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zutraeumen · 10 months

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Hawthorne Island

Adele watched as the man slowly, painfully descended the staircase, his pearly white dress shirt stained with spots of crimson red. The tie dangled under his head like a noose without the black lounge jacket, his movements sluggish, so unlike him, when he lowered himself onto the steps, breath short and arms shaking from the efforts.

She had known John Wick for a long, long time. Longer than he probably remembered from their childhood in Padhorje in 1974.

But never had she seen him this done with life.

Perhaps back when Helen died, but then again, there was still something that kept the man above the water.

"When Helen died, I lost everything. Until that dog arrived on my doorstep. A final gift from my wife. In that moment, I received some semblance of hope. An opportunity to grieve unalone."

He had once confessed to her in a moment of vulnerability - rare as they had been. It was at that moment she knew he didn't see her as a threat, and that had been enough for her.

Trust among hitmen wasn't easy to come by, loyal friends were an unheard commodity, but she had hoped that he would come to see her that way one day.

There was much Jardani wasn't aware of, and she made sure to keep it that way even when they'd finally breached the mistrust. The last thing Adele wanted for him was to feel indebted to her, John had already been in enough of a pinch owing a blood marker to Santino D'Antonio.

If there was one thing Adele most regretted about her involvement with John Wick, it was that she couldn't prevent him from seeking help from that treacherous snake D'Antonio. His spineless treatment of John after he had paid his debt forced her out of the large shadow he had cast. With a $7,000,000 bounty on his head, even if he was the man you would send to kill the boogeyman, he needed help.

After being branded Excommunicado, he told her to leave his side, he wouldn't doom another to treason.

"Krovavaya Meri sleduyet za Baboy Yagoy v izgnaniye."

She had told him in Russian, she could still remember the way his eyes grew large as dinner plates. It might have been the first she had completely taken him by surprise. Nevertheless, being the man that he was, that is, a man of action and few words, he took it exactly as she said it and delved no further. Accepting her help.

They ran. They fought. They bled. They killed.

Adele Cole and John Wick.

Bloody Mary and Baba Yaga.

Two of the most renowned assassins in the field - excommunicado.

A grand tale in the making...

But like any tale, even this was nearing its end. And so it seemed like his journey would come to a close in Sacré-Coeur.

A church of all places!

If there was such a thing as a God, she imagined he would have a good laugh about it.

Adele would have had one, if her heart wasn't so occupied with hurting for her friend. Tears had evaded her for a long time but now they returned with vengeance as they trickled down her dirtied cheeks, already mourning what was to come.

Exhaustion gripped him greatly and it showed in the way he didn't even realize that Adele was making her way towards him. John showed no recognition of her presence even when she sat down right next to him and it sent another pang through her heart.

Adele did not speak to him, even when her mouth forcefully jugged down the words that tried to escape her.

Adele did nothing but sit in utter silence, waiting for him to sort himself out. She was already feeling as if she was intruding into his personal space and moment, thereof. But she was selfish too, and despite knowing better, still desired to be a part of it.

Out of the corner of her trained eye, she watched him lift his head up in the direction of the rising sun, and he looked mesmerized. But Adele only ever had her gaze set on him because missing the final moments of his life seemed unacceptable to her.

She would not have him die alone after all they had been through.

"Helen..." she heard him whisper softly, and a tearful smile etched its way onto her empathetic visage. Her humanity, at last, peaking through.

No matter how many cruelties he had enacted, no matter how many lives he had taken - it was all for his wife. To hold her memory intact. John Wick had been clinging to life through killing, but in the end, he learned how to live by dying.

Killing remained killing, and violence remained violence, no matter how justified, but for the first time in years, John had done something on his own terms. He chose this end on his own. He chose how he wished to be remembered, memorialised by his loved ones, friends, and allies.

A man of honour, of devotion, of love - a loving husband.

"Do you think she will be there?"

The last thing Adele expected of him was to steer his dark orbs to meet hers, eyes drooping in the wake of blood loss as his posture waned and he decided to rest his head on her shoulder, leaning into her as if she were the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

And indeed she was.

Unblinking in spite of the curtain of greasy, black hair, the woman held his gaze and replied gently, "She will."

There were no lies in her words, Adele had never hoped for something so much than seeing him happy and fulfilled, even if it was in a place she couldn't follow. They deserved to be together.

He closed his eyes then, breathing growing shallow, and Adele expected no more of him, resolved to one last selfish act; she slowly let a kiss land on his brow - her goodbye to a brother in arms.

"Thank you, Adele, for everything."

Thank you, Jardani, you have saved me in ways you would never know.

The ever-present tension on his face disappeared as he completely slumped over her sitting person, lax as a dying body could be while Adele carefully manoeuvred him to span across her lap for his final rest.

Her tears had dried by then, but threatened their return as she watched over him in relative silence. The usually sharp lines of his face softened, overtaken by such peacefulness she would have wanted to see more often on him.

She had lost a good friend that day, and the world had lost a good man.

And the Bloody Mary disappeared with him.

A nautical bell. Foghorns. Waves lapped the shore. Seagulls.

The rotund honk of the small boat jolted her back to the present, Adele should know better than to succumb to stray thoughts but she had been in this business long enough to rely on her instincts alone.

The soft wind tickled the untamed bangs of wavy black hair on either side of her face before she put one side behind her ear, only for it to stubbornly fall back. Grunting, Adele would have to visit a barber to thin it out as it began to obscure her vision too much for her taste.

A young couple stood alone on a dock. They were dressed elegantly for a big night out. The young woman stared off, a little bored. Her partner drummed his hand against his leg. His eyes darted around, a little panicked.

"Babe, please don't smoke it will kill your palate," Adele overheard the young man say to his girlfriend, she spied a hint of berating in his voice, but it was small. The girl in question was a pretty thing; slim figure, big eyes, delicate facial features...

"Then my palate will die happy."

A spitfire that one was. She could recognize another woman with balls. It didn't take her too long to realize by listening that those two weren't a common couple. They barely knew each other to have a serious relationship. Adele figured she must be a high-end escort for the brunette man. She had seen many of her sorts in more luxurious establishments than the docks.

A foghorn blew close by, startling the three of them. A small but gorgeously appointed boat pulled into the harbour.

Leaning back against the stone pillar a fair distance from the boarding platform, she watched as a few other guests began to file into the small boat. She couldn't recognize them by face but - was that Aurelio over there?!

Sure enough, the man looked down to the boot like Aurelio, John's acquaintance. Adele only met the man twice, they weren't close but she had a good memory of all the people she met. It took only a second glance to realize that this man wasn't Aurelio at all. Perhaps an estranged twin? It didn't matter.

The other guests on the other hand...

There was that air of arrogance about them as they strutted about. They intently took up too much space, more than they needed. This misconception of magnified importance in comparison to the other 8 billion people on the planet.

The elite. Egocentric, narcissistic...

They made Margot and Tyler stand out like a sore thumb, but at least through his running mouth, she got a vague sense of who she was dealing with. After counting the total amount of eleven guests, her employer being among them, there seemed no one else left to board the ship other than her, so it was time to join them on the deck.

Ravel's 'Une barque sur l'océan' played dreamily in the distance.

The staff greeted them with impeccable attentiveness and professionalism the guests met with shallow smiles to uphold etiquette, dismissing the quality of the service because of their preconceived notion that they were worthy of such. They all shined with smugness and vaunted their privilege of having been personally invited by the ingenious Chef Slowik to come to dine on his island - it excited them, and must have made them feel even more special than they in reality were.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please make yourselves comfortable for our 30-minute journey to Hawthorn."

