Chapter Three
The X-Files' Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
April 14th, 2000, 8:45 a.m.
"But you eventually did end up on that airplane to New York, I see," Agent Short broke in. "And I see that you have two first class tickets booked here."
"It said 'business class' on the Internet. And there were no other seats available on that flight. Besides, we were doing business, weren't we?" Short gave him an unreadable expression, but Mulder gathered that it represented nothing but dismay and hostility.
Somewhere between Washington, D.C. and New York City
April 7th, 2000, 1:49 p.m.
"Food critics, Mulder? I can't even begin to comprehend the reasoning behind that one," Scully remarked and started to highlight The Magic Bullet's front page story. She looked rather comfortable, Mulder thought. Her attire had changed from the morning typical business suit into a simple button-down, olive green cardigan and a pair of khaki slacks. He had to admit to himself that he loved that sweater for one reason only; the very low neckline. And God help him, a few more buttons were undone more than were necessary.
Does she do it to drive me crazy or is it an unconscious whim?
"I think it makes sense. The aliens own a restaurant," Mulder replied to let her know that he was still in the same dimension. "We'll be able to check it out thoroughly from top to bottom."
"Yeah, but you know next to nothing about gourmet food. Wouldn't it have been better to go as FDA agents or USPH representatives considering your background?"
"That's...a...provoking thought, Agent Scully. But I just didn't think that it would have been as exciting to pose as government agents. Remember when I asked you if you could be someone else for a day?"
"Uh-huh," she nodded, her head plunged into her work, "and my answer would still be the same."
"Quite a bit of time has passed. A lot of things have changed since then."
"It was just three years ago, Mulder." Scully glanced up momentarily at him with a furrowed eyebrow and pushed her reading glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. "So who writes all these articles anyway? Is it only the work of our three stooges, or do more people contribute to this rubbish?"
"A handful of others also write for the Gunmen from time to time. Frohike even has a website that lists several methods of control the government utilizes with computers at home and how to prevent them."
"Ah, I see. Helpful hints for hunting down the latest conspiracy in your inbox."
"Why do you think so many people own PC or IBM compatibles? Bill Gates made a deal with the FCC to let him advertise-"
"I'm not interested, Mulder," she barked. "All right--I'm reading here that the proprietors are named Drew and Angela Robinson. A married couple owning a restaurant...there would be definitely be some lovely topics to converse over before bed."
"What else do you surmise from that report?"
"Gee, Mulder...it makes me start to think...if they really are aliens, which species would they represent? The Gray Reticulans? The black oil? The bounty hunters that can transmogrify into human forms?"
"Maybe we'll discover a new type from another planet."
"I don't know. This article looks like it's been cut and pasted several times. These so-called witnesses and/or reliable sources are just hearsay from people on the street. I've never read an article with so many 'ifs, buts, perhaps, possibly, or maybes' to corroborate them to factual hardcore statistics."
"Well, the Lone Gunmen don't claim to be scientists, Agent Scully. Might I suggest that we take these various statements one by one and find out if they're true?"
"Oh, they're all true, Mulder. You meant that we're to look for the facts."
"Of course," he nodded humbly.
"I see that the restaurant is named Narcissus' Ochroid Patella."
"They must serve some exotic food then."
"Mulder, what's so exotic about a kneecap?"
"I'm sorry...I don't-"
"The patella is the human kneecap. I'm surprised that Drew and Angela have managed a successful business with such a vapid name like that."
"Excuse me, sir, ma'am...would you guys like something to drink?" a flight attendant asked sweetly with a wanton smile at Mulder. Scully's eyes narrowed as she studied the woman dubiously.
"Two coffees. One black with sugar, the other, no sugar, but with cream," she answered tout de suite.
"Well, I can guess who runs the household," the attendant quipped. Mulder observed the daggers coming from Scully's eyes and handed her the coffee as quickly as he could. Instead of gaping at the flight attendant's derriere as usual, he returned his attention to Scully.
"I remembered our deal, Agent," he told her. "Did that satisfy you?"
"Which one?" She brushed her hair behind her ear and blew on the steaming hot coffee.
"The one where you picked the names for going undercover."
"Oh, yeah."
"Well...have you chosen them yet?"
"Why is it so necessary for you to know right away?" Scully sipped her coffee and continued reading The Magic Bullet.
"The Lone Gunmen have agreed to put our names and faces in a couple of well to-do cuisine magazines to help us bolster our reputation as food critics."
"First of all, they're called culinary newsletters, and second of all, why should I have to prove my reputation to anyone?"
"You don't really need to prove your reputation, Agent Scully, it's just to assist the owners to know who we are."
"And that's assuming that they actually read the damn things."
"I think it would be most prudent if-"
"Fine," she cut him off, wrote on an advertisement, and showed it to him.
"Sounds like you enjoyed the plane ride, Agent Mulder. Ah, let's see, what's next on the expense list...hmm..." The auditor's lip quivered and pursed. "A one week lease for a lavish penthouse suite. Explain, Mr. Mulder, why the taxpayer's dollars are going towards a posh New York penthouse suite."
"Well, we're supposed to be food critics, right?"
"That's what I gathered from your narrative so far, yes." He switched the position of his legs and re-adjusted his portfolio as well on his lap.
