Scrumptious (20 page)

Joe checked his prep list for the twentieth time. The guests were due in fifteen minutes. Danny and Anthony were in the dining room arranging the poached pears, blue cheese, and spicy walnuts on top of the salads. The servers were out there too, pouring wine and water. The potatoes were popping along nicely in the convection oven, and the vegetables were ready to go in the steamer. The beef demi was as good as it was going to be, thanks to Marlene’s chocolate. The only thing left to do was burn the brûlées. He was looking forward to that.

Hurry up and wait. That was banquets. He usually didn’t have a problem with it, but the damn tenderloins were taking forever. He had even put them in a half hour early just to make sure they would get done in time, but at the rate they were cooking, the meat was going to take another hour and still be bloody. Joe didn’t think this was a beef carpaccio crowd.

He got down on his hands and knees to check the pilot light under the oven door. Burning merrily. Then he killed the burners on top of the stove that were keeping his sauces and blanching water hot. He put one boot on top of the stove and levered himself up high enough to see behind the ovens.

Son of a bitch.

The plug was dangling dangerously close to a puddle of water behind the stove. No wonder his meat wasn’t cooking. With fire on top of the stove, who the hell would think that the oven was unplugged? He hadn’t even considered that the stove and the oven might have different plugs on this model. Now the kid got creative?

Joe considered his options. The stove was too heavy for him to pull out by himself. And he was too big to fit behind it.

He turned his head and found Marlene and Olivia at the entrance to the line. “Are you planning on serving yourself up for dinner?” Marlene asked.

“Plug’s out.” Joe jumped down and surveyed the kitchen, looking for something, anything, with a hook on the end.

Mop handle. Broom. Tongs?

Marlene clambered on top of the oven. “Here, give me that.”

She pointed at a ladle.

“Get down from there! Are you an idiot? You’re going to burn yourself.”

“Shut up, cheffie boy. Give me the ladle. And hold on to my feet,” she added.

Joe slapped the tool into her palm with just a little more force than necessary, not enough to overbalance her, just enough to let her know she was in trouble when she got off that oven. He wrapped his hands around her ankles and squeezed. She reached down. He held on tighter.

“Almost got it,” she announced.

“And then what? I can’t pick you up and dangle you down the back of the oven to plug that thing into the wall.”

She held up the plug. “There’s an extension cord in the office. We’ll run it into the pantry for now. It won’t be up to code, but it will get us by for tonight.”

“Got it,” Olivia said. She hurried back to the office.

When she returned, Joe ran the cord and cranked the ovens up to their maximum.

“Hope for the best,” he said. Maybe if they poured the wine before they set the plates, no one would notice the meat bleeding all over the vegetables.

“We can always sauce over the top,” Marlene suggested.

“Bite your tongue,” he said.

“Quit it, you two,” Olivia said, before Marly had a chance to ask Joe any questions. “It’s show time.”

***

Banquet plating is completely different from cooking food for a table of diners in a restaurant. Every single piece of equipment, every item of food, and every member of the staff had to be ready to go when the command was given. Usually there was a loss of quality somewhere in the process, whether in temperature, degree of doneness, or creativity of design, but not when he ran the show. It was all in the timing.

Of course, since he had inherited this menu from Keith, it wasn’t much of a challenge. Standard tenderloin with roasted red bliss potatoes and baby vegetables. No one ever complained if the food was better than they expected, so Joe had taken the liberty of marinating the tenderloins in roasted garlic, olive oil, sun-dried tomatoes, and thyme. He was also doing the tenderloin roasted whole instead of grilling small fillets. When grilled steaks sat for any length of time, they looked like turds by the time they hit the plate. Always better to carve and plate.

Joe called the round up. When everyone was in place, he glanced at Anthony, Mario, and Mikey. Standing side by side, their family resemblance was striking, almost comical.

The boys had the same dark hair, brushed straight back from their foreheads and tucked under identical blue Jets hats. They had the same nose and the same wary tilt to their shoulders. The only difference among them was in their eyes. Mario’s eyes looked tough. Mikey’s were sly. Anthony’s looked worried.