There wasn't much unoccupied space left for Adele to roam without drawing attention, so she decided to keep her movement abroad the ship slow, to get as much information about the guests and their motives as possible. However, no matter how stealthily she moved it seemed she could not escape the dutiful butlers ready to serve their customers.

They offered her a glass of wine, appearing even redder against the rays of sunshine. The butler had given her a detailed, crisp explanation of the wine and its origin that Adele had already forgotten half of.

She opted to inspect it, there appeared to be no fault in colour and there was nothing she could sniff out. But the small pink flowers gave her pause. For anyone unsuspecting, this could be mistaken as a common flower meant for aesthetic purposes but to assassins, this was one of the most uncommon poisons known.

Nerium oleander.

A small meal was served to get their mouths prepared for the evening, oyster with lemon caviar.

Not something she would consider eating, so, as the waiter turned corners she dumped it into the sea - Sorry, not sorry.

At this point, Adele would take no chances because as she knew all too well, one could never be sure with unidentifiable substances like Thallium or Polonium-210. Arsenic had also been quite popular for some time until it wasn't. The dish had seemed safe to consume but with the wine poisoned, the message was sent.

Someone didn't want her to make it into the evening.

The beat in her heart increased slightly at the prospect but that was just her body tuning in for yet another dangerous mission. There was more to it than met the eye, and instead of feeling angry, Adele felt it was a somewhat ironic turn of events.

"The world can't just let us retire, isn't that right John?"

The seagulls sang their songs as the boat rode the calm waves well into the evening. The weather was beautiful, and the sun's rays offered plentiful warmth, too much to handle in her black turtleneck, leaving her no choice but to either take off the lounge coat or vacate to a more shadowy spot.

Choosing the latter, the assassin moved away to see what the other guests were up to before they reached the island.

The front of the house lined the dock, smiling, poised. The assassin followed the others out, disembarking onto trusty land. It was very ceremonial. Adele was a bit unnerved by all the pomp.

The ride was short, but the guests were as lively as ever as they skipped in pairs of two to maître d' that awaited them at the shore, asking about their reservations and then welcoming them to Hawthorne Island until it was Tyler's and Margot's turn.

"Welcome to Hawthorne, Mister Ledford and... Miss Westervelt?"

There was a beat of silence where the lady butler looked puzzled. Margot, equally puzzled, looked at Tyler who began sputtering, "Umm... sorry... yeah, no... that was, uh... it's not Miss Westerv... she had a change of plans so this Miss..."

"I am Margot, hi, nice to meet you."

Margot made a move to lock their arms at his elbow, but he continued not to take her hint and reciprocate. Really convincing act. He couldn't even recall the surname of his plus-one, how utterly embarrassing. And it showed on his face as he offered a small, insecure smile towards the maître d' whose eyes flickered conspicuously between them.

Adele could see the cogs in her head turning as if the last-second replacement posed an unexpected complication; a ripple in the still water.

With a guarded smile, the small lady butler turned her sharp eyes towards the redhead, "Margot, welcome..." she nodded acknowledging, followed by a cold smile offered more out of pleasantries than anything, "... we endeavour to make your evening as pleasant as possible. Right this way."

Adele scampered back to the end of the line, only now realizing that the boat wouldn't linger for their return. She wondered if she was the only one who noticed this. It wasn't a challenge to secretly manoeuvre through the wealthy pairs at all. Many of them couldn't hold a flicker of attention on anything else than themselves and such lack of awareness suited her just fine.

All the leftover pairs went by smoothly until it was her turn at the end, the only one without a plus-one and she was quite unsure what to expect of the exchange.

"Miss Cole?" Adele was possibly a head taller than the diminutive Asian maître d' but the woman stared her down none the same.

"Yes, Ma'am."

A flicker flashed, could have been a trick of light, through the lady butler's dark eyes. There wasn't much in her expression that would give away something the assassin could pick up on. Perfectly neutral; and professional. Nothing threatening... for now.

"Right this way, please," The woman guided her back to the small flock of their group before beginning to guide them through the island's premises, which Adele had studied meticulously beforehand.

Weapon and armour were important, yes, but careful planning and information were invaluable.

She and Wick were of one mind in this regard.

Anna Liebbrandt and her husband excused themselves but not before her client exchanged a few glances with Adele - the assassin understood. The older couple had been frequenting the establishment the most out of anyone present, so it would be silly for them to accompany the rest for a tour.

The lady butler going by the name Elsa guided them first shoreside, "Hawthorne Island comprises 12 acres of forest and pastures. We have the bounty of the sea surrounding us. Out there right now, we are harvesting scallops. You will eat them tonight."

She pointed at the lone fisherman throwing the net into the sea. The guys beside her hollered at him with handwaves, rowdy and slightly tipsy, and he answered back. Adele mentally noted that his motorboat may come useful if she needed a way to escape.

They trotted along the set pathways to the different plants and gardens, which were seamlessly incorporated into nature. There were no modern installations, everything seemed to point out that most preparations were done manually. The maître d' kept talking even when the guests showed no real interest in it, they chattered away about their affairs in clamorous voices.

That was until they reached a singular smokehouse of Nordic fashion when the finance trio got suddenly interested, "We use the meat of dairy cows only, which we age to an astonishing 152 days to relax the protein strand."

"So," Dave began, all smiles and gestures, "what happens if you serve it on the 153rd day? All hell breaks loose or...?"

What a stupid question, anyone who had ever learnt cooking would be able to answer it, but I guess to those three, it seemed all the better joke.

"Well, I suppose the bacteria would introduce itself to the consumer's bloodstream and spread into their spinal membranes after which point he or she would become incapacitated and shortly thereafter expire."

The assassin nudged her head to the side thinking it was quite an elaborate way of saying they would die.

"So yes, all hell would break loose."

The boys shared a nervous laugh about it while Madam Elsa turned to address the rest with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "Good thing we're pros, yes? Come --"

The subtle dig at them went woefully unnoticed but Adele had to hold in a scoff because the maître d' clicked heels and resumed their little tour. Next on was something that sent off the first red flags in her brain.

Madam Elsa led them into another building, one fairly bigger than the smokehouse.

Entering what looked exactly like military barracks, complete with bunk beds. Tiny shower spigots, like at a YMCA, and a row of toilets with no walls or doors, like at a prison. At the centre, the lady butler stopped to speak, "This is where we live."

"You actually live here? All of you?"

"All of us. Except Chef."

Esprit de corps. Lovely.

Julian Bloom's partner, Ted, commented with a swipe of his glasses, "Wow, it's free decor, no?"

"No, Mister Feldman, it's very much more than that. Here, we are family. Each day starts at six, with five hours of prep work. We harvest, we ferment, we slaughter, we marinate, we liquefy, we spherify, we gel."

Tyler smiled, inspired, everyone else, was less sure.

Margot murmured something that had the maître d' correcting her forcefully, and some even jumped at her raised tone. Everybody went really quiet and Elsa used that to pick up where she left off, "Dinner is typically four hours and twenty-five minutes."

That long?

"Each day ends at well past two in the morning. So yes, it's best that we all live here."

A different tech bro, the one named Soren, who decided to lounge on one of the beds offhandedly asked if they wouldn't get burned out from such ridiculous working hours but the lady butler merely looked at him, disgusted, but composed herself in time, "Burned out?"

"Yeah, sorry, sorry, like tired of doing the same thing?" Soren rephrased it, meekly.

"Chef holds himself to the highest standard and so do we. We never burn anything unless by design. Now. Who's hungry?"

