Soda and Steve were driving up to Evan's address in SOHO neighborhood. Soda has been here before when he first went to check out where this rock star lived. Steve hasn't been here before and was looking around. Big buildings, cobblestone streets, stores with quirky clothes in the windows. Soda took Steve with him to help him unload and carry all the ingredients and to prep too. They only had an hour and a half to prep, so he could use an extra pair of hands.
They got out of the car, loaded on the products into the cart, and rang the bell. The door was buzzed open, and they went in. There was a huge elevator and they pressed 4th floor.
When they got up to the 4th floor, Evan met them in the doorway – "Oh hi Evan," Soda greeted, pulling the cart in, followed by Steve.
"So we have a typical loft here." Evan motioned with his hand at the space behind him. The space was huge - there was a huge living room with parquet flooring. It was separated into 2 parts by some sort of an arch. There was the door to the bedroom and the stairs leading to another floor.
"Let me show you to the kitchen," Evan started walking ahead, "It's upstairs." As Evan was speaking Soda could smell liquor on his breath. The y walked upstairs, and Evan opened the glass door into the kitchen. It was huge. There was a counter in the middle, a stainless steel sink, huge refrigerator and in the second half there was a wooden table with wooden chairs around it. From the ceiling designer lamps descended in a triangle pattern.
Soda looked over at Steve, Steve looked like he was going to be sick any minute. In the meantime Evan smiled, "So what's on the menu today?" Soda collected himself, though he was not less shocked by the surroundings than Steve was, "Well, it's fried pork chops with mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy and shrimp and grits."
"Shrimp and what?" Evan looked confused. Soda chuckled in spite of himself, "You never had grits?"
"No," Evan shook his head.
"Well, there is a first time for everything."
"Ok, I'll leave you to it." Evan started walking away then turned around, "it better be good, my buddies are going to be here soon."
"How many people are we talking about?" Soda asked, while starting unloading the ingredients from the cart onto the table.
"About fifteen."
"Ok, no problem. Don't worry it will be delicious." Soda said confidently, but mentally shaking, hoping he could pull it off.
"You are fucking kidding me," Steve cursed as soon as Evan left. "This place – this is a fucking palace not a house." Soda looked at him defeat in his look. "We better start prepping," he said avoiding Steve's eyes. "We don't have much time. Can you start peeling the potatoes, and I'll start on the biscuits."
They started working in silence, then Soda spoke up, "we better not forget what we are here really for. We better watch this guy, did you smell alcohol on his breath when he was talking?" Steve nodded, "yeah, and if you ask me I dunno how he can afford a place like this, I bet those shows he plays don't pay that much."
"What are you saying?" Soda stopped pouring chicken stock into a pot and turned to face Steve.
"I'm saying that maybe he is involved in some side business," he gave Soda a meaningful look.
"You mean like trafficking kids?"
"Something like that," Steve replied.
In about an hour Evan's friends started to arrive. The food was ready. "Let the games begin," Soda mumbled under his breath. Soda started going downstairs and was met by Evan, who was walking upstairs. "Is it ready?" Evan looked expectantly at Soda.
"All ready, when do you want us to serve you?"
"Some now and some a little later. We are going to be rocking out for the rest of the night."
"Oh," was all Soda managed. He noticed that now Evan's voice was a little slurred and he was swaying a little as he walked. Jees, Soda thought, they didn't even start playing, and he's already drunk. Surprisingly Soda was not nervous anymore. Cooking calmed down his nerves and overactive personality.
He brought pork chops and mashed potatoes to the room that served as a studio. It was almost as big as the living room - there were different types of guitars, acoustic and electric hanging on the walls, a drum set, a piano and keyboards. On the coffee table in the middle there were three half empty bottles of different flavored vodka and a bottle of Captain Morgan a well as a six pack of beer. Soda tried not to show his disgust. He set the food on the table, and started leaving. "Hey," Evan called out, "bring the rest in about an hour."
