Monster's Chef (16 page)

“Is that enough for you?”

“What am I supposed to do for this money?”

Monster wrote another check just as dramatically.

He handed that one to me with disdain, as though touching it hurt him.

Another fifty thousand.

“My gifts to you. I want you to take them now and leave, go straight to the bank, and deposit them.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything, the money is yours.”

“Thanks,” I said uneasily; it didn't feel right taking the money, but I couldn't bring myself to give the checks back.

“Thug!” Monster called, and the big man appeared.

“Drive him to Solvang so he can deposit his checks.”

Thug nodded. “I'll get the ride,” he said. I stood on the porch, waiting for Thug to return with the car. Monster stayed in my room, and though he had just given me two checks for a total of a hundred grand, I wasn't comfortable with that.

I glanced back, and there he was, sitting on the edge of my bed, as if ready for an early-morning nap. I guessed, for the kind of money he had just dropped on me, I could forgive that, if he didn't use my pillows. I should have been able to stand the idea of that, or him even getting under my sheets. No, I'd have had to get rid of the bedding, burn that shit. To my relief, Monster finally wandered outside, and though it was just a short walk, he produced an umbrella and opened it to shield himself from the soft morning sun.

Thug arrived and hurried to open the door of the Maybach for Monster.

“No, I'll walk back. I want him at the bank when it opens so he can take care of business.”

Thug nodded; we waited for Monster to meander up the path back to the Lair before I stepped into the backseat of the massive sedan. Before I could sit comfortably, Thug hit the gas. Gravel spewed in every direction. We started down the steep and narrow road until he slammed on the brakes and I fell forward. Thug stopped to struggle with a stack of CDs. A moment later the sound of Maze's “Happy Feelin's” flooded the cavernous compartment and Thug nodded with contentment. “I love me some Maze,” he said, nodding his big head.

Maze made me feel like I had overdosed on Valium; too much happiness for me to keep down. Maybe that's how Thug could survive Monster and even thrive: his appetite and appreciation for the insanely optimistic.

The Pacific Ocean showed itself around one switchback and again when we neared the 101.

I wanted to be at that bank already. Those checks in my pocket were burning against my leg. I couldn't suppress it, the joy I felt. My ship had come in; I'd be able to breath easily and think clearly about my next move. Now that I had got a taste of Monster's money I wanted more, wanted to drink from it, the unlimited fountain of wealth that he wanted to bestow on me. I wanted to swim in it, maybe even drown in it.

I felt Thug's heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Didn't I tell you that Monster is good to his word? When he says he going to do something for you, he don't bullshit.”

“I guess so. I never had somebody just give me a hundred thousand.”

“You got a guess on how much Monster is worth?”

I shook my head. “I don't have a clue.”

“About four hundred million. What he gave you, he wipes his ass on. That muthafucka sneezes a hundred K. See, I'm bringing in about fifty grand a month, plus bonuses. I save that shit too. I don't waste it 'cause I know this ain't gonna last. One day this house will come crashing down around all our heads.”

“Why?”

“Somebody is gonna catch on to what goes on here. You know if Monster wasn't paying off everybody, he'd be much richer. Shit, sometimes when I get to adding all them numbers up, it makes me sick to my stomach . . . He's paying, damn, it must be two million a month.”

“You think?”

“Look at you. You just got paid. And you gonna keep getting paid. See, me, I keep my eyes closed. I don't want to know what he's doing. When that famous lawyer Tommy Cocktail comes in from Beverly Hills and sets a card table up in front of the gates and the parents bring their boys and sign a release and I escort the boys into the mansion, I turn around and leave. And the boys have a slumber party. The next day when the kids are gone and Monster calls you in to take care of something and on the nightstand you see the Polaroids, the unimaginable, you know everybody gets paid.”

“Why you telling me this? I thought this was the kind of shit you were supposed to keep to yourself.”

Thug smiled, showing a mouth full of beautiful teeth.