It might have been subtle but Adele spied it with her trained eye. The venom leaked through the crease of her right eye, mask cracking every so slightly. There was the viper Adele suspected. The assassin fortified her guard subconsciously, looking at this bunker and its implications made her feel uneasy, her gut agreed with her.

They encountered no other soul on their way to the restaurant, but for those with attentive eyes, the chef's house could be discerned among the trees of the nearby forest. Tyler even asked if they could visit it, which the Madam swiftly turned down. If the staff had no access to the boss' lodging, then neither could the guests.

Two guards awaited them at the entrance, one opted to open the massive, sliding door with the press of a button while the other accompanied Madam Elsa and led them further in. The room was minimalist and faux rustic. A touch sad even. A museum mood where one doesn't necessarily 'enjoy' eating.

Her sharp eyes flitted across the large room, analysing: six guards (seemingly unarmed), two butlers with pitchers, Madam Elsa and a Sommelier, fourteen sous-chefs, two hallways, one exit, and large windows (bulletproof?).

The kitchen was open, visible from the dining area, and the bustling staff was hard at work. With Chef Julian Slowik nowhere to be seen.

It hosted reasonably big, round tables for two for each couple with small reservation cards on them. Anna and her husband Richard were already seated, but the man went somewhat pale out of nowhere and then switched seats with her client - hmm, strange.

Margot stayed back with her, not knowing where to sit before the maître d' showed her her seat next to Tyler.

"Feel free to observe the cooks as they innovate but please DO NOT photograph our dishes. Chef strongly feels that the beauty in his creation lies in their ephemeral nature."

Then the lady butler came back for Adele and with a guiding hand at the small of her back, led her to a smaller table abutting a wall where an older lady already presided. Adele greeted her politely before taking her seat, but got no sort of response back.

The woman across her already nursed a glass of wine and looked as forlorn as any abandoned grandmother. Another guest? Adele sighed lowly, so no small talk then. At least she had the time to look around until the other guests settled.

At her left, there was a buzzing open kitchen with focused sous-chefs working on the dishes with rapt attention to detail. They didn't even look up once to assess their customers, not even when Tyler bothered one of the cooks with his questions, he was promptly sent back to his seat afterwards with a quiet Margot in tow.

You can take the jacket off, dear.

The Bloody Mary, for one, was utterly rubbish at cooking, and had no finer tastes or demands of her meals other than to be nourishing. Her motto: if it tasted better than from a trashcan, then it was already up to her standard. Props to growing up piss-poor.

Adele turned back to her table companion when the cheery Sommelier offered her another glass of wine, "More Lambrusco, madam?

The madam nodded silently.

Not poisoned this time.

To avoid suspicion, the assassin agreed with a grateful nod, a guarded expression in place. She might actually consider taking a sip, it looked expensive to waste, but found her mood thoroughly soured as the last contained a portion of a poisonous plant in it. Well, one could play with that glass in the meantime, giving the illusion of mindful savouring.

The other guests all the while, engaged in their own bouts of conversations. Not even showing a remote interest in the ongoing preparations of their soon-to-be meal. While the assassin might benefit from observing the masters at work by writing down a thing or two, she had to sadly fall in line with the other toffs.

Maybe she could ask them questions like who put FUCKING OLEANDER into her wine!

Adele was having enough of this and the evening barely even started!

If it wasn't for Tyler and his overexcited fussing that could be heard from miles away, she would have missed entirely the crucial appearance of Chef Slowik in the kitchen, being seated with her back to the dining room made it harder to observe what happened behind her back but made it remarkably easier to fall off the radar.

Bringing the glass to her lips without drinking, she observed how the man strode in. Brooding, intense. Utterly focused as he glided from station to station swiftly, tasting. Elsa approached the Chef and spoke to him softly, without the usual edges in her carefully manufactured face. Adele couldn't hear what was said, but Slowik looked in a certain direction.

For a second she thought he was looking at Tyler, but it was Margot instead. They locked eyes. The assassin spied recognition in his eyes - no, a sadness perhaps? A longing? The chef tersely broke eye contact and resumed his tasks. The cooks around him continued to work with an almost sinister focus.

That settled it, there was something going on backstage and both of them were definitely not meant to be there - especially Margot.

It was not her first time arriving somewhere technically uninvited (definitely the last time though), she couldn't keep track of how many times she crashed into the Continental over the course of her career, covered in blood and wounds. The face of Charon behind the counter always managed to brighten up her mood in the end. He had been such a good friend.

Ugh, where was the appetizer? She was growing hungry and depressed. Deadly combo.

Ah, like being summoned by her thought, the servers marched, trays in hand with the first taste of the menu. Sitting up properly, the assassin waited for a plate to be put down in front of her only to find out the elder lady was not given one. That ruled her out as a customer.

"Here we have a compressed cucumber melon, milk snow, and charred lace. Enjoy."

What kind of bullshit is this?

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zutraeumen · 9 months

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The Assassin and the Chef

There was a radio on the shelf. A VHF radio in fact.

Hah, jackpot!

Pulling herself together, the tall woman dashed towards it, it looked legit as far as radio went. Turning it on with a push of the button, she quickly checked if she was on the right channel, before pushing and holding the red distress call button.

After a moment of waiting, she pushed the push-to-talk button and began speaking into the microphone, "Hello? Is anybody there?"

"Come in?" Came in crackly.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Hawthorne Island! I require immediate medical AND military assistance. We are thirteen people on this island, and most need immediate medical care OVER!"

"This is the Coast Guard, who am I talking to?"

Adele's brows scrunched together, why would he need to know that?

"This is Hawthorne Island, Hawthorne Island!"

Crack and static, "What did you say?"

She was getting frustrated with this guy, "This is Hotel-Alpha-Whiskey-Tango-Hotel-Oscar-Romeo-November-Echo! Hawthorne Island! People are dying. It's an emergency! OVER!"

"Okay, just, uh -- don't move!"

The channel went cold making Adele scoff disapprovingly. Well, at least help was on the way.

And most of her time was up. They surely were already suspicious of the Sommelier's absence and sent someone to look for him.

Her sensitive ears picked up footsteps. Only one pair.

Walking back outside, the last person she expected to run into was Margot. Stepping into the light slowly, she abandoned her cover to intercept the redhead, "Hey, Marg-"

SLAP!

The redhead whipped around with such speed that it took even Adele by surprise, slapping her across the face. The petite woman packed quite the punch, her left cheek stung.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry! I've never- I didn't know..."

Adele held one of her hands up to silence her, the other massaging the reddening side of her face. In hindsight, served her right! What was she thinking, approaching the poor woman from behind, knowing how silently she moved?

"It's okay, Margot. No harm done."

The girl stopped her fussing and looked as if a heavy weight had fallen off her shoulders. Margot was glad that Adele was safe.

"What are you doing here, outside?"

Margot took a second, arms hugging her shivering form, "The chef sent me to fetch a barrel from the smokehouse, Elsa gave me this key."

"So you are one of his then?"

The towering assassin meant nothing by the question other than acknowledging the fact that the escort was put to a test of loyalty, but to the redhead, it sounded accusing all the same, "Absolutely fucking not. I just did what I had to do to get away."

"And you did right."

Margot visibly deflated, "How did you get away? I thought I'd never see you again."

"I've fought for it."

Right because you totally looked like it.

"We have no way to get off this island. The ship and boats are gone, but I've managed to call the Coast Guard for backup."

There was a spark of hope in the girl's eyes and she managed to calm herself down. Adele wasn't good at comforting people, but she hoped a friendly pat would convey reassurance to the distressed escort.

She didn't deserve this.

Somewhere a twig snapped, they were being watched.

