Chapter Nine
Chip Shop, Brooklyn, New York
April 8th, 2000, 11:29 a.m.
"Yeah, I know Drew and Angela Robinson. They look like Richard Gere and Jodie Foster," the owner admitted to Mulder and Scully while they were again eating. "My brother owns a newspaper stand on the same block where their restaurant is. He thinks it's some kind of odor they have in the restaurant."
When both agents gave him quizzical expressions, he went on.
"You know--that incense? I think they burn it like there's no tomorrow."
"As far as I know, there are no toxic fumes from incense sticks or wax. Otherwise, they wouldn't be sold," Scully stated.
"Where's the truth in that? They sell Diet Coke and when that stuff gets to room temperature, it's deadly."
"How does one inhale Diet Coke?" Mulder wondered. "And have you met them?"
"Mr. Muldron, I operate outta Brooklyn. I don't go across the G.W. bridge except maybe once every two weeks to see my brother."
"I'll take that as a no," Scully insinuated. "When was the last time you had a USPH inspection?"
"A couple of months ago," he shrugged. "Why?"
"I found a nice big strand of blonde hair in my French toast. I'd suggest the utilization of hair nets--or a more stringent enforcement of the rule," she said, repulsed, and showed it to him before flinging it to the floor.
"I think the bacon needs to be a little crispier," Mulder pointed to his plate. Scully threw him an exasperated grimace and tapped his foot with hers.
"Are you reviewing this restaurant in your column next week or am I, Muldron?"
"I was just trying to offer some assistance to this guy."
"You two must be married," the owner laughed and shook his head.
"What?" Mulder cried.
"You argue like there's no tomorrow...and there's nobody that can piss a man off more than his wife." Scully cleared her throat and directed his attention to her vacant left fourth finger. "Sorry, I was wrong. You're thinking about it, aren't you?"
"I'm thinking about putting this restaurant on my 'B' list," she responded and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "I've also been watching how your servers attend your customers. That woman over there has been pleading for some more coffee for the last ten minutes."
"Hey, Serina! Get your ass out here! Somebody wants some more coffee!" He yelled and jerked his thumb behind himself. "Anything else you want?"
"No, I think we're done," Mulder shook his head and they arose. "There's some room for improvement here, but thanks for the information."
I think I could run a better restaurant, Mulder thought.
"Wait a second. What're you saying?"
"Your restaurant is on the borderline of sucking ass. I don't even want to know what the galley looks like," Scully finished and slid into her coat. "And I'm going to write just as much in my column, if not more."
"Fine. See if I care," he huffed and left them.
"Just what was that phone call about, dear Scullet?" Mulder questioned her as they walked outside.
"Which one? Oh, the Cooking Light call. Yeah, it was the FBI lab tech with the toxicology results."
"And?"
"Well, he found an organic liquid in both stomachs. But he's not quite sure of what it is. He was running searches throughout an index last night, which is why it took him a while to get back to me."
"What about a complex processed mixture?"
"A powder? That's possible--the stomach does ingest all consumed energy with the help of enzymes also located in the mouth."
"What if there's a spice that they use that comes only from their planet that causes this chaos? What do you say to that?"
"I'd say that we should exhaust all earthly possibilities before stretching to the stars, Muldron."
"Is that what our dear Agent Ritter is doing right now?"
"Although it's not his field of expertise, I could have him assist the lab technician." When Mulder agreed, she dug her cell phone from out of her pocket, and they strolled down the stairs to the subway station.
Daisy May's BBQ USA, Midtown West, New York
April 8th, 2000, 3:19 p.m.
"I'm sorry about that Chip Shop, Scully. That guy really was an asshole," Mulder apologized as they meandered their way around the corner from the subway station. "Food sucked, too. But, to make it up to you, I'll buy you lunch here."
"Where? Mulder, this street is filled with nothing but auto repair shops and lumberyards."
"O ye of little faith, Scully." Mulder pointed straight ahead. He again guided her down the sidewalk with a firm hand pressed into the small of her back, and she was glad that the temperature had warmed up. "Now mind you, we're not going to do any critiquing here, but I am going to ask the owner some questions about Drew and Angela."
"That's fine with me--I could do of a bit of a break from work."
"I was thinking about discussing the case in further depth, actually." Just as she was going to berate him further, he stopped in front of the restaurant and held the door open for her.
"Mulder, barbecue. Oh, it's going to take me weeks to lose this weight!" she cursed and went inside.
"Scully, you are going to indulge yourself. You've been eating far too many garden salads for my liking. Now tell me that you wouldn't throw out a nice crisp Greek salad in a heartbeat for a chance to get some freshly smoked baby-back ribs." For your liking? Since when have you a right to govern my eating habits, Mulder?
Scully did have to admit to herself that he was right--baby-back ribs with a few dashes of Louisiana hot sauce and of course barbecue sauce was her idea of Heaven on a plate.
