by Matt Drabble
He turned back to the screen and reread his latest destruction piece. The Café Noire was the latest in a long line of attempts to provide a modern take on an old theme. Their food was diner fare, but served in a contemporary, almost contemptuous style. It always seemed that the more money people charged the more the restaurant was able to provide a shrug-of-the-shoulders service. Customers seemed to lap up a restaurant that deemed patrons fortunate to pay for the privilege.
In his private life Zachery would have probably tolerated the ambiance and the food; he had in fact added Café Noire to his private and secretive list of places that he would dare to eat off duty. On duty however, his job was a bitchy teardown that was designed to harm and humiliate in equal measures. Any restaurant that was even a hairline fracture away from perfection was ripped to shreds with merciless precision. The paper had been unsuccessfully sued seven times and successfully just the once. His editor and the bean counters were happy with those odds.
He pulled up the thesaurus and searched for another word for disgusting, eventually settling for sordid. With the final alterations made, Zachery stood and moved away from his home office and into the kitchen. He had a bottle of 2009 Grosset Chardonnay chilling in the fridge and he pulled the expensive bottle out in to the evening light.
His apartment was plush and luxurious. He came from a long line of family wealth and he had earned his money the old fashioned way - he’d inherited it. He lived alone through choice. As a man in his early forties he was entirely too set in his ways for someone else to accept, and far too arrogant to consider anything as ghastly as compromise. He was gay and male company selections for the night were never in short supply to the erudite bachelor.
He took the glass of wine and a Pierre Marcolini's Christmas shell praline. The wine was a fruity peach and the chocolate complemented the taste as he allowed small slithers of the praline to mingle with the Chardonnay. He considered his palate to be his crowning glory and he had to exercise his talent often and carefully. He sat in a high backed handmade leather armchair that was positioned for its views out of his apartment’s bay window; views that loomed out across the city’s horizon view.
He was sinking into himself when his warm calming haze was shattered by the ringing of the telephone. Cursing the influence of modern technology he snatched up the handset.
“What?” He snapped down the line.
“Is this Zachery Carmine?” a hushed man’s voice asked.
“Yes”
“Also known as Ezra Geeks?”
Warning signals went off in Zachery’s mind like a flare screaming across the night sky. “Who is this?” He demanded.
“Oh just a fan Mr. Carmine, or do you prefer Mr. Geeks?”
“Look I don’t know where you are getting your information from, but I’m afraid that you have been grossly misled. I know nothing of this Geeks fellow I can assure you.”
“Oh you are Ezra Geeks alright sir, and I have something that you will be very interested in. The pot of gold at the end of your rainbow I’ll wager,” the man said cryptically.
“I really don’t have time for your games my good man.” Zachery said dismissively, “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“DON’T YOU DARE CUT ME OFF!” The man suddenly screamed, “I have what you are seeking,” he continued more calmly, “I have perfection on a plate, a dish so exquisite that you will die in rapture.”
Zachery felt intrigued despite himself, “Do you know how many times I have been told such tales?”
“But you will always see for yourself, won’t you Mr. Carmine? Yours is a never ending quest, is it not? A path to which you can never turn back.”
“And what exactly is the name of this restaurant may I ask?” Zachery hated the small slither of interest in his voice.
“Oh there’s no restaurant, no café, no hotel, no establishment that you would ever recognise.”
The small slither of interest mushroomed as the man spoke so enigmatically and Zachery felt his curiosity rise further.
“So what is it that you are offering exactly?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“I can take you to taste just what your heart has desired all these years. I can give you what you want more than anything else.”
“And what is that?”
“Why, I can give you heaven Mr. Carmine, for a small finder’s fee of course.”
“Of course.”
“Are you interested?”
“I’m still here aren’t I? So you give me the address of this place and if I like what I find we can discuss your finder’s fee,” Zachery snapped impatiently.
“Oh, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work like that. This is a fluid situation and I can’t give you any address until the very last minute.”
“What the hell is this place?”
“It’s all part of the charm Mr. Carmine, all part of the secret,” the man giggled annoyingly. “Are you interested?”
Zachery wanted to tell the man to go to hell, but something had intrigued him nevertheless. “Alright, we can play it your way.”
“Good Mr. Carmine, I will be in touch.”
With that the man was gone and Zachery was left to ponder.
----------
It was over two weeks later and Zachery had begun to forget about the strange conversation. He had once again immersed himself in the best that the city depressingly had to offer; over-priced repetitive fare that his columns were following along similar paths. Everything began to feel trapped in a continuous loop that was making him dizzy and dazed. He longed for something new, anything to shake his world up. Late one Tuesday evening he got his wish when the phone rang again.
“Mr. Geeks?” the mysterious man asked.
“I thought you called me Mr. Carmine?” Zachery replied.
“Not when you’re working Mr. Geeks.”
Zachery’s heart took a flutter, “Tonight? He asked, wearily looking at his expensive Cartier watch that shone and told him it was 1:15am. “You want me to go out tonight, or rather this morning?”