"Listen Margot," dark brown met hazel, "go back to the docks and wait for help. I will get the barrel and go back to the restaurant."

"Are you out of your fucking mind? You want to go back?!"

Adele gripped her shoulders firmly, "We don't have time. Listen to this old woman and get to safety. I will buy you time to escape. Don't worry I have a plan."

The redhead seemed unconvinced, but knew better than to argue with a stout woman like Adele. The assassin wouldn't budge on this.

"Okay," Margot breathed out, handing her the key to the smokehouse, "Okay, I will go but be careful. That man is fucking insane."

Adele appeased her with a comforting smile, and shoved the corkscrew discreetly inside her palm "Don't worry about me. I can handle myself just fine."

Famous last words?

Without looking back, the redhead trotted along the white gravel in her high heels and Adele watched her until her form vanished.

"You can come out now," Adele called loudly, turning towards the direction of their stalker.

At first, there was nought a sound, as if the person couldn't believe they were discovered. They were stalling.

"No need to play coy, I know you're out there."

Out of the shadows of the forest stepped Madam Elsa, the maître 'd herself.

Of course the Right hand would look for the Left.

Elsa had her sharp eyes accompanying them since welcoming them to the island.

"I take care of the customers so Chef can worry about the menu. And you have made my job very difficult."

She made her displeasure known, fumbling with her modernistic Victorian uniform until it procured a cleaver from its deep pockets. It looked as if she was here for more than making sure that Margot got that barrel to the chef.

"..."

The raven-haired assassin squared up as the shorter woman approached, ready for confrontation. There was no telling what Adele was up to, even when Elsa was at arm's length.

"How did you survive?"

Adele grinned cockily, "Why don't you find out yourself?"

Provoked, the Asian woman slashed at her face in time for the assassin to duck and drop the hidden scathing knife from up her sleeve right into her hand. With the precision of a black mamba, she wedged the long knife right between the gaps in her ribcage.

Elsa grunted, the cleaver falling from her arm while her body tipped backwards. The injured woman wheezed, the air escaping right through the slit in her chest. It wouldn't take long for the cavity to fill with blood. Adele gave her a few minutes at best.

"I- gurgle -didn't know about the barrel."

"What was that?" Adele eyed the dying woman, coming closer.

"He forgot about it. N-not me."

The assassin paid her no further mind once she breathed her last. Taking back her knife, she took care to rub some of the blood on the dead woman's apron before sheathing it back in her sleeve. Hiding it for future confrontations which will no doubt await her.

At least help was on the way.

The assassin would come to realize that that wasn't very much the case, but in the meantime, there was a barrel she needed to retrieve and a Chef to surprise.

"Happy birthday dear Bryce! Happy birthday to you!"

CLANK!

The singing stopped as all pairs of eyes narrowed on the encroaching woman in the black suit.

Damn, she loved feeling like a badass bitch from time to time.

The barrel accelerated as it rolled off the stairs and almost caught Richard's chair. It would have made it all the better if it had. But her client wouldn't have appreciated having to pick up her husband from the ground a second time. Imagine the strain on her back!

Various expressions of hope and fright passed over the tired faces of the guests. But Adele had eyes only for Chef Slowik. Nobody knew but, she took immense satisfaction in his potent frown. Furrowed eyebrows. Tense lips...

It was simply marvellous how many emotions passed over his wide eyes. It was solid proof that she was pushing the right buttons.

Feeling like the cat that got the cream, she sauntered over to Margot's seat, not even lamenting Tyler's absence. She leisurely receded against the backrest, crossing one leg over the other, openly establishing her presence in the quiet dining room.

After reigning himself in, the Chef fixed her with a blank stare, "Miss Cole, we've been awaiting you."

The assassin smirked, "I don't think you have."

His jaw clenched subtly, "Where is Margot?"

The assassin gave a nonchalant shrug, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

A vein popped into his neck, but there was no redness on his face yet. Nothing was going according to his plan and it was beginning to get to him. After a deep breath, he relaxed once again and took up his professional persona.

"What have you done to her?"

"I went for a stroll."

Chef's eyes darted to Anne Liebrandt, who in her dishevelled state, clutched a hand to her chest.

Jesus woman, how obvious can you be?!

"Miss Liebrandt," Slowik began candidly, "why did you invite Miss Cole to dine with us tonight?"

Her husband shot her a confused glance as the woman looked down at her hands and then at Adele, "I owed a favour to an associate of mine."

"And just who is this associate?"

"Winston Scott."

"Hmmm..." The chef seemed to be contemplating something, Adele was unsure if he recognized the name or not, but she wouldn't put it past him. He stared directly into her soul and Adele met his gaze calmly.

He knew he would gain no ground by confronting the assassin, so he sought to turn the unexpected situation in his favour by attacking her weak link. Clever man.

"I want you all to understand something," he began as he slowly approached Adele's table, slowly taking a seat in Tyler's chair. He brought himself to her level, "I am a monster. No, was a monster. And a whore. But tonight everything I'm doing is pure. Egoless. And at last, the pain is almost gone."

Adele sat there, keeping herself relaxed and movements slow.

There was a candle on the table. Chef Slowik extended his hand directly over it. The flame burnt his flesh, but he didn't so much as flinch, "Chef's Hands. Asbestos hands. I can carry a cast iron from a hot oven to your table with no protection."

He snuffed the candle with his thumb and forefinger.

Impressive.

"I can no longer be hurt, Adele. As Dr King said: We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor. It must be demanded by the oppressed."

"Did he just quote Martin Luther King?"

Neither of them budged as they continued to tear the other down with their eyes-

HONK!

Outside the windows, a light appeared on the water. A small boat. Adele saw it out of the corner of her eye. Chef Slowik spotted it, too, for a moment frozen with indecision, perhaps even fear.

The Coast Guard has arrived.

"So you found our radio."

He stood up from his seat and shouted to his hardworking colleagues, "Clear the dining room. Immediately!"

Servers appeared from everywhere to get people presentable again, wipe down the floor, their work hyper-fast. One server applied a white bandage to Chef's hand and tied a new apron around his waist to mask his blood-soaked pants.

Adele looked out the window to see a lone coast guard officer stepping onto the dock, and her glee fell.

Chef Slowik saw the same. He smiled just a little, "You will be tempted to ask him for help. To plead, even. This would be unwise. He cannot help you."

The guests look unconvinced and exchange conspiratorial glances. How could they let this opportunity pass?

"Ask yourselves two things: One, if you really want to be responsible for the death of an innocent man. And two, ask yourselves -- this entire evening, why didn't you all try harder to fight back? To get out of here? Honestly, you probably could have. Something to think about."

The patrons look around. He made a valid point. Why didn't they?

A knock. Chef Slowik nodded at a server to unlock the door. Two figures slowly strolled into the restaurant, and one of them was Margot. You've got to be kidding...

"Good evening officer, how can we help you?" Slowik offered warmly.

The man, a familiar face, looked around, hands on his belt, "I got a report of a disturbance."

"Here? What kind of disturbance?"

"A violent one. Are you the owner?"

"I am the executive chef. Ownership changed hands recently, but that's another story. I don't wish to be rude, but, as you can see, we are right in the middle of service."

Not quite understanding what that means, the officer looked around at the diners. They seemed composed enough. But anybody ELSE other than one of Slowik's cooks would have noticed that something was wrong right away.

It took her one glance to realize that this man was a mere parrot, if memory served her well, then she remembered seeing him rummaging in the kitchen earlier into the evening. Besides, no real U.S. Coast Guard (much less an Officer) would turn up to a perilous distress call without BACK UP!