“I'm a muthafucking dog.”

“Yeah, well, I know that.”

“That's part of the deal when he hired me. I can't help it, it's part of my dog nature. I got to be true to that.”

“You got to be,” I said, finding myself admiring this giant, psychotic, gay black man.

A COUPLE OF POLICE
were drinking coffee outside of a Starbucks, next to the Bank of Solvang. Thug didn't even slow when he turned into the strip mall like he owned the world. Monster did own the strip mall we'd just entered, or so Thug told me when he parked the Maybach. He gave the police the brother man nod, and we headed into the bank.

“All right, dog, you take care your bizness and I'll take care of mine.”

I nodded with a lump in my throat. I didn't want to think about the possibility of getting played. I wanted this to work so much it made my head hurt.

The cashier, a cute blonde, took a look at my check and called for the manager.

He came quickly, a short man with bushy eyebrows, and asked for me to sit down.

“You're working out at Monster's Lair?”

“Yes, for about a year.”

“Would you like to open an account? Many of Mr. Stiles's employees have accounts here.” He handed the checks over to me. “You'll need to endorse these.”

As I signed them, I found myself asking a question I didn't know I had been formulating.

“How long will it take for these funds to be available?”

“They're available now. Mr. Stiles has a very special relationship with us, and once we ascertain that the check is legitimate, your monies are available.”

“Oh,” I said calmly, but I felt light-headed. Giddy even with the idea of cashing out now. Take the money, buy a car, and drive away into the sunset. Be done with Monster and his cast of characters, and see what life has to offer with Elena. Really, it made no sense to stick around, but something held me back. It would be so easy if not for the promise of dipping into that river of endless wealth that ran right through Monster's Lair. It felt like the late nineties, when everybody with sense knew the bubble couldn't last, but folks still threw down into the crap game because if you didn't get in maybe you'd miss out on what was still to be got.

Who knows?

Who knows what Monster might pay to guarantee my silence?

Yeah, it could be astronomic.

That's what I needed. All the money I could scoop up in my hands, in a bucket, a garbage truck, a barge.

Just like anybody who had the opportunity to get paid, I discovered the greedy fuck that I am; I wanted all the money.

It couldn't be a good decision to risk whatever I had accomplished since getting out of prison, the halfway house, and the wreck I had made of my life. Maybe it was curiosity, to see how it would play out, how everything would resolve. What would happen with Monster? What would happen to me?

I tried to make up my mind as I sat there in an uncomfortable, overstuffed chair, watching the bank clerk process paper.

Freedom or money?

Return to Monster's Lair to make my fortune, or take what I had and go?

No reason to lie to myself, no reason to do that at all.

I WALKED TO THE PARKING LOT
with ten thousand dollars in my pocket. That was my compromise: bet 10 percent on freedom, 90 percent on getting rich. The beauty of the Central Coast and me disappearing into it seemed past me now, its allure tarnished by the glint of gold.

I was part of Monster's entourage, willing to go for the gold. I stood by the Maybach, waiting for Thug to return, but I didn't see him creep up and hit me in the shoulder with a rolled-up magazine.

“Check it out,” he said.

I unfolded it, a real estate throwaway.

“I'm thinking of buying this little winery. Yeah, bet I could make bank with my own Zinfandel. You know brothers like sweet wine. ‘Thug's Zinfandel, fine wine for the gangsta!' ”

He unlocked the doors, and I slid into the front seat; almost instantly my stomach churned. I tried to rush my head out of the window, but a half second too late, and I vomited against the door.

Thug scowled in my direction. “Damn, nigga. You sick? Now I gotta get this fucking car washed.”

Before I could apologize, my stomach erupted all over again.

This time I managed to vomit mostly out of the window, but that didn't please Thug much.

“What the fuck did you eat? Next time put your head out of the window!”

I listened to Thug yell as my head swirled in waves of queasiness.

