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“I can be an egotistical asshole sometimes, I am aware of that. But I am telling you, this shtick scares me.”
    It wasn’t like James to acknowledge any shortcomings.
    â€œI wouldn’t normally admit this to anyone, but I’m not ready for sous chef. As much as I’ve thought about being in this type of position, I never really visualized it. In less than,” he glanced at his cell phone, “six hours, I have to present myself to one of the finest restaurants on the East Coast. Let me tell you, friends, I am seriously not ready for this. I’m so sure they will find me out.”
    Honesty, brutal, total honesty was not a quality of my friend. So either he was lying to us, or he was petrified and had to tell someone. I believe it was the latter.
    â€œI am woefully unprepared. I have no idea what I’m getting into. And, I may be working with a murderer.”
    â€œJames,” I looked him square in the eyes, “if you want to back out, we both understand. I mean, the people who work in kitchens,” I hesitated, trying to find the right words, “they are a little strange. The pressure, the heat, the fast pace—”
    â€œHow the hell do you know all this, Skip? You’ve never been exposed to a commercial kitchen. I studied this for four years.” James raised his voice and I could tell I’d touched a nerve.
    â€œYeah, you’re right. But I read Anthony Bourdain’s
Kitchen Confidential
in one sitting. Pretty brutal.”
    â€œTrust me,” he almost whispered, “that guy didn’t get everythingright. It’s not all yelling, swearing, sex in the walk-in, stealing food, and doing drugs.”
    â€œIt’s not?”
    â€œNo. The guy didn’t get it
all
right, okay? Apparently working in a celebrity kitchen is also about a chef’s kid getting killed because of a coke deal. It’s about kitchen help getting murdered in dark alleys. It’s about a dominating wife who runs the show.” There was no smile. Just the cold, hard facts.
    â€œYeah, well, there’s that too,” I said.
    My friend stared out at the sidewalk as South Beach woke up to the sun and fun of a new day. Tourists and locals mingled in a dance unlike anywhere I’d ever been. Beautiful women, chiseled men, and so many dogs I lost count. I couldn’t imagine living in this crazy section of South Florida.
    â€œJames, just go with the flow. We’ll be right there if you need us.”
    â€œI’m going to do it, Tonto, but I’m very apprehensive.”
    â€œI think you made that abundantly clear.”
    â€œLike Skip said, we’ll be here. Whatever you need,” Em said, hesitating, “within reason.”
    â€œYou’ll be on call.”
    â€œWe will,” I said.
    I just had no idea how fast that call would come.

CHAPTER SIX

    I drove him to work in the truck. It’s a white Chevy box truck that barely runs, drinks oil like a bar lush drinks whiskey, and bounces over potholes like it has no shocks. Actually, the truck needs new shocks. Hell, it needs new brakes and new tires, but we can’t afford everything necessary to make it a dependable means of transportation. What we needed was a new truck.
    I diss his truck on a regular basis, but my rusted-out Taurus doesn’t run at all, so we share the truck.
    â€œHow about we use some of the money we make for new shocks and to get you a new battery.”
    He agreed.
    â€œSo far, the cops haven’t admitted to any suspects,” James patted his shirt pocket, checking to make sure he’d brought his pack of Marlboros.
    â€œNo.” I recited the brief information we’d seen on TV. “Multiple knife wounds to the abdomen. No immediate person or persons of interest. Friends, relations, and coworkers being interviewed.”
    The interviewer had been very interested in Em’s relationship with Amanda Wright. He’d hung onto the fact