“Okay, this is what it’s going to look like,” Joe said, making sure the boys were paying attention. “Marlene, you sauce. Sauce goes down first, under the meat, it’s a perfect medium, I want them to see that. I’ll carve. Anthony, vegetables right here. Mario, potatoes. Here. Danny, one scoop of horseradish tomatoes in the middle, sprinkle thyme, and put it in the window. Every plate just like that one.”

Olivia stuck her head into the kitchen. “The bride’s in her chair. Hit it.”

“All right, folks. Give me one hundred and twenty plates, and make them fly.”

***

Joe heaved a sigh as the last plate left the kitchen. Almost home. Anthony jumped as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Get moving, Anthony, no time for chatting. You and Marly have twenty minutes to burn the rest of the brûlées. Grab a torch,” Joe said.

They were cutting it tight. Marlene was already on her way to the back. Anthony lagged behind her.

Mario’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display and ducked toward the dish room. “I gotta go move my truck.”

“It’s in the lot?” Joe asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

Joe shrugged. “Too late now
—
the guests are here. Why bother?”

A couple seconds later Joe heard another cell phone ring through the open service window of the bar. Joe rounded the line and looked into the bar. Mikey was gone. He turned around and walked through the dish room to peer through the screen door.

No Mario either.

An engine hummed to life in the parking lot. Joe opened the screen door and stuck his head into the parking lot. The black Mercedes GLK, lights off, eased toward the exit. There were two passengers. The truck paused at the street.

Joe whipped down the hall and through the swinging doors into the dining room. “Hey, Shane, where’s Mikey?” Joe asked.

“He had to go move his truck,” Shane replied.

“If you see Anthony come this way, grab him.” Joe dove through the swinging doors.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Marlene asked.

Anthony’s damn cell had been buzzing like crazy for five minutes.

“Uh, no.” He reached into his pocket to silence the phone. She noticed he was carrying a plastic container in his other hand, the same one she had found in the pantry earlier that week. She stilled. “Whatcha got there, Anthony?”

“Sugar.”

“You sure about that?” Marlene held her torch delicately. She wasn’t actually pointing it at the kid. She’d never set him on fire, of course, no matter what he said or did.

Maybe.

Joe burst through the swinging doors and charged into the bakeshop. He stopped when he saw their tense tableau.

“Anthony brought his own sugar,” Marlene informed him.

The garde-manger cook’s eyes shot to the door, like he was looking for backup.

Joe blocked the door. “You looking for your relatives? Mario had to go move his truck. So did Mikey. For some reason, I don’t think that means what I think it means. Care to shed some light?” he asked.

Marlene snatched the container of salt out of Anthony’s hand.

“You’re too late,” Anthony said, shrinking away from her.

“For what?” she asked.

Anthony looked like he was going to burst into tears. “Big Daddy sent me in here when Nikki told him Keith owned a restaurant. Big Daddy’s always wanted a restaurant.”

“Big Daddy who?”

“Capozzi. My Grandpa. He runs the Niagara Falls Casino.”

Marlene’s heart plummeted. She’d always thought Big Daddy Capozzi was an urban legend, a clever way to scare off the card sharks. At the Niagara, they put the sharks at the table themselves.

“They don’t let me work at the casino because I suck at poker. Mario says I wear my heart on my face.” Looking at his sad puss, Marlene had to agree. “I didn’t want to make trouble after I got to know you guys, but Big Daddy made me bring my cousin Mario with me. And then his brother Mikey came too. When Keith dissed Nikki, the boys stopped letting him win. Figured if he lost enough money, he’d do something stupid. Like empty out Olivia’s bank account so then she’d have to sell.”

Marlene had now heard Anthony’s voice more now than she’d heard it the entire time he’d been working at Chameleon. He kept talking. “Keith must have done something bad ’cause he brought another ten Gs to the table. Olivia shouldn’t have turned down Big Daddy’s offer to buy the restaurant.”

“That was him too?” Marlene asked.

Anthony nodded. “He thought if we kept causing trouble, Olivia would finally give up, but it’s too late now. Big Daddy don’t want to wait. He’s gonna sit down at Keith’s table tonight. Keith’s gonna lose everything he’s got.”

“He can’t get any more money,” Marlene said. “Olivia’s tapped out.”

