowed gracefully and then straightened like soldiers on parade. Inwardly, Deja was intrigued. Her date was certainly living up to his reputation as a respected chef and restauranteur.

  They entered a grand dining hall with row after row of gleaming wooden tables decked out in spotless white tablecloths, napkins, and sparkling dinnerware. Deja could hardly see an empty seat anywhere, though. The room was packed. The ceiling was vaulted and gorgeous crystal chandeliers lit the spacious area. A large stage took up most of the front wall. On that stage, a motley yet sharply dressed crew of musicians were performing a beautiful ballad on the virtues of cooking with the most important ingredient of all: love.

  Chef Boyar and Deja stopped at a podium behind which a middle-aged Be’Voyan stood with menus in hand, waiting to receive them. “Chef Boyar and Chef Dubois,” the man proclaimed, “welcome to The Wooden Spoon! Please follow me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Quint,” Bastian said. He and Deja followed the golden-eyed Mr. Quint toward the front of the stage where someone had set up a special table for two. The host pulled out a plush chair for Deja, who sat down and scooted in with the Be’Voyan’s assistance. Chef Boyar seated himself.

  “This dining hall is simply gorgeous!” Deja said, thinking privately that Bastian must have a lot of clout to own and operate such a joint. Furthermore, given his performances in the cookoff and his interactions with others, Deja surmised that the Vinadroan possessed the sorts of influence and connections that could be the bread and butter of any food activis
t, including a certain culinary crusader named Famous Foodie. Growing up on the streets as he had, Bastian could’ve developed a ruthless side for sure. Excitement and anticipation coursed through Deja like fizzy champagne.

  “I like to think so, too,” he told her, taking a digital menu pad from Mr. Quint. The Be’Voyan also handed one to Deja. Most restaurants had holographic menus built into the tables, but she liked that Chef Boyar’s eatery was more on the old-fashioned side. “Mr. Quint, please bring some of my special green icewine for me and EvaLynn here.”

  “Right away, chef,” said the host, moving away to find a maître d’.

  Taking a napkin from the porcelain plate in front of her, Deja laid it over her lap while Bastian did likewise with his napkin. That done, Deja leaned forward to ask him something. “So how did this place come to your rescue?”

  “Very good question,” Boyar said, steepling his hands in front of himself. “I once tried to ‘dine and dash’ as they say, but Chef Lenore Swilton, the Executive Chef, caught me and dragged me back here to work off my meal. She proceeded to teach me a thing or two about the business and pleasure of feeding people’s stomachs and souls.”

  “How scandalous—and interesting,” Deja said, curiosity piqued.

  The Vinadroan chuckled, smoothing back his blue-and-gold hair. “Isn’t it, though?” he stated more than asked. “I’ll introduce you to Lenny in just a bit. First, let’s get started with some appetizers, shall we?”

  “Sounds good,” she said, eyes glancing down at her menu with great interest. To her delight, the appetizers alone occupied at least three pages of the menu. “This is going to be tough to choose,” Deja admitted. This was the sort of place she and her dad had loved to frequent on their trips to various planets.

  “Then we’ll just have to try a little of everything,” Boyar said with a chuckle.

  At that moment, a short maître d’ arrived holding two flutes of green icewine, which he deposited on the table with supreme grace. Bastian thanked the human server, then proceeded to order several appetizers. “Now, dear Eva, which ones would you like to try that I haven’t already ordered?”

  Deja promptly listed four items she wanted to taste then set down her menu.

  “I’ll have those dishes prepared right away, esteemed chefs,” said the maître d’, a young female who turned and walked off at a brisk pace.

  Deja returned her attention to her escort, wondering if this pleasant yet shrewd Vinadroan was not only capable of running a tip-top establishment but also capable of murder. “So,” she said, “Chef Bastian Boyar, please tell me more about your first time entering the Chef of the Galaxy Contest. I’ve heard you think you were cheated out of winning five years ago. And, seeing all this, I can certainly believe something untoward must have happened.” The oddsbreaker finished that statement with a special smile reserved for those she wanted to garner intel from.

  “I would be happy to satisfy your curiosity on that score,” he said with a suggestive grin. “But first I would love to hear about your run-in with Judge Lukas Inciardi.”

  “Well, you did ask nicely,” Deja began, then told him briefly about her encounter with the judge. Bastian laughed so loudly that other diners turned to look in his direction. “I was, however, wearing a disguise,” Deja said, giggling herself. “And so the judge doesn’t know who I am, thank goodness!”

  “How clever of you,” Chef Boyar said approvingly, finally able to rein in his laughter. “As for me,” he continued, “I am quite certain Judge Inciardi is the reason I lost the Ultimate Chef of the Galaxy Contest those five short years ago.” The blue Vinadroan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “In fact, I have all but damning evidence that he in particular is dirty.”

  Deja, who had begun to sip her icewine, almost spit some out at the mention of dirt. Instead, she coughed a little. Could this be Bastian’s way of telling her that he was Famous Foodie?

  Tread carefully, girl, Deja told herself.

  “Well, that’s a shame, seeing as how he’s such a delightful human being,” she said with a sarcastic chortle.