"Well, taste critics don't live in dinky apartments like messenger bikers do."
"There are plenty of well-to do people that reside in small apartments in New York, Agent Mulder."
"That's not necessarily true with what I was reading in the cuisine magazine."
"I think you mean culinary newsletter." Short gazed down at the list just as Mulder shot him a fierce glare.
Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
April 14th, 2000, 8:55 a.m.
"So you went to New York because Mulder said that two aliens were terrorizing its citizens under the hospices of a restaurant?" Skinner prodded Scully.
"We went because we wanted to be sure that the truck driver and Rockette actually did die from the accident and nothing more."
"I see. We'll get to more of that later. Now about these plane tickets..."
"Yes, I know that they were first class, and I apologize for that, sir. Agent Mulder was most insistent upon catching the first flight out to New York. And the only thing he could find at the last minute were those two seats."
"You are to travel in the economy class, Agent. The federal government cannot support such luxuries."
"I did try to convince him to take a later flight. But you can see where that got me."
"Yes."
"I sometimes liken Agent Mulder's persistence to that of an obstinate bull. If you corner him, he becomes angry. If you prove him incorrect, he'll just go around you or--"
"Become a complete pain in the ass. I know, Scully. Mule-headed is an understatement. Perhaps the new catch twenty-two should be 'Mulder-headed'."
Somewhere between Washington, D.C. and New York City
April 7th, 2000, 1:49 p.m.
"I like having these complimentary beverages, Scully. We should go first class more often," Mulder raised his Jack and coke a little higher to inspect the ratio of alcohol and mixer.
"We really shouldn't be going first class at all, Mulder. Skinner's going to flip."
"Then I'll tell him where I got the big discount--you should have seen the tickets' price before."
"Somehow, I don't think that's going to soften the blow," she sipped her water and set it down beside the X-File folder on her tray table.
"Okay, what does he like to drink?"
"Forget about Skinner for now. The important thing is for you to receive your crash course in gourmet food 101. We have," she glanced at her watch, "less than two hours. Maybe you'd better put the drink down."
"What is this, school? It's just one drink, Scully. You know I'm not an alcoholic."
"Fine, it's just that I thought it'd be best for you to be alert."
"Actually, I prefer to be relaxed...and entertained," he muttered the last word, but Scully heard him. She quickly caught where his gaze had been fixed and crossed her arms across her chest. "I know you're just bursting with excitement about this case, Scully, which is why I thought we should be food critics. We need to lighten up our lives a little."
"What about that genie investigation? The ending wasn't that tragic, was it?"
"True, and it gave me a little more insight into the life of the 'enigmatic Dr. Scully,'" he threw up his fingers into quotation marks. That earned him the privilege of watching her eyebrow incline. "I didn't think you were a beer drinker, that's all."
"I'll admit that beer would probably not be my first drink of choice, but I get a hankering for it every now and then."
"You're starting to talk like me. I'm trying to decide if that's a good thing."
"Okay. First, we're going to go over cutlery and flatware. Then if you're good, we'll delve back into that wonderful world of alcohol." She flipped the table back up, handed him her water, and reached for the carry-on bag in front of her seat. After finding the book she desired, Scully restored the bag as well as the tray table, and collected her plastic cup again.
"One more question before we start, Scully."
"Yes?"
"You mentioned a few months ago something about a Sister Spooky."
"I had other teachers at that school, too, you know, Mulder."
"So I gather. But did she leave you with any nun inflicted scars? Because I just wanted to make sure that you weren't going to be pulling a ruler out of that bag anytime soon and be using it freely."
"There are no rulers of any sort inside that bag, Agent Mulder. However, my gun does happen to reside there, and if I catch your eyes wandering again like that, I have no qualms about using it."
"Fair enough, Sister Scully."
"This is a butter knife. I think you can discern for yourself what it's used for--it also can be classified a spreader. This is a salad fork. As you can see, it is quite diminutive in comparison with the luncheon, place, and dinner forks. The smaller the fork, the farther it is placed from the left side of the plate."
"Why is that?"
"Because it looks more aesthetically pleasing."
"Well not at my dinner table, it won't be. Ooh. I just got chills when you said that," he shivered.
"This is a teaspoon, not to be confused with the slightly larger soup spoon."
"Is that what they're used for? I kept on forgetting," he gave her a jovial beam.
"I've seen you eat with the wrong spoon before, Mulder. That's why I said that."
"Me? I would never do such a thing." The grimace on her face told him otherwise. "When? Name a time and place that's occurred."
"Three days ago, in St. Louis. You were eating your shrimp gumbo soup with a teaspoon at the airport."
"Mmm...that soup was good. Ever been to New Orleans? I went there once just to work on a case years ago, back when I was with Violent Crimes. The Cajun recipes there are to die for."
"No, can't say that I have. Maybe, one day, I'll go to Mardi Gras."
"Is that a future vacation reserved only for one person?" Her expression remained wistful for a few lingering moments.
"Maybe I'll take my mother." The smile from his face faded, and she snorted subtly through her nose. "Play your cards right with this case, Mulder, and we'll see."
Vacation with Mulder? Dana Katherine Scully, there happens to be a reason why you need vacation time. And he's sitting right next to you.