Do You Want Fries With That? (2235 words)

 

From Jan. 15 Odd Prompts https://moreoddsthanends.home.blog/2020/01/15/week-3-of-odd-prompts/

Do You Want Fries With That? (2235 words)

By Mike Barker

The ad on the net sounded good. In-house chef, some experience desirable, but they didn't seem to be looking for one of the ritzy schools or anything like that. The fast food cooking probably wouldn't count, but I'll bet the diner would. Military experience a bonus? Well, as an intern in the dormitory cafeteria, dealing with the undergrads at college wasn't quite military, but pretty close, right? And I had spent time at the Pentagon, which is about as military as it gets. Although I wasn't military, just a cook. 

In-house? They must have their own cafeteria or something. For an active investigations organization? Must be private eyes or something like that, I guess. So, let's fill in the form and see what happens.

I just barely got the form filled in and hit submit, and they offered me several times to come for an interview. I guess they really were serious. So I selected the soonest possible, wrote down the address, and looked over my… You couldn't call it my wardrobe. My clothes. I finally went with whites, white slacks that were a bit dingy and awfully close to jeans with a white shirt. It wasn't quite the all white outfit of a chef, but it gave the impression of clean and willing to work, I hoped.

A little poking on the net showed me that I could get pretty close on a bus. So I hopped on the bus, changed once, and rode near the address they had given me. It was in one of those sections that is all industrial warehouses. The address was one of the warehouses that actually took up two blocks. What should've been a street splitting the warehouse just wasn't there. I wondered if they shared the space with other organizations, and if I would be supposed to cook for them, too. I'll find out.

I walked up the concrete steps and pushed the button beside the steel door. After a moment, a voice asked, "Yes?"

I looked around, and then spoke into the grill beside the button. "Hello? I'm Gil Sanderson, I've got an appointment for an interview?"

I heard some keys clicking, and then the voice said, "Yes, I see your appointment here. Please have your ID ready, and come in the door."

Something inside the door clicked twice, and then the door swung back. The hallway inside looked like every industrial hallway in the world, painted in that same dull gray.

I walked in, and the door swung shut behind me. I heard the locks snap back into place.

Then a door near me opened, and the voice called out, "Come in here."

I walked inside, and found myself in a small room with a counter and a glass window. Behind the window, a man waved towards me. I walked forward, and he said, "Can I see your identification?"

I lifted my drivers license up. He looked it over carefully through the glass, glancing back and forth between it and me.

"How old did you say you are?"

I shook my head. "27. Just like it says on my license."

He chuckled. "Good for you. All right, Mr. Sanderson. Your interview is in room C-329. Let me give you a map, and you can head up there now."

He pulled out a paper map, pointed to something on it, and circled it with a highlighter. Then he slid it under the window glass. As I picked up the map, my hand touched the metal counter. Lights along the edge of the window lit up, all white. I jerked back. It surprised me a little bit.

He nodded and said, "Don't worry about that. It does that all the time."

I looked at the map, and saw it was mostly blacked out space. There was one door marked entrance, which obviously was where I came in. Nearby, one small office was labeled ID. That must be where I was now. So, go straight up this hallway, take a right, oh, that's a stairway, then another right, along a hallway, and another small office labeled C-329 with a yellow circle around it. Most of the map was just blacked out, though. Well, it should be easy to find.

"Just right along here, and then up the stairs. The 300s are all on the third floor, and the hallways are labeled A, B, C, D. C-329 is in hallway C. Go straight there. I don't think you can get lost, but if you do, just stop and wait a minute, security will be along soon to show you where to go."

Then he handed me a badge. But it was an oddly thick plastic badge, with a beaded string to hang around your neck. 

"You'll want to wear that while you're here. Don't forget to give it back on the way out, you'll come right back by here."

I put it on. Bright yellow, and kind of heavy. I'd be willing to bet there was more than just plastic in it. I looked at him, and realized he was wearing a similar badge, but his was white.

"Go on now, you don't want to be late for the interview."

He went back and sat down.

I looked at the map and followed directions. The stairway was industrial steel and concrete block, painted blue. On the third floor, the door opened into a hallway, I took a right, and there was hallway C. Someone had painted green ivy on the grey walls in this hall. It wasn't too big a change, but it did add a little bit of humanity.

I knocked on C- 329. Someone called out, "Come in, the door is open."

I pushed the door open, with my hand on the metal panel. As I stepped in, a light beside the door flashed white for a moment.

The man behind the desk smiled, and said, "Don't mind that. You must be Gil Sanderson."

He stood up, and stretched his hand out. I stepped forward and shook his hand. Then I looked back at the doorway.

"The guy at the entrance had a light like that, too."

The man sat down and said, "Well, yes. There's a reason, and if you come to work for us, I can explain."

Then he shuffled papers on his desk and said, "Can I call you Gil? According to this, you haven't had military experience. But… Your father did?"

They had checked up on my father? That was surprising.

I nodded. "Yes. Dad was in the military for quite a while. And I suppose some of that may have rubbed off on me."

"The reason I ask is, do you understand security?"

Oh. They probably did check up on my father.