  “Haha. You’re not wrong,” Chef Boyar agreed, his expression taking on a cunning edge. “I intend to make sure he pays for that once I have the evidence I need.”

  “Sounds like a noble cause,” the oddsbreaker said softly and nodded. But just how far was the chef willing to go to oust Inciardi as a supposed fraud and a rascal? With any luck, Deja might soon obtain an answer for that very question.

  Doctor Chipton strolled into Patricio’s room in the afternoon of however many days he had been in the hospital. “How’s my best patient doing?” he asked.

  “Corrección, soy un mal paciente de hospital,” Patricio said with a laugh.

  “No, you really are an excellent patient, good sir. Now, we have some weighty matters to discuss. Are you up for that?” The doctor smoothed back his yellow hair feathers and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Patricio nodded wordlessly, fear seeping into his bones like a winter chill.

  The surgeon pulled up a wheeled stool and sat down by the side of the bed. “First, how is your pain level?”

  “Not too bad. But the drugs make me sleepy,” he said.

  “I’m glad your pain is under control. I’m afraid we can’t help the side effects. And you need lots of sleep.”

  “Right, por supuesto.”

  “So far, you have done a wonderful job with your recovery. We are pleased with your progress.” The doctor took a breath. “OK, now for the tougher news. You are recovering from quite a lot, and we will need to perform several surgeries. You had a cracked skull, which we’ve repaired already once the swelling in your brain went down. And you know that we’ve already reattached your tongue. But unfortunately, your femurs and kneecaps were broken. So those all need surgery. And one hand was crushed severely. It will require a series of procedures. You’ll have some residual nerve damage here and there. And your liver was bruised, so we had to take out a part of it. We had to replace one of your kidneys, too. And you’ll need significant physical therapy to regain all your control. Any questions?”

  All this bad news soaked into Patricio like foul grease into an old sponge. He felt so…awful, ancient, and powerless. “Sí, yo entiendo. What surgeries will you start with? Is there a risk I might not wake up?”

  Doctor Chipton leaned forward. “Yes, there is that possibility. You were lucky to even survive as long as you did before you were transferred here via hospital ship.”

  “I understand,” Patricio acknowledged. “Well, when do we start? May I talk to my daughter first?”

  “Sure, you may. We’ll take you in for surgery on your legs, knees, and hand as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Muchas gracias.”

  The Ractyl got up and pulled a special, wheeled table over, positioning the length of it above Patricio’s torso. Then he took out a data pad and set it upright on the table. “When you’re ready, issue the pad the command and it will call your daughter. I’ll leave you be for now.” Doctor Chipton patted Patricio on the arm before leaving the room.

  Wetting his lips, Patricio tried not to let fear take root in his head. In a little while, he’d be on an operating table again. But he couldn’t let his daughter see his pain or panic. He couldn’t distract her from her mission, whatever it was. He’d already been the source of enough grief for his sweet daughter. Hence, he took many deep breaths and decided, finally, not to speak to her before he went under the knife. Instead, he summoned his surgeon.

  Chef “Lenny” Swilton, a plump, silver-furred Vinadroan, strolled up to Deja and Bastian’s private table with a rolling gait. Her hair was grayish silver, too, and seemed to float about her head like a halo. In one large hand, she held a formidable wooden spoon. When she reached the table, Bastian stood and embraced the older chef.

  “Executive Chef Lenore Swilton, please meet the lovely Chef EvaLynn Dubois, my worthy opponent and my companion for tonight.”

  “It’s ‘L
enny’ to you, Bastian. Don’t go making me look all stuck up like those snooty chefs you despise so much.”

  “Okay, okay, Lenny,” he conceded. “Please say hello to EvaLynn here and tell her what you will of our relationship.”

  “I’d be happy to,” said the female chef, brandishing her wooden spoon. “This here spoon can be used for more than just stirring the soup. It works quite well to knock some sense into a confused, wayward, and crafty child such as Bastian. Taught him how to make his own way in the world and how to do it with class.”

  “I have no doubt of that.” Deja smiled and bowed at the executive chef. “Please tell me more,” she invited, motioning to a nearby chair. The stout chef hauled the chair over to the table and sat. Chef Boyar then seated himself, too.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Lenny said with a jolly laugh. She proceeded to regale Deja with stories of Bastian’s exploits, both glorious and disreputable. After that, the chef excused herself and left Bastian and Deja to their own devices. The sumptuous meal that followed made Deja’s mouth water. All eight courses were as divine and sophisticated as a cloud is light and fluffy. She and Bastian talked and ate and drank the night away. When the clock reached an hour to midnight, she had to beg him to stop with the food and drink. She needed to get back to her quarters to discuss things with Geoff. With a little cajoling, Deja managed to get Bastian to again summon the red limo, which soon deposited them back at her lodging.

  “Goodbye, Bastian,” Deja said, then stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on both cheeks. “Thanks for a lovely night out. I’m sure we will have more to discuss in the future, yes?”

  “Oh, of course, my dear,” he said, bowing. “Good night. I shall see you tomorrow.”

  Deja nodded and then waved as he walked away. She waited until he was out of sight to unlock her door and go inside. Whew. What a night!