Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (10 page)

I turned to Andres, but he was one step ahead of me. He’d picked up the camera and had it pointed toward the men. Victor was right behind him, holding the boom mic safely out of reach of the argument but close enough to get the words clearly on tape.

“Listen, you little fucker!” Roman screamed. “I decide what happens in this place, not some nobody.”

“I am a partner too,” Erik said. The smooth arrogance had been replaced by a stammer, but it was gutsy of him to stand up to someone twice his size. Though, in all fairness, he wasn’t actually standing. He was sort of dangling, a few inches off the ground, held up by Roman’s massive fist. Both Doug and Vera jumped up to intervene, eventually pulling the men apart. Roman stormed off and Doug went after him, while Vera comforted a shaken Erik. I nearly broke out in applause. I didn’t even have to stage the tension in this place. Andres and I exchanged a quick nod, and he continued shooting Vera and Erik.

Ilena just sat and watched with a detached amusement, then turned to me as if our conversation had never been interrupted. “This place really is a dream of mine,” she said, looking around. “I didn’t have much growing up. My father worked in a butcher shop owned by his uncle. We ate well,” she laughed, “but we never had any money.”

“You must be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“What have I accomplished?”

It was a good question. “Once this place is open, I imagine you’ll be the talk of Chicago. A businesswoman every bit as successful as her husband. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She cocked her head toward me. “I was twenty-four when I married Roman. My bank account was overdrawn. I had to borrow the dress I got married in.” She sighed. “I thought I’d found the answer to my prayers. Then, the day before the wedding, Roman had me sign a prenup that if we divorced we’d each keep what we’d earned in the marriage.”
She looked square at me, and for the first time I could see a force behind her pale brown eyes. “You know how much I’ve earned in the years Roman and I have been married?”

“I can guess.”

“Nothing.” She slapped the table. “Absolutely nothing. He’s made sure of that. But this place will be mine. My success story. My money.”

“And your ticket out of the marriage?” I couldn’t help but wish she were saying this on camera, but it was interesting either way.

Ilena sat up very straight. “I can butcher a hog, do you know that, Kate?” I shook my head. “And do you know why?”

“Because your father was a butcher.”

“Because my father taught me that you have to do what needs to be done, even if it’s distasteful.”

“Good lesson.”

“Damn good lesson.”

She turned back to her food. As she bit into some chicken, I watched her. The put-on elegance was gone. My guess was that she’d conjured that image early in her marriage, or maybe before. She’d thought it would add a certain sophisticated air to the story I was doing, which was why she’d gone on and on about how exclusive Club Car would be. But she’d obviously seen that it hadn’t worked. Now she was doing the humble roots bit, hoping I’d prefer that side of her. She was right about that. And I appreciated that she was pragmatic enough to make the switch midstream. But it also made me wonder if Vera’s questions about the finances stood in the way of her plans. Ilena was more than capable of putting a stop to them.

A
s lunch was wrapping up, the famed Walt Russo, legendary “it” chef, arrived to conduct a tasting for the investors, and of course, for the cameras. He was lanky, late thirties, with light brown skin and just-got-out-of-bed dark brown hair. He didn’t use the words “exclusive” or “hip,” so five minutes after I’d met him, he was my favorite one of the whole group.

Like the rest of the restaurant, the kitchen was a mess. The tile floor was installed and about half of the appliances were in, but the rest of the space was covered in drop cloths and filled with boxes.

“You’re going to cook for the tasting in here?” I asked.

“I started out at a barbecue place in Evanston. We served mostly students, so the food was cheap and greasy.” He laughed. “I don’t want to even guess how many health codes we violated. But if it taught me anything, it was how to deal with whatever kitchen I was in, including this one.”

Walt had brought knives, pans, and tableware with him, as well as two large boxes of ingredients, and it took him very little time to start chopping, sautéing, frying, and boiling—often all at the same time. Without even tasting his cooking I could see why Vera had been so awed. Andres went handheld with the camera, shooting from all angles as Walt worked, cooking a dozen or more different things, which he then plated in tiny portions on large white dishes.

“This portion is just for the tasting?” I asked.

“No, this is how we’re going to serve it. Portion size has gotten totally out of control, and the mark of a great restaurant, I think, is to give you great taste, not bust the button on your pants.”

He took a forkful of a rice dish and fed it to me. It was tender, with just enough bite and a mix of flavors I couldn’t identify, both savory and sweet. When I swallowed I could see Walt was waiting for approval.

“It’s good,” I said. “But it just makes me want more.”

“
You can have as much as you like. You know the chef.” He smiled. It was warm and sweet.

“I don’t think I could get in this place once it opens,” I said. “I keep hearing how it’s for the cool people.”

“You’re cool.”

“No, I’m not.”

He laughed. “Sure you are.”

Victor stepped in. “She’s really not. She thinks a hot dog is gourmet food.”

Walt shrugged. “If it’s from Superdawg, it is.”

“I love that place,” I said. “I haven’t been there in forever.”

“I’ll get you one with everything,” Walt said, “or you can go with me, and we’ll do the drive-in. Nothing tastes better than a hot dog brought to your car.” He laughed. “A bribe so you’ll make me look good on the show.”

“You’re already in the running to be cast as ‘the nice one,’” I admitted.

He chuckled. “Not exactly a tough race. Except Vera. She’s sweet. And Erik is cool. He may be a bit pretentious, but his heart’s in the right place.”

“What about Roman and Ilena?”

Walt glanced toward the camera. “I met Roman about three years ago. I starting working in a restaurant he liked, and he took a special interest in me. He’s a good guy, certainly knows the restaurant scene. He wanted me to work for him then but I couldn’t leave because of my contract.”

