Deja Ortega: Oddsbreaker Page 17

  Several hours had passed since Patricio had awoken from his surgery. “Call Deja Ortega,” he commanded aloud. It was late, but he knew Deja would probably still be up.

  “Calling,” said the gadget. It took a few minutes of suspense before Deja picked up. Again, he could not see her, but he could hear her voice, altered though it was.

  “Hola, papá. Cómo estás?” Deja asked.

  “Estoy mas o menos,” he replied, trying to sound somewhat brave. He knew she wouldn’t believe him if he said he felt fine. “How is the mission going, mija?”

  “Muy bien, gracias. I can’t tell you what it is exactly. But I can say, thanks for all the cooking lessons.”

  That sparked his interest. “De verdad? Good. But now I am curious.”

  “Lo siento, but I can’t say anything more. I think of you often, Papá. Focus on getting well, sí?”

  “Sí. Gracias, mija.”

  “Your physician said you had major surgery today,” Deja said. “How did it go? And why didn’t you call me before it happened?”

  “Oh, I was trying to be brave like you,” he answered.

  She laughed. “I think I have more luck than I have bravery. But thank you.”

  He cleared his throat, trying to keep the fear and pain from forcing his voice higher. “De nada. I will talk to you again when I can, mija. Adios.”

  Deja ended the call. Her father had better recover well. Moreover, she had better perform well in the next competition if she wanted to stay in the contest as a whole. Next up was some kind of mystery challenge.

  This time, Geoff would be by her side. That sure made it seem less…daunting. Of course, she couldn’t let him know how much his presence meant to her. He didn’t seem to understand that she had problems that were…difficult to talk about. Could he handle it if she laid everything on the table? Probably not.

  Deja realized that she had taken out her flask without thinking. Now, she looked at the item and put it away in haste. She’d had plenty to drink while out with Bastian. Anyway, it wasn’t like she couldn’t stop drinking if she really wanted to. With that reassuring thought, she got up on unsteady feet and went to meet Geoff to discuss her “date” with Bastian.

  Geoff couldn’t help but feel somewhat resentful that Deja had spent the evening with another suitor, even if it was just an undercover op. The jealousy seethed inside him like a bubbling cauldron. He was almost ready to ping her PalmStar when he heard her knock on their shared door.

  He wasted no time in opening the door and ushering her in. Her breath smelled harsh but fruity and she wobbled as she walked, clearly smashed. He reached out and guided her to an overstuffed chair, frustrated and relieved at the same time.

  “So what intel did you get on Boyar?” Geoff asked, still standing. “Give me a summary and then let’s listen to the recording, yeah? Or do you want to do this in the morning?”

  “Now’s fine,” she drawled, kicking off her high heels. “So get this, Boyar owns this fancy place down in the lower east side of Remla. It’s a restaurant, culinary school, lodging, souvenir shop, and more. And he grew up as an orphan. Got himself into a whole bunch of trouble until an executive chef took him in and taught him how to cook. The guy wasn’t always an upstanding member of society.”

  “Interesting. So once a ruffian, maybe always a ruffian?”

  “Yep. Maybe so. And he sure has it out for Inciardi. Claims to be waiting for enough evidence to humiliate and discredit him.”

  “OK, so perhaps Boyar is Famous Foodie. But do you really think he might try to murder the judge?” Geoff asked, brow furrowed.

  “I think he’s got the chutzpah to do it. Just not sure if he’s our bad guy,” Deja said, shaking her head (and slurring her speech).

  “All right. Let’s get you to bed. I can listen to the recording on my own. You, boss, need to get some rest.”

  Some emotion—guilt, perhaps?—flickered across her face like lightning across the sky. Then it was gone. “Oh…okay. If you say so,” she said, then stumbled when trying to rise.

  “Hold up there, boss. I’ve got ya.” Geoff bent down and scooped her up. He soon deposited her on her own bed and tucked her in. After a few moments, her face relaxed into sleep.