Anthony shot her another miserable look. “Doesn’t matter. Mikey and Mario took off because Big Daddy likes to have the muscle around when guys like Keith lose big. In case things get messy.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Joe asked.

Anthony gave Joe a duh look. “I’m not exactly muscle, ya know? And I couldn’t leave you guys like that. We haven’t plated dessert yet.”

Anthony hung his head. The kid looked truly pathetic. Marlene felt sorry for him, but she was still going to kill him. “Did you turn my oven up?” she asked sharply.

“Not today.” Anthony hung his head.

Marlene’s eyes narrowed. “Joe’s sauce?”

“That was Mario.”

“What about the big oven?”

“Mikey.”

“Don’t play innocent,” Joe threatened.

“I’m not. I put the grease in the stove and moved things around in the walk-in. I plugged the fryer back in after brunch last Sunday, but I haven’t done anything bad all week.”

“Anthony, you could have burned the place down!” Marlene said.

“I told you, that was before!” Anthony protested. “I don’t want to make things hard for you guys anymore. You’re nice to me.”

“Anthony, did you put the salt on my crème brûlées?” Marlene asked dangerously.

“Yeah, but it’s gone now, I swear.” He pointed at the container on the counter. “That’s sugar.” He looked up from his Nikes. “I
am
sorry. I just didn’t want to get in trouble. You don’t mess with Big Daddy unless you have to.”

“Oh, I’m gonna mess with him all right,” Marlene vowed. “Big Daddy is definitely gonna get a piece of me tonight. How much is Keith in for?”

“About fifty. And he put the restaurant on the table.” Anthony didn’t look up from his shoes.

Joe blanched. “Jesus Christ.”

“Where are they playing?” Marlene fired another question.

“In the pole room.”

“Pole room? There’s no pole room at the Niagara,” Marlene said.

Now Anthony gave Marlene the duh look. “They don’t usually let girls in unless they’re, you know, working. Like, the poles?”

Joe chuckled.

Suddenly, Nikki’s platform shoes made sense.

Marlene poured white granules into her palm and tasted them. They were sweet. She spoke slowly and clearly. “Anthony, after we burn all these brûlées, you are going to get me to that game. Light your torch. If I catch your fingers anywhere near salt, I will personally set your apron on fire, so help me God.”

Anthony fired up the propane.

Joe took the torch out of her hand. “Tell Olivia to find the deed to the restaurant. We need to see the names on that paper. Then you two need to get out of here. I’ve got the brûlées.”

“Joe, we just lost a dishwasher, a bartender, and a garde-manger cook.” Anthony flinched. “There isn’t enough of you to handle everything around here,” she said.

“I’ve got it. Go talk to Olivia.”

She went.

The dining room was swarmed with wedding guests, dancing, drinking, and laughing. Even the bride’s mother was doing the chicken dance. Shane, Eric, Terry, and Beth swooped around the dining room, refilling wine glasses, fiddling while Rome burned.

Marlene found Olivia in the bar, slinging booze and cursing under her breath. If Marlene hadn’t felt a little sick, she would have been impressed by Olivia’s creativity.

“Olivia, where do you keep the deed to the restaurant? And is Keith’s name on it?”

“Marlene, I’m a little busy here. If you want to play twenty questions, grab some glasses and start pouring. Where the hell is Mikey?”

Marlene took a deep breath and checked the bar printout. She pulled two beer glasses down and bent the tap over the first glass. “Yeah, about that
—
Mikey and Mario split. The deed, Olivia. Where is it?”

When Olivia looked up from the martini glasses on the bar in front of her, her green eyes were bleak. “Gone. It was in the safe.”

Marlene’s beer overflowed the glass. She set it down and picked up the next glass. “And Keith’s name
—
is it on the deed?”

Olivia sighed. “Last year. He bugged me and bugged me. I figured…well, it doesn’t matter. What has he done now?”

Marlene checked to make sure she had Olivia’s full attention. “I’m gonna give it to you fast and hard. Are you ready?”

At Olivia’s nod, she said, “Your restaurant has been taken over by the mob.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped and a hysterical giggle flew out of her throat.