“Hey, time waits for no man Mr. Geeks,” the man laughed.
“OK, where do I go?”
“Jot this down, 13 Abberline Terrace, it’s down near the docks over on Fairfax, you can’t miss it.”
“And who do I ask for?”
“Baby there ain’t no maitre d where you’re going,” the man laughed before hanging up.
Zachery stared at the handset, pondering. He knew where Fairfax was, and it wasn’t a pretty place to find yourself after dark. On the other hand, he was so terribly bored with his current day to day life; perhaps a little excitement was just what the doctor ordered. He quickly decided and grabbed his leather jacket from the closet to wear against the cold night. Not being a fool, he removed his watch and his two expensive glittering rings that would no doubt draw unwanted attention amongst the local inhabitants. He headed out of the warm apartment and into the cold night for whatever lay ahead.
The taxi driver didn’t want to go anywhere near the docks until a fifty pound note was pressed into his hand; after that his greed overtook his fear.
Zachery had more than one moment of worry as the city darkened the further they drove as bright glassy buildings gave way to dereliction and abandonment. Zachery stared out of the taxi’s window as the night somehow grew darker around him.
“This is as close as I go buddy,” the driver said nervously as he pulled to the curb.
“Now wait a minute, I paid you to take me to this address.” Zachery motioned to the piece of paper that he had written on.
“Look, you just head through there,” the driver pointed to the remnants of a burned out warehouse, “The address you want is on the other side, but if I were you I’d keep my ass in this cab and just go home.”
“Well now it’s a good job that you aren’t me, otherwise you wouldn’t be driving a shitty taxi at the arse end of the day,” Zachery said as he skipped out of the passenger door.
The taxi squealed
away from the curb in anger and Zachery watched it go with some trepidation as he looked around his surroundings. There was a severe absence of lights in any of the buildings; every window looked to be glassless and every doorway devoid of a door. Zachery drew up his not inconsiderable courage and headed through the warehouse. The stench of decay was everywhere and his delicately honed senses recoiled at the invasion. He moved quickly without stealth, sacrificing possible detection for speed. There were traces of the living here and there; a burned out fire pit, empty food cans and moldy mattresses. He was soon through the warehouse and out onto the far side of the street. He crept back into the shadows as he viewed the scene.
There was a light glowing from a food truck with a raised open side panel. Two metallic barrels were alight either side of the truck illuminating the gathered crowd. Even from this distance Zachery could feel waves of desperation flowing from the crowd. Figures were dancing from foot to foot in eagerness and excitement, but all seemed strangely well behaved. Zachery sighed in disbelief. Was he really standing in filthy water, crouching in the shadows like a rat for some bloody food truck hotdog vender?
Figuring what the hell, as he was already here he walked out and crossed the road towards the queuing crowd. The food truck was a long faded blue vehicle. It had a high rounded top and Zachery couldn’t spot any kind of badge or insignia to identify the truck. As he moved around to where the crowds were standing he could see that the side of the truck was hoisted up with collapsible arms on either side to hold the flap open. Inside the truck were two middle aged people; one man and one woman, both wore pristine white aprons and surprisingly for Zachery, both wore covering hygiene hats. The clientele seemed to be a strange mixture of smart professionals and indigents, however, all seemed to wear the same expression of desperate hunger. A shoving match suddenly broke out between a woman dressed head to toe in exquisitely tailored business attire and a filthy bum wearing rags. The woman was tall and with an athletic build that seemed to more than make up for her natural gender when facing off against the skin and bones of the transient.
“Enough,” the man serving inside the food truck commanded.
Whatever the beef between the two struggling patrons, it was apparently making them deaf. The man in the truck suddenly pulled back from his serving duties and began lowering the side panel to close up shop. A desperate, almost pitiful wail rose up from the gathered crowd and the two struggling combatants turned with horror painted on their faces.
“Noooo,” the woman moaned.
“Please,” the bum begged.
Both of them ceased their disagreement immediately and stood like naughty children with hands clasped in front of them and heads bowed.
“That’s better,” the man in the truck said and raised the panel fully open again.
Zachery joined the rear of the queue and waited patiently as they moved forward slowly. He strained to see to the front, to see just what was being served that was causing such drooling faces. But all he could see were yellow polystyrene containers being handed carefully to the customers. As he drew closer he realised the strangest thing - everyone was paying different amounts. The better dressed were handing over fistfuls of lush green notes, whilst the more financially challenged were passing over filthy grubby handfuls of chinking silver and bronze coins. His interest was at an all-time high as he finally reached the front to find himself standing before the female server. She looked around her late fifties; her face was round and plump with a cheerful maternal smile and a figure beneath to match. Her hair that poked out from under her protective hat was a snowy white as were her eyebrows. The man merrily working away beside her was of a similar age and build. He wore a matching outfit and his meaty forearms were exposed as his shirtsleeves were rolled up. His plump and round face was wearing a matching happy expression and his eyebrows were the same snowy white as his wife’s. He wore a neatly trimmed snowy beard over his cheerful grin and hummed as he flipped dark colored patties.