"Did anybody here call in a distress on the short-wave tonight?"

All shook their heads, except for Adele.

"We are not in the habit of serving our guests short-wave radios with their meals," Slowik joked with forced cheer. His cooks laughed with him, maybe a little too loud.

The Coast Guard Officer noticed the movie star, who looked a little worse for wear, but better than before. A glimmer of recognition passed across his face.

"Hey, are you --?"

"Yes, yes, y-es, yes, I am..." George stuttered as he stood up from his seat, shaking.

"Oh, wow. I'm a big fan."

"Thank you."

"Would you like his autograph?" Chef Slowik asked the suddenly very shy officer.

"Well, uh, I don't want to bother you."

The movie star was quick to acquiesce him, "No bother at all, but I don't- I don't have a-"

A server arrived with a pen and paper on a tray.

"What's your name?"

"Dale."

With a scribble of the pen, George engaged the guard, "What's up, Dale?

"You're great. My wife and I loved that, uh... what's it called? The one where you're the surgeon?"

"Calling Dr. Sunshine." George looked at the chef spitefully.

"Yeah. Great stuff."

The movie star smiled sadly and handed over the autograph.

"Thank you. You're very kind." George sat back down.

"Okay. Well, sorry again to bother you folks. I'll be going now."

"Thank you for your service," Slowik told the smiling officer who turned and walked back toward the door. As he did, he looked down at the note.

The officer turned suddenly, whipping out his gun, and pointed it at Chef.

"Hands above your head! Now!"

"Are you joking?" Slowik asked in shock.

"I am not joking, sir!" The officer moved to the

A guard of Chef Slowik stepped forward to protect hismaster, but Chef held up a hand.

"Clearly there's a misunderstanding."

The patrons went into an uproar, springing from their seats with renewed hope that somebody would save them from this nightmarish dinner. The officer looked overwhelmed as he tried to get his voice heard over the commotion. Margot and Adele watched in baleful silence.

What a spectacle!

"Help us! He wants to kill us all!" Anne cried out. Other diners chimed in as well.

"You," he pointed the end of the gun at the chef, who stood calmly, "on your knees with yourhands over your head. Now!"

Chef Slowik drew a long breath, dismissed his guard and complied. The patrons cried with impeccable relief. Thanking God and whatnot.

"Nobody moves till I say so!The officer inched forward. When he had almost reached Chef,he pivoted toward Margot's table, gun still pointed, and pulled the trigger. A small flame emitted from the barrel that lighted the extinguished candle.

And as quick as hope arose, it was violently crushed.

A brilliant play by Chef Julian Slowik.

The officer holstered the gun, put on an apron, and joined his comrades in the kitchen. Getting a pat on the shoulder from Slowik for his believable performance. George should take notes.

"In a kitchen, we all work together or nothing works at all. And you, Margot from Nebraska, you have betrayed our sacred bond of trust. And you've shown your craft to be careless. I was wrong. You're an eater. A taker. Like all the rest."

CLAP!

Somebody clapped. Once. Loud.

Time seemed to stop entirely, but the claps echoed still until they evolved into applause.

The one making that much noise was none other than Adele Cole, casually sitting in Margot's seat. After the initial shock wore off, everybody expected her to speak but she held quiet as she fetched a pack of cigarettes USA Gold, the cheapest on the market.

Taking one out, she suddenly realized she had forgotten her lighter at home, "Margot."

The poor thing sprung with a gasp of surprise at the mention of her name, "Huh?"

"Can you please give me your lighter dearie?"

The startled woman took a second too long for such a menial request but nobody stopped her from fiddling with her purse.

"Thank you, Margot."

Taking a deep drag, she enjoyed the smooth, mild flavour before her stomach rumbled loudly and the pleasant feeling was replaced by a rush of nausea.

Swallowing the bile, Adele scrunched her face, "Fucking disgusting on an empty stomach."

The kitchen staff stood still like deers facing the headlights, the tension was still high as the assassin squarely faced Julian Slowik, "You know, I came here for a nice, little evening. Of promising food and relaxation. And what have I gotten instead?"

Julian swallowed - touched a nerve, didn't I? - whether to hear her out or out of frustration she could only guess. His mother seemed to be happily passed out.

"Every dish we've had tonight was some intellectual exercise, there were at least three direct attempts at my life over the course of a few hours and I am, honest to God, tired."

...

"So I am calling it quits. And I will take Margot and Ms Liebrandt with me, with or without your permission."

Rising to her feet, she felt the first guard approach and before he could grab her she clawed at his arm and slit his throat with practised precision. The man fell unto their table, gurgling and clutching desperately at his throat. The cooks stopped working.

People screamed and Adele's wild eyes searched for the chef's, her old self peeking through the cracks of her murderous persona. A beast cornered. Before he knew it, another guard hit the ground, painting the floor dark red. Nothing stood between her and the exit now.

The other guards didn't stand idly by and abandoned their posts to intercept her, "If you seek an early grave then I suggest you stay away," she said darkly. Her tangible bloodlust kept them at bay.

Lifting the scathing knife between her and the room, she beckoned Margot to come to her side promptly. The redhead hesitated momentarily before snatching her purse and stumbling behind the towering woman. Adele did the same to Anne, but after one look at Richard, she waved them off.

Hmpf, suit yourself.

Looking around one last time, she noted the petrified look the other patrons send her way. Seeing a volatile beast instead of a white knight was fine by Adele. Backing up towards the exit, she sent one last harsh glance towards Julian Slowik, "I pity you, chef. I pity you all. Giving your life and all of your talents to a man whose talents have slipped."

Without turning back, they escaped the lion's den as victoriously as the day Herakles killed the Nemean lion.

But did it feel like it?

No. Absolutely not.

They narrowly escaped certain death, and Adele Cole had utterly failed to fulfil her last mission. Winston wouldn't let her retire after this, or would he? What would she do if he did regardless? She was so lost in the soft crunch of their agitated footsteps that she almost knocked the shivering redhead clutching at the sides of her naked arms.

Without thinking, Adele took her jacket and threw it over Margot's petite shoulders, earning a small thank you. At least she managed to keep her from harm's way, if no one at all. Still, she couldn't help but feel as if something was keeping her from leaving this accursed island.

Even as they began to rev up the engines of the Coast Guard's boat, the thought of leaving felt so wrong. Her stomach rumbled. Nothing seemed to set her mind straight, and when she caught the first whiff of smoke, her eyes looked far away into the trees in sudden realization.

So this was to be the final course.

"Go get help, I will try to look for survivors!" The engine roared to life and the boat began to move when Adele jumped over the ship's railing in one swift move.

Margot looked at the control to stop the boat from moving away from solid ground, "But-!"

"GO!"

And without looking back, the assassin was right where it all began, with no other means to escape, running towards the now blazing restaurant.

#romance #horror #the menu #julian slowik #chef slowik #julian slowik x ofc #margot mills #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #winston scott #eventual happy ending #eventual comfort #eventual romance #eventual relationship #enemies to lovers

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zutraeumen · 9 months

Text

The Sixth Course

The diners were led out to a beautiful al fresco dining setup. The evening air was indeed beautiful, and a series of torches lent an almost primaeval atmosphere to the proceedings. The patrons murmured to each other and while Adele didn't grasp some of it, she didn't care anymore.

Fuck the mission and fuck Winston for sending her into this.

Last mission, yeah, sure.

The hitman had other plans than to die on this stupid island to this fucking cult. Even if the chef had his reasons, they didn't involve her. What else did you expect from a hitman? That she would save the day? Like a hero or something?

