The New Chef’s First Day On The Job [FICTOID]

The chief of all the sultan’s secret police paid a courtesy call on the new chef, his khaki uniform crisp and clean.

The chef wore the traditional white garments of his profession.  He saw the kitchen help scatter and paused his marmalade making to bow to the chief.

The chief stood tall and erect, a ruby ring on his left hand.

A gift from the sultan, the chef recalled.

He bowed formally, making sure his voice did not waiver.  “You grace us with your presence,” he murmured.  “How may I be of service?”

“The sultan speaks highly of you,” said the chief.  “I came to see for myself what pleases him so.”

“I…am flattered,” said the chef.  “Shall I show you the kitchen?  Would you like some wine to sip?”

“No, and no,” said the chief.  “You keep it hellishly hot in here.  Why?” 

“In hopes of inducing the waitstaff to undress,” said the chef with a wink.

“Really?” said the chief disdainfully. “Wouldn’t it simply be easier to bribe them?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked the chef, again with a wink.

The chief frowned, running his fingers along the counter as if conducting an inspection.  “I see.  The sultan insists on proper decorum, you know.”

“Indeed I do,” said the chef.  “Step into the freezer with me, I’ll explain everything.”  

He opened the freezer door wide and the chief stepped in.  As soon as he did, the chef slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside.

They heard several gunshots as the chief futilely tried to escape.  The chef counted the shots and realized the chief had one bullet left.  Leave him, thought the chef.  He’ll be dead in 24 hours.

The chef was a very good cook but an even better assassin.

That, after all, is why the sultan hired him.

© Buzz Dixon