The Black by Paul E. Cooley

Author:Paul E. Cooley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2014-09-15T04:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

There were few things in life Chef “Nutty” Nuchtchas hated more than being on a rig. Syphilis and chlamydia were definitely in the top loathing spaces, but the rig was close behind. If not for the huge child support checks and the ex-wife’s ever-hungry lawyer, he would still be in New Orleans cooking the good stuff. Instead he was preparing and cooking what he considered “slop” for a bunch of rednecks.

But the pay was nothing to sneeze at. He couldn’t afford to quit the rig. PPE was paying him a damned ransom to keep their workers’ bellies full. His sous chef, Robbie Christie, had been let go on their last deployment. The crazy bastard had kept a goddamned ham up in the ceiling tiles. Why would he do that? So he could fuck it. Drilled the core out of the damn thing and then was going to town on it every night. If not for the smell of rancid meat, he wouldn’t have been caught.

When Nutty returned from time off, the rig chief had pulled him aside and told him Christie had been fired. When he explained why, Nutty couldn’t stop laughing. He’d known Robbie was unhinged, but that was truly going off the goddamned deep end.

That’s the kind of shit that happened when you were gone from home for months at a time and then found out your wife had shacked up with your best friend. Oh, well. Christie had been good, but Otto was better.

Otto Hasford was busy chopping vegetables with impeccable skill. Nutty was impressed with the man, but not his command of English. Otto spoke only when he had a question or if you asked him one. The first few days, the only sounds in the kitchen were the gas burners, knives slapping against cutting boards, and water boiling in copper pots. That’s why zydeco was playing on the radio.

While Otto probably liked the quiet, Nutty hated it. It made his tour that much more miserable. Another three days, though, and he’d be off the damned rig and headed to town. Maybe find a nice woman at a bar, buy her a few drinks, and then make her his ham.

Nutty grinned and continued stirring the sauce. He took a plastic test spoon out and tried a little. It wasn’t quiet warm enough yet and still a little too bland. Moving to the crazed accordion on the radio, he popped off the top of his secret blend and started shaking it into the pot.

While he was focused on that, he didn’t hear Otto’s gasp. He didn’t hear the big German struggle for air as something poured itself down his throat. Amidst the sizzling of sausage and beef, he didn’t hear the crackle of dissolving flesh and bone. He knew nothing but zydeco and the hot pot until it was his turn.

#

His e-cig was burned out. Ever since the rig had tried to shake itself apart, Catfish had been puffing on the thing. Its aluminum body was hot to the touch and vapor was no longer coming out of it.

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