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Customers still cut eyes their way. They had probably assumed that he and his guys were bodyguards for someone famous person staying there. Therefore, they were quickly dismissed as ‘help’.
It wasn’t until they were finishing the best damn leg of lamb with rosemary and red potatoes Brian had ever tasted, that Chef LaRoy emerged from his kitchen. Again, his gleaming white tunic didn’t have a speck on it. He placed his hand on the side of the booth where Brian sat and surveyed the empty plates. “I hope I met your expectations, gentlemen.”
“Oh my God. I’m not good for shit right now,” Dana said, rearing back, rubbing his flat stomach, like he was at an all-you-can-eat rib shack. All of them were stuffed to capacity and making a big show of it. Stroking the chef.
“These should be on a TV show or something,” Ford said, sounding more genuine than Brian thought he would. Ford put another crab cake into his mouth and chewed, moaning and licking his lips, still watching the chef. Stroking him.
“Thank you, chef—” Brian started.
“John, please.” The chef brushed his hand over his chest and took a deep breath as if he was trying to calm his racing heart. “I hope you saved room for dessert.”
There were collective groans around the table about eating another bite and bursting, but Dana still stared greedily at the display. He pointed at a four-layered chocolate monstrosity. “Yo’. Can I get that one right there, to go, please?”
“Of course. Anything you want.” The chef met Brian’s eyes. “Do you see anything you want?”
And there it was. A loaded question if he’d ever heard one.
Brian saw Dana was watching him closely. Ford finished chewing his food then translated what he signed in a voice that said this was not sexual, but serious. “Actually, there is something I want, Chef LaRoy… John. Your cooperation. I think you may be the only one who can help me. Is there someplace private we can talk? Please.”
The chef led them through the large kitchen—that was bustling with staff doing their jobs—to the back where he had a private office. The chef closed the door when they all squeezed in. Three bounty hunters in one small office. Chef John remained standing, but leaned against his desk and waited. Brian noticed the awards on the wall and some framed magazine covers showcasing the man in front of him. “So how can I help you?”
“I almost hate to ask since you fed me so well,” Brian signed, walking closer to the chef. “But, I have to.” Brian pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge and recovery agent identification.
The chef’s blue eyes widened. He stood and frowned in confusion. “You’re a—?”
“Bond recovery agent, yes. And, we have a warrant for someone we believe is staying… hiding in this hotel.” Brian gestured for his team to show their IDs as well. Dana held out the revoked bond and bench warrant for Robert Clarkson. “You can check our credentials with the Sheriff’s office.”
“No, there’s no need for that. I believe you. Did you notify security?” The chef asked, moving around his desk and lifting the receiver of his phone.
Dana shook his head rapidly as Brian rushed over to cover his hand. The chef gasped at Brian’s touch, glancing up at him. “Why?”
“It’s pointless because he’s not staying here under his legal name. Also, security makes too much noise. He could bolt if he gets suspicious. Now, this man is not considered dangerous, but I have to do my job. You understand?”
The chef nodded, seeming torn. “Of course. But, I’m not sure how I can help.”
Ford held up the photo of their guy. “Have you seen him in your restaurant?”
Chef John took the picture and stared at it a long moment then handed it back with an apologetic sigh. “I’m sorry. Can’t say I have. I rarely come out the back. I can check with my staff?”
“No,” Brian cut in. He didn’t like involving too many people. “Do you provide room service?”
“Yes. Seven days a week. I have four runners for room service. They have their own little system and I think Marlow does most of the deliveries upstairs.”
“Is he here?” Dana asked.
“No. He’s not scheduled until Tuesday. He does have a good memory though. If that guy is ordering,” The chef pointed at the photo, “Marlow would remember.”
“Good.” Brian reached in his wallet and removed one of his cards. “If you see him down here, can you call this number right away? Please do not approach him or question him.” Brian gave him the office number that would reroute to one of their cells if not answered. “Otherwise, can we come back and talk to Marlow on Tuesday?”
“Absolutely. I’ll help in any way I can.” The chef looked hopefully at him.
Brian laid out his new plan and the chef seemed more than willing to help.
