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Scene 2 cont: Brightbight's Bites, Dreg City office and kitchens.

The caterer prepares for Marshall Prescott's party.

The Khaki Avenger? At the party last night? They should be so lucky to get that kind of publicity.

“No. At least, I don’t think he was there,” said Lu C to Detective Phillips, looking over at Sandi who was perched precariously on the edge of an unused desk.

“He wasn’t on the invitation list,” added Sandi unnecessarily.

“Like he could prevent food poisoning?” Renfrue laughed, trying to share the joke with his partner, Detective Phillips. She ignored him.

“You think he’s going to apply for the job of the mayor’s food taster next?” He guffawed, like the boor he was. “Ah! the good old Roman days. Prevent the Emperor from keeling over by having a slave taste the dishes first.”

“I only meant that if he were there,” Sabrina Phillips broke in, “he would have had an idea ahead of time that something was going to happen. That’s all,” she added lamely.

Renfrue was of the opinion, she knew, that the Khaki Avenger was a self-aggrandizing fraud, an opinion shared by most of the Technopolis Police Department. Sabrina wasn’t so sure they were right. He did seem to have a more realistic take on crime in this supposed “crimeless” city and certainly knew ahead of time what was going to happen and where.

Renfrue walked into the kitchen and looked around.

"Not bad,” Renfrue said. “Looks clean.”

He went to one of the refrigerators, but thought better of opening it. He didn't know Lu C that well. Instead, he said, “We got the official report from forensics. No trace of toxic substances in the food last night. It happened somewhere else, not from your appetizers. You can stay open.”

“Thank you, Detective Renfrue, but I already knew those people didn’t get sick from my food,” Lu C said with a bravado she didn’t feel. “But please. Do me a favor and tell the media that I’m cleared of all charges. They are having a field day with stupid headlines..."

"Yeah," broke in Renfrue, "like 'Brightbight's Bites Bites a Big One' ..."

"...and it’s hurting business," Lu C finished. "I already have three cancellations for next week.”

Renfrue was amused at Lu C’s discomfort. “Forensics will clear you. Can’t say as much for the general public.”

Lu C walked to the door and held it open. “As much as I enjoy all this cop talk, I’ve got a party to cater.”

“Aw, Doll, how about a little something to tide us over until lunch?” But Lu C pushed him out the door. It was like trying to move a cement truck. Sabrina had already left.

By afternoon, preparations at Brightbight’s Bites were in full gear for Marshall Prescott’s party to be held on his yacht, The Soaring Mackerel. Ordinarily, they could handle a company party themselves, but this was to be a major event that included some business people from Italy whom Prescott wanted to impress, so the professional-sized kitchen was staffed with temporary help.

This was Prescott’s chance to make the kind of social splash his enemy and rival Samuel Mordecai had not been able to do. The upper crust of Technopolis society would never accept the crude and self-made Mordecai in their circle and Mordecai knew it. Prescott used every opportunity to rub it in, which Mordecai, festering alone in his sky top office, vowed to avenge.

It might be a tactical error to use the same catering service, but Prescott’s wife Mimi liked Brightbight’s Bites and he thought maybe Lu C would try to outdo herself. Besides, there were only appetizers served last night. Tomorrow, Lu C would provide appetizers and a complete meal.

Lu C worried the earring on her left ear, a habit that grew from having to take off the enormous earrings she wore to talk on the phone. Sandi had been urging Lu C to get the last Visi-phone, which was voice activated and featured video or both speakers.

“I know we’d make more money if we did something modest,” she said to Sandi, with glances at her planning book, “but Marshall Prescott wants something lavish to impress the Italians. He wants them to realize they didn’t make a mistake offering his company incentives to open a branch in Milan.”

“Italian?” asked Sandi. “Maybe something regional – Lombardy, or course – starting with that marvelous zuppa alla pavese, the King’s minestrone, then veal cutlets alla milanese, a little polenta, maybe. Oh, yes! A nice panettone for desert….”

Sandi noticed Lu C’s scowl, a sign Sandi had come to interpret – correctly – that she had once more usurped Lu C’s authority as executive chef.

“No, no,” broke in Lu C, annoyed. “It would be an insult to serve Italians what they could get much better in their own country.”

She thought a moment and continued. “No, we’ll go for an international spread, buffet foods and appetizers from all around the world. Show the Italians that Marshall means to go global and put Milan on the map.”

“It already is on the map. It is….” But Lu C was already consulting her planner.

Sandi frowned. It was a good choice, smart, and one that would boost Brightbight’s Bites’s reputation even higher. Still, something Italian would be just the thing….

Lu C looked at her electronic planning book where she kept track of the details of her catered “events,” as she called them. It was her version of a game plan. She clicked to the list of suppliers she used all the time.

She took the earring off, reached for the phone, winced when the phone touched the beginnings of a bad bruise on her cheek from her recent tumble, and speed-dialed her supplier. If it went well tomorrow, she’d get one of those new Visi-communicators.

“Marcie?” said Lu C into the phone. “How much caviar can you deliver to me? Yes, tomorrow morning,” Pause, then, “I am not kidding. I need it right away.” She added in a whisper, “The good stuff.”

Lu C seemed to have recovered from last night’s food poison panic, a potential knock-out punch to a catering business. Sandi thought Lu C should have been down for the count, but here she was, getting it together for tomorrow. Lu C wasn’t as talented and creative as she, Sandi, was, but it was clear that Lu C was learning and it looked like Sandi would be only an assistant for some time to come. Unless something else happened.

Sandi had hoped that Lu C would stumble but Lu C needed a bigger push toward her ultimate downfall. Sandi knew just who could provide that push. Back in her office, Sandi made a call of her own.

“’Allo,” said a husky, slightly foreign-sounding voice.

“Is he there?”