Other than Margot, these weren't the type of people she would regret not saving. A bunch of assholes, the lot.

They were huddled together when Chef Slowik spoke again, "Ladies and gentlemen, our next course will be presented by sous-chef Katherine Keller."

Nobody except for Tyler clapped, that kid was sick in the head.

Katherine stepped out of the darkness. She smiled amidst the exquisite silence, her face lit by torchlight, "Good evening, everyone. Three years ago, Julian Slowik tried to fuck me."

What a way to start a conversation.

Chef Slowik nodded slightly but remained impassive. Elsa looked longingly at chef.

His staff wasn't devoted to him. No, they were competing for his acknowledgement.

"I refused his advances. A week later he tried again. And again, I refused. But he didn't fire me. He kept me in his kitchen and refused to look me in the eye or speak directly to me for eight months. He can do that. Because he's the star. He's the man.

Chef Slowik looked away, a bit pained.

"Our next course is called 'Man's Folly'.

Katherine was approached by Chef and stood very close, looking him right in the eyes. She pulled a small pair of scissors from her apron and stabbed him in the thigh. He accepted it with a wince and a nod.

Katherine and Chef Slowik shared a long, meaningful hug. Theirs was a deep understanding that we'll never know. Elsa glowered at the two, jealousy burning behind her eyelids.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

They parted, and a few seconds later a veiny hand grabbed the sharp instrument by the base and pulled it from his tight without much of a flinch. A bloodstain was already forming and it appeared he would walk the rest of the evening with a limp.

"To our male diners. We now offer you the chance to escape. You will be given a 45-second head start, at which point members of my staff will try and catch you. If they do catch you..."

Soren immediately made a break for it and didn't wait for the chef to finish his statement.

"Okay," said Slowik, unbothered, "45 seconds starts now."

At this point, all the other male diners make a break for it too. Readily abandoning the female patrons to their fates with half-assed promises to send help. Slowik laughed to himself as he watched Richard's nearly 70-year-old body approximate a run.

Adele herself bit the inside of her cheek to avoid breaking character, that was funny as hell.

As if any of them truly had a chance to escape their captors.

Tyler was the last to leave the group (thank god for small miracles), but only after Slowik ordered him to. He would fit well into the cult if the chef didn't have such ardent disdain for the young man. The darker corners of Adele's psyche hoped he would have any sort of incident, as long as the hitman wouldn't suffer any moment longer in his grating presence.

"Now, ladies, if you would please follow Katherine back into the restaurant."

The group reluctantly followed the jolly woman back to the restaurant until, "Not you, Miss Cole."

The hitman froze. The other ladies stopped as well, Slowik was quick to placate their worry, "Miss Cole hasn't been feeling well lately, so she will not be joining you for this course."

Her client's eyes darted repeatedly to Adele as he spoke of her absence, which the assassin purposefully avoided. Slowik knew of their connection, no need to give him reasons to suspect more. But out of all of them, it was Margot's worried gaze that got to her the most. The redhead feared for the only person she could consider an ally.

The women knew better than to challenge Slowik's dismissal, even at the cost of another patron, and they finally did something rational. Their continued presence would only hinder the hitman from confronting what Chef truly had in store for her.

The Sommelier held up the timer, the servers got ready to hunt the men on escape. It was only a matter of time and eight servers ran as if they would be getting a reward by the end of it. The only ones standing outside were Adele and Chef with his Sommelier. A single man was kept guarding the door, her chances appeared to have tilted for the better.

The only thing unexpected happened when the chef addressed his Sommelier instead of her, and excused himself with an 'I'll leave you to it.'

As a professional, you would learn to discern the minuscule tell-tale signs someone was about to kill you.

Slowik's meaningful glance was one of those signs.

She watched him walk away before the cheery Sommelier offered her a stroll through the dark forest. Hoping the fresh air would calm her tumultuous stomach. It was eerily quiet around them, not even the wildlife was active as they walked side by side deeper into the thick trees, the canopy hiding away the very stars.

They were a fair distance away from any lights, and Adele's eyes adjusted quickly to the change of contrast. She was home in such darkness and blended in seamlessly with the environment. But the scheming Sommelier wouldn't know that as he marched on, not even recognizing when Adele threw a stone from behind him.

Other senses were heightened in the dark, the Sommelier was no different as he suddenly jerked in the direction of the unexpected sound. Momentarily distracted, Adele struck. She had him fall right into her chokehold as she kicked his knee in. Quickly covering his mouth, she fiercely pulled him back so he couldn't help himself with his feet. His body thrashed, fighting to get air into his lungs, but the hitman had him in an inescapable hold.

The Sommelier lay dead seconds later.

Spitting the gum out, she rummaged through the corpse's pockets, finding nothing but a pocket corkscrew. Huh, might come in handy.

What to do now?

Now that she was free, nothing stood between her and the exit. Nothing but her own conscience - Margot was still at Hawthorne AND her client was there as well. Leaving them to inevitably die wouldn't look good on her resume.

Adele decided that she would take that risk, and venture once again into the lion's den, but this time, on her own terms.

Fearing she had stayed in one place too long, the assassin moved throughout the pitch-black forest like a ghost. Hiding behind thicker tree stumps if there were speedy footsteps in the distance, she had taken out a couple of servers that ventured too far from the group on their search.

Maaan... Charlie was going to have a lot of work to do searching for all those bodies. She would lose a whole stack of coins because of this stupid mission. Checking her small Nokia 3310, there was enough connection to send for all the services she would need later.

Don't judge her. The phone might have been severely outdated, but it was the safest option, and all that she needed to stay connected to the underworld community. Hell, she had even killed a man with it at some point! She would always choose that brick of a phone over any smartphone with a touchscreen so brittle it might shatter at any given inconvenience.

And believe her, there were a lot of inconveniences to look out for in her field of expertise!

Now that all of the male patrons were found and dragged back to the restaurant, the assassin moved at greater speed towards her objective. It wasn't difficult to navigate back to the smokehouse, following the large trail of white gravel. The wooden door was locked, but not chained. Adele used the Nokia's flashlight sparsely as she picked the lock with the corkscrew, but it opened eventually, with a satisfying click.

The door swung open, Adele had to wave away the smoke that infiltrated her nose, looking out for something sharp. There were many unused hooks that would have done, but the assassin looked for something not quite so crude. This was a mission where she was severely outnumbered and open confrontation would not work in her favour.

Aha! This one would do!

Adele spotted a scaling knife and held it against the light of her flashlight, running the tips of her fingers against the edge.

Incredibly sharp. Relatively good in hand.

Armed and lethal, the assassin took off confidently towards the beach, passing Slowik's cottage illuminated perfectly by the moonlight in the distance. The sounds of waves and the salty air were comforting. There should have been a small boathouse here somewhere, but despite knowing the island's layout from photographic memory, it had taken her a good trek further to the east to actually get to it.

It hadn't been locked fortunately, but the small victory turned irrelevant when she discovered there was no boat inside. Somebody from the escaping men must have taken it, because the fisherman left his gear behind.

Fuck!

Plan B then: housebreaking.

Slowik's house was a mere two minutes away, she had already lost ten at the beach. Time trickled by terribly slowly on a mission, but every second counted in a life-or-death situation. Her bug channel had gone dark, even though that could mean she was just too far away, it worried her still. Margot seemed like a decent young woman. Adele liked her.

The lights were off. Seemed, at first glance, like no one was home, but the assassin kept her feet light and movements slow. One crucial thing to notice was that the front door wasn't even locked, so no kicking in then.

