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“Do you remember when we first opened and we did a Christmas party? We made those layered Christmas shots. They were a bitch to not accidentally blend, but super vibrant. Let’s do those.”
“I do. They were such a pain and Laura whined the whole time, but by the end of the night we were professionals. Do you think you could pull it off?”
“Yes, but is it worthy of this?” I waved around us. “Is it any better than red, white, and blue?”
“Hell, yeah, let’s do it. They’ll stand out from the precision alone and it has more layers than just three. We can at least earn some points for creativity, right?” I loved that Zathrian was as petty as I was and was willing to take risks just to win. We immediately got to work, pulling out everything we needed and prepping side by side.
By the time the buzzer went off and they called the one minute countdown, I had my shot glasses lined up and all the ingredients on the table. My focus was perfect, drowning out everything else to concentrate on pouring. Not a single one had too much or too little or mixed colors; they were all perfectly layered. As long as our little courier didn’t jostle the drinks too much on the way, they’d be fine.
“We’re done,” I said to our support staff. He grabbed the tray and walked over to the judges’ table. I watched on bated breath as he took each step, then took a turn to step around the table as if he just wanted to raise my anxiety. When he finally put our drinks in place and stepped back, I finally breathed.
“Did you really need to go the extra mile?” Zathrian complained loudly. The guy ducked his head and refused to look at us. I’d report it to Stanley if I thought it would even matter. At this point, we were lucky he didn’t just throw them on the ground.
My horse, who was usually calm, was letting out little anxious snorts. I could practically see her pawing nervously at the ground, waiting to hear the results. Pride and spite were definitely fueling the rest of this competition.
It felt like the judges took their time deliberating on the first team’s drinks and then El and Riven’s. Finally it was our turn, and Zath and I both gripped each others’ hand as we waited. This felt so much more monumental than all the other rounds. Having Stanley likely badmouthing us didn’t bode well for good results.
One of the judges held their drink to the light, whispering back and forth. I swear they were giving ours extra time but it was likely nerves giving me that thought. I was so tightly wound at this point, I could be overreacting.
Then, they finally took the shots and that was when everything went to chaos.
Out of nowhere, one of the judges started choking and grasping at his throat. A medical team rushed out and soon one of the medics slammed an EpiPen into his thigh. He was rushed away a moment later while the room was left in shock.
“Why would they have an ingredient here he’s allergic to?” Zath hissed in alarm. “That should be bare minimum for their own protection.”
“We’re going to be kicked out for this. Watch,” I said bitterly. The judge getting sick was sad, but it also felt a bit too much like a setup with everything else that had already happened.
That fiasco officially ended the round, disqualifying it completely since two teams never got the chance to present their own drinks. The results would be skewed and couldn’t be counted.
After that somber announcement, everyone was dismissed for the day. The audience was not happy and neither were the other competitors.
The moment we started to leave however, one of the workers held us back. He led us to the front to wait and only when the room was empty did Stanley and the remaining judges approach.
“I cannot believe that someone in this establishment would risk the life of a judge,” Stanley started to rage but I cut him off.
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I said angrily. “You can’t tell me thatyoucarelessly allowed ingredients that one of your judges is allergic to into this competition, yet plan to blame us.”
“Wedon’t, which is why we’re bringing in the police to investigate. This is obviously a criminal attack,” he countered. The smug look on his face was enough to make me want to fight and bring this whole fucking competition to its knees.
“How would I know what he’s allergic to?” I argued. “This is absurd and it’s the second time you’re singling us out. Not only is that a problem since, clearly, we are not given unbiased judgment, it questions the validity of your entire event. I just want you to know I will not stay quiet about this.” My horse was letting out indignant whinnies of approval at my tirade.
“We’ll see what the police say,” one of the other judges answered in a snotty tone. I glared over at the woman, her nose twitching like a mouse. The moment the full brunt of attention was on her she seemed to cower in her seat.
The amount of judgmental stares and disgusted looks had me ready to walk out of the room. But that would just make us look guilty.
Within ten minutes, the cops were walking in. Zath and I were immediately separated and put in makeshift interrogation rooms. Not a single other competitor was in question at all, which was suspicious as hell. This turned from a petty attempt to show our skills, to a full blown nightmare.
This entire investigation was over the top and the fact that the police were even going through this meant that someone with deep pockets had an in with the police.
A real investigator would be questioning every contestant and staff member involved, not just us. The case should be cut and dry yet they were entertaining this whole thing. If I wound up in jail, I’d sue the shit out of the board and Stanley specifically.
The cop sat down across from me and leveled me with a stony glare. “I’m officer Martinez. I just have a few questions for you,” he said. The fact he was already being rude didn’t bode well for me. “What exactly did you put in the drink?”
“Only things I found on the shelf.” I listed them off one by one and he scribbled something in his notebook as I talked.
“And when was it that you slipped pistachios into the drink?”
“Pistachios? There hasn’t been a single pistachio on that shelf, nor does the drink I make require that,” I pointed out. My voice was a show of calm but inside, I was ready to fight. Zath was the angel on my shoulder reminding me that jail didn’t have coffee.