I should have regarded my stomach as some kind of gastric early-warning system and leaped out of the car soon as Thug slowed at a light, but no, I didn't have that kind of common sense.

Thug dropped me off in front of my bungalow, still seething at me, though I paid for the car wash. He barely slowed long enough for me to get out.

Then he slammed on the brakes and called to me.

“Monster wants you at a dinner party at six.”

I nodded, annoyed, but I had to admit I was curious about what that Sikh chef was making for Monster.

THE LAIR WAS LIT
as it was for parties; instead of blazing white light directed out to blind, purple and gold beams of illumination colored the spires and turrets of the mansion's faux-Gothic facade. It looked almost inviting, warm and even comfortable, if you could believe that. I walked across the drawbridge with a sense of foreboding and curiosity, armed with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in my pocket.

Security stopped me at the giant doors of the mansion and waved a metal detector about, then patted me down. One of them noticed the Pepto-Bismol and gave it close scrutiny.

“What's this?”

“Take a look,” I said. “It's for my stomach.”

“Take a drink,” the guard said while the other Security positioned himself behind me.

I took a couple of sips and put the top back on the bottle. They waited for me to swallow.

“See, it's not poison,” I said, wiping the pink from my lips with the back of my hand.

Security didn't crack a smile.

“Go on in,” he said.

It was the first time I'd ever stepped into Monster's Lair through the front, having always used the servants' door. Monster, or his interior decorator, had the taste of somebody who liked the clutter of pretentious hotel lobbies and had a fetish for Art Deco. I wasn't surprised to see a coat of arms prominently displayed above the fireplace, as if Monster was descended from a long line of European nobility instead of being from a project in Houston. By the fire, I saw a small party of dinner guests seated in chairs so large they were lost in them. I stepped down into this great hall that couldn't under any circumstances be considered intimate. Even in the dim light of the fireplace I recognized the tall and disturbingly thin figure of Monster, who waved and hurried over to greet me. He took my hand into his thin, reedlike one and vigorously shook it.

“So glad you could make it. I really need you on my team.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to appear enthusiastic when in fact being in the presence of Monster was alarming enough to make me pat around for my bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

“Come and join the party. I think you know most of the guests.”

Still holding my hand, Monster led me over to them. He was right, I did know the guests, and I was very surprised to see them: Asha and Bridget were huddled on the couch like cornered animals. I waved to Asha and wanted to talk to her, but she wouldn't look in my direction. She didn't look like a woman who was happy to be at a party, or to be seated next to a boy. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see another of those ubiquitous blond boys, but Monster was so blatant about it. That boy looked up at Monster with utter adoration.

With a regal gesture, Monster gestured for everyone to stand.

“Dinner is ready,” he said, and we followed him to another cavern of pretentious dimensions with a chandelier so large that it occupied most of the broad ceiling. Monster directed us to a magnificent flower-strewn table, large enough to seat a football team but that in comparison to all the ostentation around it was inviting and tasteful.

“Please, sit down.”

Monster pointed to a chair next to the boy, but I politely ignored him and sat next to Asha. “How are you?” I whispered to her.

“I'll talk to you later,” she said, barely moving her lips.

A waiter appeared with the first course. I guess I should have been stunned at such a complete reversal of Monster's eating habits, but for whatever reason I wasn't. Small azure bowls filled with beef tartar were placed in front of us.

I lifted up the bowl and smelled thyme and garlic.

I glanced up and saw Asha looking at the meat with barely concealed disgust.

After the busboy cleared away the azure bowls, the waiter returned with a tray of small red bowls filled with ceviche marinated with lemon and basil and laced with slivers of various hot peppers.

Monster still was doing the uncooked thing, but obviously had given up on the vegetables.

Monster and his companion seemed to be heartily enjoying themselves as they tasted from each other's bowls. When the veal carpaccio was served, Asha quickly left the table. Monster didn't seem to notice, so I followed her outside to the pool, which stretched to the horizon and disappeared like a waterfall onto the world below.