A shame, the assassin always felt such a rush coming in with a bang, a penchant of her past life. Inviting herself into the cottage, she waited for a second or two if her ear would pick up something, then proceeded to vaguely reach for the light switch.

"Motherfucker."

Chucked the phrase: 'Don't take work home' right off the window. That man had his kitchen replicated down to the last detail. Even the tables looked the same! Just like in that devilish restaurant. To top it all off, on the far side of the dining room sat a cot. A small table with a lamp and a Bible stood right next to it.

Please don't tell me this was actually where he slept.

In the DINING ROOM of all places! This dude had no chill, as the teens would say.

But it was so quiet here, so clean. Pristine.

Processing, Adele realized something. Sure enough, she found an exact replica of the silver door she had glimpsed earlier in the evening. She tried to open it, but this time, it was locked. No problem for a child from the streets.

You know, for someone this rich his security measures were rather lackluster.

Stepping inside, a lovely room greeted her. A private haven. Warmly lit and beautiful. An actual life. A desk. Leather chair. Stacks of recipe books. Framed photos all along the wall. The assassin couldn't help her intrigue and glimpse at a few of them.

They seemed to be from different points in his life:

A preppy, affluent, young Slowik in a school uniform.

A photo of Slowik, his mom, and a meek-looking man that bored semblance of the recently drowned Doug Verrick.

But there! Adele's attention was on one framed photo in particular. She walked closer and closer to the photo, refusing the urge to take it off the wall by hand and gaze at it for a long beat.

Hamburger Howie's

EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH - AUGUST 1987

- JULIAN SLOWIK -

The raved-haired woman smiled as the zealous Slowik did in it, his cute smile was addictive as he flipped those burgers in that 'Kiss the Cook' apron. He looked so different among the normal folk, so down-to-earth... so... it suited him. Joy, she meant. Impassioned by his craft. The assassin couldn't imagine finding something so worthwhile.

After all, there were many facets in her life that she didn't get to choose.

She didn't choose to be a street rat.

She didn't choose to be abducted and sold into slavery.

She didn't choose to be bought by a crime family.

She didn't choose to become a trained assassin.

She didn't... the past should stay in the past.

Adele Cole was her own person now, pragmatic and far too young to be this cynical but she was what she was.

She was by no means a psychological Sherlock Holmes, gifted with a complex understanding of the human psyche. But those pictures did offer her some clarity or rather an insight into the esteemed Chef's deepest parts. The man behind the icon.

And even if she couldn't comprehend the full spectrum of Julian Slowik's complex nature. Adele understood now that he had been a good man at some point in his life.

Let a criminal be the judge of that.

He belonged to the many men and women who had lost their way, being extremely driven to what they do or what it took to get it done, with no way to escape.

Her old self had only found her way through John Wick.

If only Julian Slowik would have had such a person in his life.

#romance #horror #the menu #julian slowik #chef slowik #julian slowik x ofc #margot mills #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #winston scott #eventual happy ending #eventual romance #eventual comfort #eventual relationship #enemies to lovers

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zutraeumen · 10 months

Text

The First Course

Adele stared at the small plate before her while the others dug in, she expected a serving of salad, and not this... this, what was that again? Something with cucumber?

Ah well, she wasn't supposed to be here for the food anyways but a small bite did seem tantalizing. It wasn't every day that you'd end up at a super-exclusive island restaurant where one evening cost about as much as a Rolex.

The sheer ridiculousness of the price!

Grabbing a fork, she carefully picked at her food, the heavy curtain of her raven hair falling in around her head, perhaps Madam Elsa would stop pinning her with icy stares for once in a while and focus on the other guests. If her hearing didn't fail her with old age, then somebody was snapping photos.

Bet you a hundred bucks it was Tyler.

Guess what, she was on point, and oh, the withering gaze Madam Elsa silently sent his way was delicious as it deserved to be. That kid should really have some basic understanding of respect for a chef's work.

The Sommelier was also someone she needed to be on the lookout for, constantly prowling behind the guests' backs to refill their wine, his smile was as fake as the candy man from her hometown neighbourhood.

Nevertheless, she averted her attention from those two and tuned in to the conversations going on around her.

The food critic Lillian Bloom and her editor Ted were already busy nitpicking every goddamn thing without having gotten through the very first thing on the plate! It was a different kind of torture hearing him agree to her every opinion, stupid pick-me boy.

The movie star George and his assistant Felicity were going through a divorce here of all places, nice of them to discuss it so openly.

The finance bros were the worst though, talking about their relationships outside of work and how they failed because they couldn't just give a flying fuck about anything else than making money. They even made a toast on it!

The Liebrandt couple was pleasantly quiet in comparison, but she guessed Tyler made up for that. Speaking of him, he seemed to be going through some spiritual journey from tasting alone.

The fiery redhead, bless that woman, seemed to be the only one not swallowing all that bullshit. If things went sour, she would be Adele's first choice of ally. The Chef seemed to also have a merit of interest for her, so she could use that to her advantage.

Ugh, somebody shoot her out of this place.

A clap made her jerk in her seat, sounding thunderous against the soft chatter of the room that immediately got everyone's attention. Adele turned slowly to witness what was about to happen.

"Good evening."

The Chef greeted them with a tight upturn of lips, swerving his gaze at his customers with unexpressive eyes.

"Welcome to Hawthorne. I am Julian Slowik and tonight will be our pleasure to feed you."

The diners applauded. Adele scrunched her face and played along. Lillian and Ted exchanged proud, possessive looks.

His voice was rich and his ramrod-straight posture commanding, demanding absolute silence from the audience that were his customers, "For the next few hours you will ingest fat, salt, sugar, protein, bacteria, fungi, various plants and animals and at times entire ecosystems but... I have to beg of you one thing, it's just one... do not eat."

"Is he serious?"

Adele scowled at George for interrupting, but the chef merely continued with a pointed raise of his brow that silenced the actor promptly.

Smoothly, her eyes glided over to her client who held quite the unusual expression of reserved surprise on her face as if it was the first time the Chef had given such a... encapsulating speech. Her husband was very much the same, cross-armed with one good eye suspiciously narrowed at the Chef.

Something was different this time, if the regulars were raising eyebrows, or maybe she was just reading too much into it.

"Taste. Savour. Relish. Consider every morsel that you place inside your mouth. Be mindful, but do not eat. Our menu is too precious for that. And look around you, here we are, on this island. Accept... accept all of it and... forgive... and on that note: FOOD!"

With a large smile that the assassin was supposed to be friendly enough to fool most, the Chef took a step back to allow his sous-chefs to march onwards in perfect formation, once again in pairs. This was either very well choreographed or...

Adele used the commotion to observe the Chef in the meantime as he assumed a neutral position. The customers were excited but Adele remained very much on edge. It would be impertinent not to forget that there had been an attempt at her life just about, let's check the watch, roughly two hours ago.

The man in question was about the same height as Adele, mind you for a woman, the assassin was among the very few unconventionally tall, standing at around 5'10". He oozed the confidence and authority of a chef who would not be questioned in his own kitchen regardless of the person who asked, and possessed a gathering of incredibly loyal people. Not much could be read from his visage alone, even though his way of speaking was full of small gesticulations, but from experience, Adele knew there was something dark underneath his eloquent words and polite smiles.

A wolf that entertained the sheep before the slaughter.

Humans were known for having a sixth sense when it came to being stared at, and it was proven to Adele when he suddenly, for the first time, locked eyes with her and the question of her killer was answered - it was him; he wanted her dead by nightfall.

"Our first course is called 'The Island'. On your plate are plants around the island placed on rocks from the shore, covered in barely frozen filtered seawater, which will flavour the dish as it melts."