She let his comments slide and let him pull out her chair for her once they were told where to sit. Scully commenced to browse her laminated menu when a college aged lumberjack walked up to them. "What can I get for ya?" their waiter asked and took out a notebook from his waist apron. The Indian red flannel shirt he wore must have been part of the uniform; several other servers hustling around had the same piece of clothing. Either that, or she had missed some kind of new fad in New York City. His stonewall blue jeans were hugging him in all the right places, too.
"I'll have some iced tea, non-sweetened, of course," Mulder announced.
"And for you, ma'am?" One eye was keeping a watch on the menu--the other, well...it was wandering around where it probably should not have been.
"Scully?"
"Ah...Diet Coke, please." She glanced upward to make eye contact with him and smiled apathetically. He made sure Mulder's eyes were back on her menu before giving her a slight wink and spun around.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Mulder's lips were in a disapproving pout. Scully went back to her carte as well.
"What?"
"Diet Coke? Come on, Scully. Live a little."
"Now you're one to talk," she grunted. "Mr. Cup o' Soup."
"This pulled pork sandwich looks great. Baked beans, corn on the cob in Cheddar cheese, corn bread. Wow. Scully, do you know how long it's been since I've been to a real barbecue?"
"How long?"
"The last one I went to was in 1990 at the VCS picnic. I think it was at Reggie's house."
"Mulder, Ballpark hot dogs and half pound burgers over a broiler don't count as a barbecue."
"Sure they do. You just add a little sauce, that's all."
"No, you have to have an open flamed pit over charcoal. That's where the real smoky flavor comes from."
"Since when do you know so much about barbecues?"
"Remind me next time we have 'movie night' to bring over Fried Green Tomatoes."
"Aww, Scully, not another chick flick."
"You'll like it, Mulder. It's got both a murder and cannibalism in it."
"Cannibalism, eh? Maybe that does sound like my kind of--how long have you been standing there?" Mulder put down his menu as their attendant hovered over them.
"Long enough to hear your little 'domestic dispute'," he admitted with an air of disapprobation. "What'll we be having?"
"The Kansas City King Platter, and my two sides will be the baked beans and corn bread."
"Do you fancy your corn bread Northern or Southern style?"
"What?"
"I think he meant to ask you if you want your corn bread sweet or not," Scully replied.
"Oh. Sweet, please."
"Ma'am?"
"The half slab baby-back ribs. I'll just have one side dish: the coleslaw, please."
"We'd also like to speak with the owner, if he's in today," Mulder began. "We're with the-"
"We'd just like to know a little bit about the area restaurants, if he's available. Some acquaintances of ours run one, and we'd appreciate it if he could take the time to speak with us about it," Scully intercepted him just before he could blow their cover.
"Hmm. I'll go talk to the manager and see if he's in after I place your orders," the server acknowledged their petition.
"Is there a reason why you interrupted me, Scully?" Mulder finally inquired after the waiter was long out of earshot.
"Yes. You were about to expose us. And it's Scullet, by the way."
"We're not doing any reviewing now, Scullet," he growled and put an emphasis on her alias.
"That's no reason for us to sit here and talk so openly about our undercover work, especially since our aliases are out in the open."
"Didn't you say that nobody reads those culinary newsletters?"
"I said that...never mind what I said, Muldron. Word of mouth still travels faster than any email or literary publication, and believe it or not, these proprietors do speak with one another, unless they harbor grudges."
"I find that hard to swallow."
"Well, just know that in the world of food, it is possible for one owner to go over to his/her competitor across the street and converse about business over a cup of coffee. It'd be like working on the bull pen floor again."
"That's a rather double edged retort coming from you. Are you that desperate to be working up there? I could file the paperwork on Monday if that's true."
"Damnit, Mulder, you've got this way of twisting practically everything I say into an insult towards you, and it really pisses me off! No, I don't want to work up there with anyone else! I'd much rather be stuck in a cramped room in the basement with five of you than in a comfortable office with five of them. It hurts me that you still think that because I'm not constantly on the same wavelength with you that I'm your enemy."
"You're right, I'm sorry. I was being selfish." He added a few packets of sugar into his iced tea and stirred it around in the glass with the long handled teaspoon given. "Hey, what was your cell phone call about? The Cooking Light one, to be specific?"
"We found some traces of mescaline trimethoxy phenethylamine in both of their systems, as a matter of fact. Well, okay, actually, it's not technically mescaline...-"
"Then what is it?"
"Well, he wasn't sure. The chemical analysis machine printed out results that said mescaline trimethoxy phenethylamine. However, when the chemist looked at the mixture, there were more complicated structures attached to them. He gave me the break-down over the phone, but unfortunately, I need to see the organic compounds myself to get the full picture. He's going to do some more testing and research on the DEA's list of alkaloids, but he might not find anything. I'll go over to the lab tomorrow morning and see if I can be of any help to the poor guy. He sounded completely excited but perplexed at the same time."