  That blue, smooth-talking Vinadroan had gotten Deja drunk. And she already had trouble controlling her drinking. Geoff felt like punching a wall or, even better, Chef Boyar’s face. Fighting down the urge to go have it out with the chef, he cracked his knuckles. Then he turned and went back to his room, where he listened to every painful minute of Deja and Bastian’s date. Now, if only he could figure out how to break the case before it broke Deja…

  Geoff sat on the edge of his bed. He had just finished updating General Trikk on the mission. So far, Deja was still in the running for the Ultimate Chef of the Galaxy. But they had no idea when or how Famous Foodie was going to strike. However, they were fairly certain that Chef Bastian Boyar was, in fact, Famous Foodie.

  In just a few minutes, he and Deja would join up and head to another contest. He simply wished Deja would finally level with Geoff about her feelings for him. He had a good idea why she thought she wasn’t “good enough” for him. But the lieutenant colonel didn’t want to push her; she’d just shut him out again. It hadn’t escaped him that she always seemed to need a drink more than just now and then. And she’d been quite knackered last night when she got back to her room. So, yeah, he’d have to be careful.

  He sighed and cracked his knuckles absently.

  A knock sounded on his door. “Coming,” he said. He looked through the peephole. Sure enough, it was Deja. He unlocked the door and stepped out to join her, hoping they’d have luck in the next event.

  “Behold your next batch of cheftestants,” said Chub, the always-jovial presenter. “We shall see if they are up for this watery contest.”

  Watery? thought Geoff, who stood on stage next to Deja.

  The stage had been set up with rows of cooking stations for the twenty-five contestants who would compete. At the front was a huge, semicircular pantry. But in the middle of the stage stood some rectangular shapes that were enshrouded with fabric. Everybody knew the special ingredient would be under there. But what would it be? Something that lived in water, apparently.

  The judges sat upon their own stages around the center dais, watching and appraising.

  “Okay, audience. We have the judges, we have the chefs, and we have our secret ingredient. What could it be?” Bots wheeled out to grasp the covers over the boxy receptacles. They lifted the fabric and everyone gasped. Several five- and six-feet-long eels swam around inside twenty-five separate aquariums.

  “Yes, that’s right. Eels. And these are electric! They don’t like being touched; we can tell you that,” added Chub quite unnecessarily.

  A little danger, huh? Geoff could handle that. Deja gave him a look that said, “We’d better be on our toes.”

  “All right, chefs. Each of you has one and a half hours to satiate the judges with some eel delicacies. Here is the equipment you’ll be needing to catch and kill the eels humanely.” Some other bots came out bearing gloves, pinchers, and bolt guns for each team. “You have twenty minutes to make use of the pantry and then it will be closed off. Are you ready?”

  “Yes!” they all shouted.

  “Time starts…NOW!”

  “Pantry,” said Deja. They both raced to the pantry.

  “What do we need, boss?”

  “We’re going to make Cajun eel tacos and fresh corn salsa with dirty rice. Here’s what I need you to get.” She rattled off half the ingredients to him, and he set off to get what she’d specified. Cajun eel tacos. That sounded good to him. He threw a bunch of spices in his basket, dodging other contestants who’d decided to hit the pantry first too. Then he made it over to the produce and piled his basket full of fresh corn and some other vegetables. By the time he was done, Deja was already sprinting to their station to drop off her load of food. She always did make running look extra
nice, Geoff thought. He made it to the station soon after she did and dropped his basket near the sink.

  “Great,” she said.

  “Let’s go get our electric protein,” Geoff replied. She spared him a smile and they took off to their tank together. Geoff and Deja pulled on the water- and shock-resistant gloves that went up to their shoulders. Geoff now knew why their hands and arms had been measured a while back. The gloves fit perfectly. He picked up the pinchers and noted the bolt gun that had been supplied to kill the eels.

  “So,” he said, “shall I take the biting end?”

  “Be my guest,” she said.

  With that, they worked to catch a slippery eel—each of which had some very impressive teeth. Those teeth curved inward, which was nature’s way of making sure that prey was unable to escape once the eel’s jaws had snapped shut.

  “Okay, grab its head first,” Deja suggested.