“Until it burned down.”

Walt raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said. “That kind of freed me up for this.”

“How did that fire start?”

“I don’t know. It was after hours.”

“Was it arson?”

Walt’s eyes widened. “Could have been. Could have been electrical, or started by something left on in the kitchen. Restaurants catch on fire. Roman had a place burn down years ago. It happens.”

“I didn’t know
that. Do you know what caused that fire?”

“Nope. A guy went to Pontiac prison for it, so I guess arson, but I don’t know the details.”

“Maybe Roman did it. He’s got quite a temper. We had a little demonstration of it earlier.”

Walt tried to laugh it off, but he looked a little worried. “He’s all talk.” He was looking toward Andres, looking for an escape. I doubted I could get more from him while the cameras rolled. I changed tactics.

“Why are you going into business with these guys?” I asked. “You seem an odd bunch, if you ask me.”

“Roman approached me with the promise of carte blanche in the kitchen,” he said. “To create a restaurant from the ground up, I think that’s every chef’s dream. When you go into an established place, there are menus already in place, expectations from customers and critics. But this”—he looked around the kitchen—“is a blank canvas. This is mine, and I want to do something really special with it.”

He looked around the room with a dreamy smile. It looked like a mess to me, but I could see that in his eyes, it was already perfect.

After the interview, the investors dusted off the bar and used it as a makeshift table. They huddled around it, taking a spoonful from each dish as Walt explained why it would fit into the place. Doug seemed a little lost, so I assumed he wasn’t a food guy, and Roman kept checking his BlackBerry, but Ilena and Erik were really into the tasting. They asked questions with every dish and made annoying comments like, “it has a teasing quality” and “it’s retro but with a modern feel.”

Erik questioned each ingredient, clearly offering one too many suggestions. I could see Walt trying to be patient, until he finally snapped. “You’re front of house, Erik. You worry about the ambience. I’ll worry about the food.”

Ilena jumped in to defend Erik, but then Walt offered his resignation if there was no faith in his ability. Roman finally put a stop to it with a quick, “He’s the chef.” The others quickly backed down. My hopes for another on-camera outburst went unfulfilled.

Vera just stood to the side and tried to look cheerful. At one point I saw her making a face at me, a “Have you found out anything?” face. I shook my head. I was still going over my conversation with Walt, but the more I thought about it, the less information I seemed to have. The fires, at Walt’s restaurant and at Roman’s years ago, might be important, or they could be a coincidence. Walt’s nervousness about the subject might mean something, or it could just be a star chef wanting to say good things about his boss. This whole place might be a front for some underworld business of Roman’s, I suddenly realized. That excited me for a moment. It would certainly be a more interesting episode if they were really a criminal enterprise, and more palatable if the annoying personalities were just put on to hide the truth.

But as I looked around the room, at this cluster of mismatched snobs, I decided I wouldn’t get that lucky.

After the tasting was over, Roman started to walk out.

“You still have a mic on,” I called after Roman. Victor was texting someone on his phone, paying no attention.

“Can I take this off?” Roman looked at me. “I have to make a call.”

“We still have stuff to shoot,” I told him. “But it’s wireless, so Victor can turn it off for now.”

Finally Victor snapped to attention, but then got flustered turning off the mic. Roman looked put out for the entire twenty seconds it took for Victor to finish. Then he left the restaurant, dialing as he walked out.

“Charming guy,” I said to Vera.

“He’s just stressed. He’s got about a dozen deals going on at once.”

We watched out the window as Roman paced up and down, having a quiet but obviously angry conversation with whomever was on the other end.

“You think he’s the type to make threatening phone calls?” I asked.

“One of the first things he told me is that he doesn’t like to lose,” Vera said. “He said he’ll do anything rather than let it happen.”

I looked back at Ilena, chatting with Erik and Walt. “I wonder what he’s afraid he’ll lose?”

T
he investors had a meeting they didn’t want on tape, so I reluctantly agreed to get lost for a half hour. Andres, Victor, and I shot some exteriors of the building, a crumbling art deco structure made all the more depressing by the brown of midwinter. Then, just to keep ourselves busy, we got some footage of the neighborhood, an area known as the South Loop. Once the city’s vice district, it’s an up-and-coming neighborhood that attracts young professionals but isn’t, at least not yet, the center of fun for the high-end gossip pages crowd Club Car was aiming to get.

“I wonder why they chose here?” I said to Andres as we ducked into a local coffee shop.

“Who cares? These people are brats.” He put the camera on the seat next to him and ordered black coffee for himself and green tea for Victor, who was outside checking his phone messages.

“Hot chocolate for me,” I said to the waitress. “And three slices of apple pie.” Once she left with our order, I turned to Andres. “We need something sweet to balance out what a grouch you’ve become.”

“Not me. Him.”

Just as Andres spoke, Victor walked in. “What did I do now?”

“Sit down,” I told him. “And tell me what’s going on, so you two can kiss and make up. It’s hard enough spending time with those restaurant people. If I can’t at least have fun with you two, this job will be unbearable.”

“He’s not paying enough attention to the equipment,” Andres said. “He’s not prepared for the job when he walks on site.”

“He’s just upset because I have more going on in my life than work,” Victor said.

Andres did a coffee spit-take. “I have a wife and three kids. And a dog. And a bowling team getting ready for the semifinals.”

“You guys are like an old married couple,” I said. “Maybe you’re just
taking each other for granted and need to work a little harder to get in sync.”

“He needs to work harder,” Andres muttered.

Before Victor could turn a small insult into a reason to sulk all afternoon, I took his hand. “I think Andres is just worried about you. You seem a bit preoccupied lately.”