"Sure," Soda replied sheepishly.
Soda went back into the kitchen. He sat down beside the table, and hung his head. "It's alright man," Steve tried to cheer him up. They heard laughter and music playing. Could this guy be a kidnapper, Soda thought.
In about an hour and a half they heard the drunken voice yell from downstairs "food please." Soda quickly plated the shrimp and grits and biscuits with gravy which were still in the pan so they wouldn't get cold and went downstairs. He proceeded to put the plates on the table. Evan put the guitar aside, and walked up to him. He was chewing on a shrimp. "Man, this is delicious, I'm so glad I found you." Soda didn't know what to say, so he just kept quiet.
Then Soda's gaze fell on the corner of the room, where there were four people sitting in a circle, sniffing on a white powder. Shit, Soda thought, drugs are expensive this is our guy.
Evan followed Soda's gaze, "you want to sniff some coke? Free of charge, you sure deserve it." Soda was shocked. Finally he found his ability to speak, "thanks, but I'm going to pass."
"Suit yourself," Evan replied, biting on another shrimp.
Soda was back in the kitchen. "He's fucking sniffing cocaine," Soda blurted out. Steve's eyes widened, "that shit costs a lot of money." Soda nodded. "I think we got our guy," he said after a pause. Then he looked up at Steve, and it didn't escape Steve how there was a tear in his eye. "I wonder what Johnny is doing now. If they hurt him I'll kill them with my own two hands." Steve sighed, he had nothing to add to this. He felt the same way.
By midnight they had served dessert – banana pudding, and were ready to go back. Evan was totally drunk and high, but at least he was a friendly drunk. Some people turn mean when they are drunk, but Evan was friendly. Soda and Steve got paid $500.
By 1:30 a.m. Soda and Steve were back at their room. No one was sleeping. They were sitting in a poorly lit room, waiting up for Soda and Steve. There was unfinished pizza on the coffee table. "So?" Dal looked up at Soda.
"I'm exhausted," Soda replied, plopping into an arm chair, "and starving," Steve added, "we were cooking for the bastards, but didn't have a bite of food ourselves."
"So?" Dal asked again, "did you find out anything that can lead to finding Johnny?"
"The guy is loaded," Soda said, while chewing on his pizza.
"Yeah," Steve nodded. "His place is a fucking palace."
"Did you find out anything," Pony interrupted, and there was impatience in his voice.
"Not about Johnny," Soda said as if apologizing, "but we wonder where he gets the money from. He was fucking sniffing cocaine, that costs a lot of money. He doesn't have a day job, and just playing gigs - that doesn't pay much. So we think there is a good chance that he is the one who took Johnny."
"You mean you think he sells kids for money?" two-bit said confused. Soda nodded.
"What about you?" Steve asked Dallas and Pony.
"I went to the bastard's house, it's all upper class," Dallas furrowed his eyebrows, "It's gated and there is a guard. So I had to fucking pay the guard off to let me in. He has kids working on his yard but there was no sight of Johnny anywhere."
"What about you Pon?" Soda turned to face him. Pony shrugged, "I actually really enjoyed my class. The teacher is into poetry," Dallas couldn't resist and rolled his eyes. "He is a Vietnam vet and he seems to really care about his students. He hosts poetry readings at this house. So, I'll be able to, as Dally put it, snoop around."
Soda sighed, "I wish we didn't have to wait the whole week. You know what can happen to Johnny in a whole week." Soda looked sick as he was saying that.
"Yeah," Pony looked down, "but I really think this guy is innocent."
"We should try and get some sleep," Soda said, getting up from the couch.
"Yeah, that's gonna happen," two-bit chuckled. Pony smiled, "I had so much Pepsi I'm not going to fall asleep." Soda ruffled his hair – "you and your Pepsi."
They never did go to sleep. They kept talking exchanging information, thinking what could've happened to Johnny.