Her plate arrived just in time for her to have a reason to look away in a gorgeous, slow-motion CU product shot. Perfectly curated bits of flora and jewels of scallop meat rest artfully atop a smooth, icy rock.

Adele was as thankful as a beggar until she realized there were more rocks on that plate than edible food.

Ah, the unnecessary intricacies of fine dining: ridiculous preparations with ridiculous intellectual speeches times evil chef equalled no food.

Well, the math was clear, there would be no proper food for her at this esteemed establishment. At least none that would be enough to satisfy her hunger. And she was a relatively unfussy eater. You could throw basically anything down her throat if it wasn't anything too spicy, or had olives, or mushrooms...

Tyler in the meantime, held his phone just so and snapped a shot of his plate. Elsa clocked it. Simmering with rage. Someone get the lady butler a shot of vodka before she gutted that inconsiderate boy.

O-oh, the food critic put on some glasses, did she think it would make all the bullshit from her mouth sound more reasonable? George was spectacularly failing at grasping the basic vocabulary to describe taste and she couldn't begrudge Felicity for deciding to leave him, how did this man become a movie star was simply beyond her. It must be quite frustrating to work with such an unoriginal person.

The finance bros were so openly discussing how they showed no real interest in Slowik's food that Adele could see a small vein pop out on Madam Elsa's forehead if one looked closer, knowing that she was also listening to these kids disrespecting their Chef at his own restaurant, eating his own food - unbelievable.

The Liebrandts were discussing something but she couldn't properly hear it because she sat at the opposite side of the room, though it seemed to hardly matter as they didn't meet the eyes of the other, talk about a lovely evening.

Tyler was blissfully silent but it did help her put things into perspective.

Each of these guests was not here to eat the food exclusively prepared for them, but for the sole purpose of furthering their own agendas.

Lillian and Ted were here to suck the pleasure out of cooking by using it to advance their careers. Hunting for the next scoop by inventing new words, finding minor faults and reading into everything the Chef did.

George and Felicity used this experience to help the movie star transition to a new phase in his career as a TV presenter of a washed-up cooking show.

The finance trio were there simply for the prestige of having been there as if it would bring them extra points to their status. Embezzling money into their own pockets instead of supporting Slowik and his staff - the ones who were actually producing value.

The Liebrandts were here because they could, not eat the food. Probably to maintain their status as elites.

And Tyler, well, he might just be the Chef's biggest fanboy in the whole world. And not the healthy kind. It bordered on fanatical obsession. Using Slowik's fame to uphold his identity as a man of wealth and taste who supposedly knew everything about fine dining.

Man, to be honest, the food sucked up until now... but the customers sucked as well.

And with the Chef looking at Margot's untouched plate the Chef strode to the back of the kitchen, "I want plating in five!"

Nobody expected the collective 'Yes, Chef!' from the staff as they prepared the next course.

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zutraeumen · 10 months

Text

The Third Course

Tall, spindly evergreens shivered in the cold darkness.

On the third time the Chef clapped, his aura and open posture seemed to be lighter than on the previous courses. A heavy feeling settled in her empty stomach, the calm before the storm.

"The next course is called 'Memory' and that what it's meant to evoke: a memory. So let me tell you a memory of mine. When I was growing up, a child in Waterloo Iowa, Tuesday was Taco night."

A chorus of shallow affirmatives came from the guests as if any of them knew what a generic taco tasted like.

"Taco Tuesday!" The Chef exclaimed lively, with a smile so forced that it even showed his teeth. It didn't look good on him. The guest kept laughing with him at his antics.

"And this," he moved happily over to Adele's table and reached for the madam again, "is my mother. As you can see she is rather drunk. This is not unusual."

That certainly explained things, but the assassin couldn't help but fear where he was taking this monologue. He certainly held the guests' amusement, but she suspected what he was about to tell them was quite the opposite. His expression lost all its previous shine and turned to its more serious variant.

"When I was seven years old, one Tuesday, my father came home, quite drunk. Really drunk. Also not unusual. My mother grew angry and screamed at him at which point he proceeded to wrap a telephone cord around her neck and pull it tight."

His mother reacted vaguely, continuing with her drinking. On what glass of wine was she already?

There was something about the way he animatedly enunciated his words with his hands that gave her chills. There was something deeply wrong with this man, he wore his trauma on his sleeve and that was in most cases, never a good sign. It made people unhinged. And there were no more dangerous people than the ones who got nothing to lose.

And she had seen the worst of humanity, of both men and women who had been through shit the common person could not even imagine.

Still, he went on without missing a single beat, without any stuttering at all, "I wept, screamed, begged him to stop. To make him stop I finally had to stab him in the thigh with kitchen scissors. You remember that mother, don't you? I suppose I should have stabbed him in the throat that evening but we're not so smart when we're young."

The diners exchange uneasy glances. Lillian turned to Ted with a reassuring look, "Don't worry, all part of the course."

Margot, however, watched the chef intently and with empathy, as if understanding his pain. Noticing, Chef locked eyes with her and said the next line directly to her, "It was as you can imagine a very memorable taco night."

The sous-chefs marched, side by side with two plates for each customer while the Chef announced the next course, "So, here you have, house-smoked breast chicken thigh al pastor and our own tortillas made with heirloom masa - one of Hawthorne's signature dishes. We change our menu constantly but Miss Bloom knows this has been a staple since day one. It's a- what you once said...?"

"... put you on the map." The food critic supplied quickly.

"Put me on the map," Chef Slowik repeated, "precisely what map would that be, I wonder?"

Not-so-subtle dig at the food critic, he must really despise that woman. If Adele were in his shoes, she would too, with a passion. Quite a contradicting feeling to feel for someone who essentially put the man on the road to fame and success, but as for most people, there wasn't much happiness to be found in the Chef at all.

"Anyways because we're always innovating and we fear irrelevance, an update to the classic, the images on the tortillas have been made using a laser engraving machine, it's the first time we've used it. We hope this taco night evokes strong memories for us all. Enjoy."

This was a lot to digest, in a metaphorical sense.

The others, of course, bought into that shit and wrote it off as mere theatrics of an artist. There was no way a celebrity such as Slowik would slip up so carelessly like that, it was simply incomprehensible for them with all the grandiosity surrounding their lives. Adele couldn't imagine living a life like that, distorted from reality.

George was even inspired to use similar tactics in his own show. Lillian and Ted were impressed by the chef's rebellious streak. And for the love of god was Tyler crying?! Again? Oh no, wait, it was just a trick of light this time. Adele sighed inwardly with relief.

Seriously, the kid was beginning to rub her the wrong way.

Not one to judge so soon, there did seem to be something inherently wrong with Tyler. She knew by now that he was a massive foodie and self-proclaimed Slowik expert but the way he went overboard was so inconsistent with everything that it stuck out.

The chewing gum had long since lost its flavour as the assassin inspected the tortillas. The images did make the cliff in her stomach expand as she saw photos of her in various moments printed on them perfectly. Each of them more alarming than the next.

The first one was of her waiting at the docks.

The second one was of her throwing the oyster away.

The third one was an email - her client - Anne Liebrandt had sent to the owner of Hawthorne (and the island in fact) Verrick Doug, requesting another special invitation to be issued for Adele to be able to accompany her to the restaurant.

He knew.

Cold realization engulfed the assassin. A retreat was in order so the assassin excused herself to the toilet. Slowik's mother offered very little response as always.

#romance #eventual smut #eventual happy ending #eventual romance #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #winston scott #the menu #julian slowik #julian slowik x ofc #horror #margot mills

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