  “Sure.” He had done a lot of fishing in his day, but never like this. The purplish eels kept dodging and swimming out of the way of the pinchers. “Forget this,” Geoff said, throwing the pinchers over his shoulder.

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  At that moment, the presenter’s attention shifted to them. Perfect, thought Geoff. Not like I need to concentrate.

  “And what luck are you having with your eels, Chef Dubois?” asked Chub.

  “They’re being most unhelpful,” Deja informed him. “But we’re about to wrangle one now.”

  “Oooh. This should be interesting.”

  Geoff tried to ignore that and the other prattle from the host. “Chef Dubois, I need some extra livers from the pantry. And some butcher’s twine. Can you go get that for me?”

  “What could Sous Chef Blackleaf be planning?” asked Chub in dramatic overtones.

  Deja gave Geoff an odd look but took off to the pantry, which would disappear in one minute and thirty seconds. They already had some goose livers for the rice, but he knew that she’d only grabbed enough for that. As she left, Geoff went to their station and grabbed a cheesecloth. Then he hustled over to the tank just as Deja came running with the livers. She handed him the package. He tore it open and dumped the contents in the middle of the cheesecloth. Then he gathered the edges of the cloth and tied off the top with the twine, leaving a long line to hold onto. He squeezed it briefly to get some of the juices flowing through the cheesecloth. Then Geoff tossed the loaded bait into the tank.

  “Here we go,” he said. “This trick works back home. Let’s see if they have a taste for livers.” In seconds, one of the eels struck the bait hard, biting into it with gusto.

  “And we have a winner—or a loser depending on your viewpoint,” remarked Dornack.

  Geoff pulled the thick string hand over hand until the eel was up against one of the corners. Now that its curved teeth were embedded in the fabric, it couldn’t shake free. “OK, chef,” Geoff instructed, “I need you to be ready to grab its middle with your pinchers—or your gloves. I’m going to lift it out by the line.” She nodded, and he began to pull the eel from the water.

  The eel surged out of the tank and straight into Geoff. He fell backward, caught off guard. A shock of electricity coursed through his chest. Every muscle stiffened and darkness greeted him.

  “Medic! Medic!” Deja shouted. She grabbed the bolt gun from the ground and lunged at the eel that was shocking and wriggling over her partner. She kicked the beast until it rolled off of Geoff. With the bolt gun, she managed to pin down the eel’s head and deliver the kill shot. It went limp, and she kicked the creature farther from Geoff’s body. She checked his pulse. Nothing. She locked her hands together and began chest compressions, shouting for a medic again.

  “It looks like one of our sous chefs is down. Is there hope for him?” asked the host in melodramatic tones.

  “Oh, shut the slag up!” she responded, still giving chest compressions. She counted the compressions in her head, then bent down and breathed into his mouth. She realized she was panting in fear and exertion.

  “Ian! Come on, Ian. Wake up,” she commanded, her vision warping with moisture from unshed tears.

  “Move over,” shouted one of the two medics who had arrived.

  With reluctance, she gave up her position at Geoff’s side. Just as she did, she shouted at him again. Then to her relief, her partner jerked, took in a lungful of air, and raised his head. The crowd cheered. “What just happened?” he asked, dazed.

  “You got a little fried,” she said, her heart swelling in gratitude. “But now that you’re back, are you up for some cooking? We’re gonna fry this big slagger.” The crowd rumbled in delight. Deja blinked hard, realizing her hands were shaking.

  “Heck, yes.”

  “Good. I’ll even let you butcher it,” she told him. He deserved to be the one to cut up the little monster. She forced herself not to think what would’ve happened if he hadn’t woken up.

  “Excellent,” Geoff said, then managed to sit up. The medics tried to protest, but Geoff just pushed them away.

  Chub chimed in with, “And Blackleaf is back in action. What a tough sous chef we have here, people!”

  The crowd clapped as Deja helped Geoff get to his feet. After that, the two of them scooped up each end of the eel and lugged it back to their station. Other teams were carrying their own catches back to their posts. Yet quite a few teams still labored to catch their own eels.