"I don't think my EBI is active, but I have had one. And if you're asking if I understand clearances and so forth, yes. You probably know when I was working at the Pentagon food service, we all had clearances."

Now he smiled.

"Yes! That is going to be important if you want to work with us. Let me tell you a little bit about the job."

He spent a while explaining that they wanted someone to do cooking, both for staff that would be coming in to eat and to make up meals-to-go, like you might provide for airplanes. They had some kitchen staff, but they wanted a chef. He emphasized that the staff that would be eating might be coming in at all hours, not really at regular meal times, and I would need to be ready to cook up something on call, almost. Kind of like the diner, I guessed. Okay, I can deal with that.

Then he explained that they tried to have a chef on-site 24 by 7, so I'd be working shifts. Well, that sounded like some of the other jobs I'd had. And as the most recent hire, I'll bet I'd be getting some of the worst shifts. Probably weekends too. But... oh, wait, evenings and weekends get a bonus? Overtime pay, too. Nice. Even the base pay was really good.

It sounded almost like a dream job to me. Meals to go wouldn't really be a problem, you just had to plan for them. But especially after he mentioned clearances and everything, I noticed that he never really said what kind of work they did.

"All right. The kitchen and the cooking sounds like a really nice job, frankly. But what does this have to do with active investigations? I mean, is that private eye kind of investigations? Or are you guys engineers or something? Who are you, anyway?"

The man rubbed his chin.

"Actually, I can't tell you exactly unless you're willing to sign this."

He slid an NDA across the desk. I had seen them before, and looked this one over. If I signed it, I agreed not to disclose the information he would be telling me. The odd thing about it was that it mentioned Federal prosecution if I broke it, but... What the heck, I wasn't going to argue with a little job secrecy. I signed, and he signed under mine. 

Then he leaned back and said, "Well, to tell you the truth… We are a monster hunting organization."

I chuckled.

"Oh, you mean you're like one of these groups that tries to find Bigfoot? Looking for the aliens? What kind of monsters do you look for?"

Now he shook his head.

"No. We are the actual monster hunters. I suspect you may have trouble believing it, but there are real monsters in the world. We are a secret organization that hunts down and controls monsters."

"Maybe we should get back to cooking. You really want me to believe there are monsters out there, and you kill them?"

He leaned forward. He looked at his desk for a minute, then reached over and pressed a button on his intercom. "Henry, can you come in for a minute?"

He looked back at me and said, "There are monsters. We don't always kill them."

The door behind me swung open, and I turned my head. Then I blinked, and my jaw fell open.

The hairy pile that had shambled through the doorway extruded several eyeballs, that blinked at me. A voice came from somewhere in that… monster?

"So this is the new cook? Do you think he can do shoggoth right?"

The man chuckled. "We haven't talked about delicacies yet, but I'm sure he'd be willing to try. Thanks, Henry."

"What did I do?"

"Well, he didn't believe in monsters, and Henry, you are one of the best examples I know."

"Just remember, I like my shoggoth medium rare, not well-done. I don't know why that last guy couldn't get it right."

Then it pulled its eyes back in, turned, and shambled out. The door shut behind it. 

After a moment, I realized the light on the side of the door was blinking green.

I thought about it, then pointed at the light.

"That... when I came in, it flashed white. When Henry came in, it turned green?"

The man smiled. "Very good. We have monster detectors scattered throughout the building. Normal humans, like you, get a white light. Several friendly species get a green light. If the light flashes red... just hit the deck, okay? Security will deal with it."

Now I chewed on my lip. "Let me ask you something."

He shrugged.

"What happened to the last chef you had? The guy who couldn't fix shoggoth right?"

He took a deep breath. 

"Actually, he decided that he wanted out. So now he's in the Bahamas, doing luaus for tourists."

"Okay. That doesn't sound so bad. You've got a retirement plan. And you pay well. So what's wrong with this job?"

Now he grimaced.

"You're already past the big hurdle. To work here, you have to believe in monsters, and Henry helps a lot with that. But... you're going to be working with monsters, and feeding them. Also, well, frankly, our workers are pretty rugged sometimes. If you're looking for a dainty bunch, this is the wrong place to work."

I looked at my hands. They were shaking just a little bit. I mean, Henry the walking haystack was a shock. But... the pay he had mentioned was good. The kitchen couldn't be worse than the fast food place I had just walked out of because I refused to fight off the cockroaches any more. And I had rent due, darn it.

"I'll take the job. Where do I sign?"

He chuckled. "Oh, just wait. HR has a stack of papers for you to fill in, and the company doc likes to poke everyone who gets hired. Still, congratulations, Gil. You're hired."

He stood up and stuck his hand out again. As I shook it, I wondered, "Um, did you ever tell me your name?"

This time he laughed. "I wondered if you were going to ask. You probably won't believe it, but... I'm Satan. John Satan, to be exact. And yes, it's my real name. But I don't have horns, red skin, or a trident to poke you with. Even if I do get to invite you to take the road that's paved with good intentions."

It took me a moment, then I chuckled. "That's pretty good. I'm glad I met you, Mr. Satan."

"Just call me John."

The end of the beginning...