A large wide griddle sizzled and spat behind the woman running the length of the truck. Zachery was about to demand what the hell they were frying in filthy grease when the aroma caught his nose. His mouth began to water involuntarily at the delicious smell; despite the hour his stomach rumbled like thunder in anticipation.
“Well now, we’ve got a newcomer Harold,” the woman said, greeting Zachery and talking to her husband at the same time.
“A newcomer eh Boo,” the man said, addressing what Zachery assumed was his wife. “Well we welcome all here my friend,” the man said talking to Zachery.
“So um, what is it that you serve here exactly?” Zachery asked curiously, as he could not see a menu or price list anywhere on the truck.
“Only the very best,” Harold smiled disarmingly, “Isn’t that right Boo?”
“Oh yes dear,” Boo replied, “Only the very best.”
“Well I’ve come all this way,” Zachery sighed annoyed, “Let me have, whatever it is that you do.”
“Right you are young sir.” Boo smiled pleasantly, “One special for the newcomer Harold.”
Harold slid a patty into a seeded bun and Zachery’s heart sank; not a hotdog vendor after all, he thought. Just a bloody burger van. “Alright,” he snapped, taking the proffered container, “What do I owe you?”
“Oh, first taste is always free young man,” Harold said beaming, “The first taste is always free.”
The old pair were starting to freak Zachery out more than just a little, and so he waved them a goodnight and walked away. He was fully intending to throw the cholesterol ridden burger into the nearest trash can when the juicy aroma wafted up to his nostrils once again. His stomach gave another treacherous rumble and he couldn’t help but feel a little curious. He opened the polystyrene container and looked down at the limp bun inside. There was nothing special about the look of the meal; nothing to recommend its attractiveness or even edible nature, but still he was intrigued. He lifted the burger to mouth and found to his surprise that it was already watering in anticipation. He shrugged his shoulders and bit down. It only took one bite and he was gone. The meat melted in his mouth and his taste buds positively exploded in orgasmic delight. The burger was succulent and divine. He could detect traces of caper berries, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and a whole host of other spices that he couldn’t quite place. Almost as soon as he had started eating it, he looked down in horror to see that his hands were already empty. The taste lingered in his mouth long after the last morsel had been plucked from his gums. He suddenly felt ravenous for more. He turned and ran back to where the truck had been parked, only to find that it was now gone. He stood in the middle of the road like an idiot for around five minutes before he realised that it wasn’t coming back.
Somehow he found himself back at his apartment with no real memory as to how exactly he had managed to wander home. The sun was breaking through the darkness and peeking over the horizon by the time he staggered wearily into bed. The remainder of the night was a constant toss and turn. His dreams were shallow and fitful and always of hunger. When he could stand it no more he rose more tired than he went to bed. A hot steaming shower did little to lift his spirits or sharpen his senses. He wandered into his exquisitely designed Italian kitchen and rooted fruitlessly for something to fill the large hole in his stomach and quench his hunger.
He was a man who appreciated only the finest things in life, and his greatest talents lay in his ability to recreate any meal or recipe. No matter how complicated the chef made a signature dish, Zachery would be able - through sheer taste alone - to serve his own version, and usually with some improvements.
He plucked various tins and packets from the pantry. He dragged cold meats and frozen dinners prepared by his own hand from the freezer; nothing seemed appetizing in any way. He flung a wine glass against the wall in sheer frustration. The expensive crystal shattered with a high pitched echo on the sleek black tiles. His mind was still full of the delicacies from the night before. All he could pi
cture, all his senses demanded was a culinary history lesson. He closed his eyes and his mouth drooled like a slack jawed yokel’s. All he wanted was another taste from the rickety nameless food truck. Nothing else would suffice. His daydreams of dark morsels were interrupted by the ringing telephone and he snatched up the handset, eager to return to reality and away from his memory’s taunting.
“Yes,” he snapped irritably, as was his usual manner.
“Bet you’re wishing that you could turn those clock hands back about now eh?” The man’s voice from the night before mocked.
“Who is this?” Zachery demanded.
His question was met with hollow laughter.
“Where are they now?” Zachery asked in a softer tone that was alien to his mouth.
“Oh I just bet that you would like to know wouldn’t you?” the man sneered, “I bet that you are starving for another taste about now.”
Zachery’s stomach rumbled with vicious thunder in reply.
“I bet that nothing else will quite hit the spot ever again,” the man laughed again. “I bet that last night’s meal is all you can think about, all you can dream about.”
Zachery sank into a kitchen chair as his legs felt suddenly weak and uncooperative. All of a sudden he felt the real pangs of a ravenous hunger. He felt like he hadn’t eaten for a week and yet everything in his immaculately maintained kitchen turned his stomach in nauseating waves of disgust.
“Please,” he begged for the first time in his life. “Where can I find them? I must have more.”
“Ah now there’s the rub of the tale. Only a select few ever know just where they will show up next.”
“Do you know?” Zachery pleaded, “Please, you must tell me.”