  “I’ll prep the spices and get the flour tortillas going,” she said. “I’ll have the oil nice and hot for our friend there. Don’t skin him. I want the skin to fry up nice and crisp.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  So Deja set out to make flour tortillas as fast as she could. Just as she was about finished kneading the dough, Chef Gaskón hurried up to her station.

  “Chef Dubois. Might I trouble you for some flour? I just spilled a bunch on the floor. Bother these hands of mine!”

  Lending ingredients to other contestants wasn’t against the rules, but it could backfire on her if his dish outshone hers. Still, he had shown her kindness by letting her borrow something in a past contest. Besides, he had been a good teammate not too long ago. So she decided to risk it.

  “Sure. You can have this right here.”

  “You’re amazing. Thank you. I won’t forget it!” His last words faded off as he ran back to his station.

  Meanwhile, Geoff laid the eel on the cutting board. He still felt a little wobbly, but he shrugged it off. He grabbed a suitable knife and started gutting the eel from the underside. He opened up the eel and cut out the backbone. Then he relieved the carcass of the innards and threw them in the trash. Using the movable faucet, he rinsed away the blood. He flipped the eel over and began to remove the fins on the upper and lower body. His sharp knife made quick work of it. He was no stranger to carving up game of all types. Then he cut off the head. Lastly, he sliced off a portion of the bony tail, leaving a perfect, rectangular filet of eel. He rinsed the whole carcass again.

  “Eel’s done. How big do you want the pieces?” he asked.

  Deja looked over his work and nodded in approval. “Give me as many two-inch strips as you can.”

  He proceeded to do as asked, slicing up the eel that had almost taken his life. Take that, he thought.

  “Now toss them in the flour and spice mixture,” she instructed, busy cooking tortillas and prepping the salsa. Two vats of boiling oil awaited the eel bits.

  At this point, the teal-furred announcer broke into their conversation. Again. “And what are you cooking for the judges, Chef Dubois? And how is your sous chef feeling?”

  “Feeling good,” piped up Geoff.

  “We’re making Cajun fried eel tacos with lime sauce, fresh corn salsa, and a side of dirty rice.”

  “Sounds tasty. Carry on!” Dornack said happily.

  At this point, Geoff had the eel pieces ready to go. Deja grabbed the bowl from him and began placing the battered pieces in the oil. “Thanks. Start on
the rice for me?”

  “Sure thing.” He grabbed the rice, onions, peppers, livers, sausage, celery, garlic, thyme, and paprika. First, he poured some oil in a hot pan. He rinsed the rice in a colander until the water was clear. Finding a stockpot, he filled it with the rice and some poultry stock, setting it to boil. Then he chopped up the livers and sausage. Into the frying pan they went. He was about to start chopping the vegetables when Deja moved in to take over.

  “Get our lime sauce going,” Deja ordered. “And turn this batch of eel.” Geoff scurried off to start on the sauce and check the eel. Meanwhile, Deja chopped up the vegetables and garlic. As Geoff prepared the lime sauce, she sautéed the vegetables with the livers and sausage and then seasoned everything with thyme, garlic, paprika, salt, and pepper. She checked the rice. Almost done.

  Deja looked up at the clock. They had only twenty-five minutes left. Just enough time for everything to finish cooking and then plate it all. As the rice finished, she added more stock, the meat, and the vegetables. She turned it to simmer, praying the flavors would meld in time.

  “How’s that sauce coming?” she asked.

  “Just thickening it up. Tastes perfect.”

  Deja took a tasting spoon and dipped it in, capturing some sauce. The taste was smooth yet acidic and just what she had wanted. “Start getting the plates ready to go. I’ll take care of the eel.” As Deja inspected the eel, she smiled to herself. The seafood was crispy and smelled delicious. She used a special ladle to remove the pieces from the oil, placing them on paper towels to drain the grease. Taking one piece that had already cooled a little, she blew on the battered eel and tasted it.

  “And how’s that taste, Chef Dubois?” asked the host, a holocam hovering near her face.

  “Divine,” she said, then added this batch of eel to the previous batches and started to plot out the plating.

  “But will you have time to plate?” Chub asked dubiously.