"Hmm. I get the same reaction when I mix raisins in with my sunflower seeds."
"I've never seen you eat raisins with your seeds before."
"I don't do it too often, Scully. In fact, I don't think I've done it since Diana moved out of my apartment."
"Well, that was a while ago. Why would she have any influence over what you eat?"
"Scully, er...Scullet, every woman in my life has had some kind of influence over what I eat, albeit big or small." He patted himself over his heart theatrically. "Of course whether I listened to her or not is entirely a different matter."
There's a big surprise.
"Hey, Scullet, what about that theory I told you earlier?"
"Refresh my memory, please. There have been so many in the past twenty-four hours that I think I may be suffering from short term memory loss."
"The one where it's a particular spice that might be the catalyst in this caper. Yes, my pun was fully intended, by the way."
"Are you suggesting that Drew and Angela are adding some kind of kick to their food that's causing the entire population of New York to go nuts and ultimately, prone to kill themselves?"
"Not all the inhabitants, Scullet, just the ones that commune at Narcissus' Ochroid Patella." His foot began to tap restlessly, and the table shook a couple of times after he accidentally banged his knee against the pole.
"What's the matter, Muldron? Did your foot fall asleep again?"
"No. I'm waiting for the rebuttal."
"I've none to give you, as a matter of fact." Their food arrived, and Scully's eyes grew as large as saucers when she saw the huge rack of ribs placed in front of Mulder. They stayed just as huge when she noticed the waiter tie a "King of the Ribs" bib around his neck and continue to put plates on the table.
"This is Mr. Adam Perry Lang, owner of Daisy May's BBQ USA," the server declared with a showy waive and bowed upon his exit. Lang was a stocky and heavy-set man in his early thirties. He sported a New York Knicks sweatshirt over a white crew neck t-shirt, a pair of Knicks basketball shorts, and a Knicks baseball cap to match. He motioned to Mulder's bib and grinned knowingly.
"A man who loves his ribs is a man after my own heart," Lang chuckled. "What can I do for you, sir?"
"My name's Muldron, and this is Valerie Scullet. We were just wondering about some of the restaurants around the area...we're going to Niagara Falls for a vacation eventually, but...we had a specific one in mind. If you wouldn't mind telling us a bit about it, we'll tell all of our friends back at home in D.C. that this is only good place to stop in New York for a decent rack of ribs. Believe me, we know a lot of people."
"I'll be happy to tell you anything about any of my friends in the area," Lang nodded. "Which one?"
"Naricuss' Ochroid Patella." Lang's grin turned into a scowl.
"Are you cops?"
"No. We're just looking into some place good to eat."
"Then you'd better head straight to Niagara Falls for your honeymoon or whatever."
"Why's that?" Scully jumped in.
"It isn't a good place to eat. They got problems."
"Rat infestations, uncleanliness, faulty plumbing..." As she listed a few problems, Lang eyed her suspiciously.
"Could be. All I know is that lots of people are either dying or feeling like they're about to," he remarked. "And they're aliens," he said in a hushed tone.
"What?" Scully pretended to be overtly incredulous, but in truth, she was still skeptical of that possibility.
"I said those are aliens running that restaurant."
"How can you be so sure?" Mulder questioned him.
"I've met them before. They're way too nice and kind to be a happily married human couple."
"So this is a hunch, right?" Mulder probed.
"Look. All I gotta say is that a mother knows her kids, right? Well, I'm a full human being, and I know that they ain't no humans."
"A full human being? What creature isn't that's walking on two legs around this city?" Scully wondered.
"You'd be surprised, lady. Didn't you ever see Men in-"
"Nope, never have, never will," Mulder finished for her. "That was just a movie, anyway."
"You should be more open minded, Mr. Muldron. But like I said, don't go eat there. You're looking for trouble. Didn't you hear about that truck driver that hit the Rockette two days ago?"
"Well actually-" Scully began, but Mulder cut her off.
"No, we didn't. What happened?"
"She got run over by him, and he hydroplaned into a street light. Both were dead on impact." He slammed his fist into the palm of his head for the effect. "The police are saying that she wasn't paying attention to traffic, and that he was on drugs. But so far, nobody's listened to the other Rockette that was with her. She's got a whole different story. The driver had a spotless record of drug tests--never failed one, and he'd been working with Budweiser for over fifteen years. Since both of 'em died just during lunch hour, if I were a cop, I'd check to see where they ate--not that I'd be surprised."
"Who's the other Rockette?"
"No clue. Why's it matter to just a couple of tourists?"
"Uh, no reason," Mulder responded and refused to meet a very irate Scully's eyes.
"Right. Okay, then, enjoy your lunch," Lang remarked and left. "Gotta be either be spooks, G-people, or worse...oh, no...well...it ain't my restaurant that's gonna be going to Hell."