“Anthony, Mario, and Mikey are Big Daddy Capozzi’s grandsons. Big Daddy runs the Niagara Falls Casino, and he’s after Chameleon. Keith is gambling with the deed. Anthony is on our side now, and I’m gonna go get Keith. Joe will stay with you and Danny to cover the wedding. Any questions?”

Olivia’s eyes glazed over, but she shook her head and started pouring again.

“We’re gonna fix this,” Marlene promised.

“I’m so screwed,” Olivia said.

“No, you’re not. I only lose on purpose, remember?” Olivia’s smile was reminiscent of the worm at the bottom of a bottle of good tequila: pale, stiff, and dead.

Marlene turned away from the bar wishing she had half of the confidence she had displayed to Olivia. The sheer number of tasks that had to be accomplished in order to pull off the rest of the evening was staggering.

Marlene pulled Danny off the line. “Come on, you’re on brûlées.” Danny raised his eyebrows and followed her to the bakeshop. The thought of Danny finishing the rest of the brûlées with Joe made Marlene want to vomit, but there was no alternative. The look on Danny’s face told her he didn’t like it either. Too damn bad.

When they reached Joe, she said, “You need to call Jacques, find a bartender, burn the brûlées, and make sure Olivia doesn’t cry in front of the bride.” Damage control mode was her natural state lately.

“Right on,” Joe said.

She pulled a flat of raspberries out of her reach-in and set it on the table. “Don’t forget the garnish on my brûlées.”

“Got it.”

“You also need to cut the cake, and put it in the white boxes stacked up there.” She pointed at the top of her reach-in. Well, that was one good thing. At least she wouldn’t have to box the cake. “Use a hot, wet knife, and clean the blade every time.”

Joe groaned.

Marlene fixed Anthony with a hard stare. “Where’s the pole room?”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” He looked relieved.

“I work better alone. Just give me good directions, kid.”

He did. When Anthony stopped talking, Marlene nodded once and grabbed her purse from under her station. She didn’t even make it to the door before Olivia barreled into the bakeshop, white faced. “Marlene, your cake is slipping!”

Marlene dropped her purse into a bus tub and took off into the dining room. She dodged wedding guests and wove around the dance floor toward the cake table. The cake was definitely a solid half inch off center and still sliding backward. Simply not possible. Where was the dowel? Because it sure as hell wasn’t in the cake anymore.

Marlene pulled aside the table’s skirting and found her dowel on the floor under the table. She ducked to wipe the long, wooden stick on the inside of the tablecloth. Ever so casually, she hid the dowel behind the table as she nudged the roses on the top of the cake aside with one finger. She was going to have to move fast, really fast. She glanced left and right.

Marlene rose and struck. The sharp tip of the dowel hit cardboard, shifted, slid. Down through the next tier, and the next, she swiftly knitted the cake back together and then dropped her arms and smiled at no one in particular.

Had anyone seen her? She surveyed the guests. A figure caught her eye at the doors to the kitchen, but it was only Joe, his wicked grin almost made her forget to rearrange flowers and leaves until all evidence of the near catastrophe was gone.

“It’s just perfect! Thank you!” the bride called as she whirled by the cake table.

“It is now,” Marlene said under her breath as she headed back to the kitchen. A man with a pinched expression and tiny glasses caught her arm.

“I saw that,” the health inspector said. She gaped in horror. “But I’m off duty.” He smiled thinly. “Is Joe around?”

Marlene nodded, struck dumb by another near miss.

“Tell him I’ll be in for brunch Sunday, would you?”

“Sure thing.” Marlene finally found her voice. “On the house.” She fled.

Joe met her on the other side of the door and handed Marlene her purse. “Nice work.”

“Did you. I just saw
—
” She was babbling.

“Yeah, me too. Don’t worry about it. Get moving, sugar.” Joe swatted her on the ass, urging her toward the back door.

This time Marlene got as far as the dish room before she slid to a stop. “Oh, crap! Nonna Lucia!”

“What time’s her flight?” Joe called.

“Ten thirty-two. Trans-Air Continental.”

His grin flashed again. “We’ll pick up Grandma on the way to the casino. Don’t worry about a thing. You handle the mobster, sugar. I’ve got the wedding under control.”