Chef Dahl

I added the photo of a crab because this is a bit piece about a chef.

Chef Dahl, with meat cleaver in hand, chopped the piece of meat on the bench, There came knocking on the back door to the kitchen. Being the only one in the kitchen he went to the door.

“How dare you interrupt my cooking?” Chef Dahl stood with meat cleaver in hand.

“Shh. Are you mad. You never who might be listening.” The man looked over his left shoulder.

“Don't shoosh me. I am thee, Chef. I can bellow whenever I feel the need. Why are you here. I don't give handouts.”

“I don't want a handout. I have very fresh trout. You like to buy my trout.” The man turned his head to look over his shoulder again.

“Do you have a neck problem? Or do you have the Devil seated on your shoulder.”

“Devil. Where is he. I don't see him. I tried to ditch...”

“Ditch who. Ah. So the fish has been cooked.”

“No. Fresh from the stream. Not been near no fire.” He opened the bag on the ground to show his wares. Sniffs. “Fresh. You cook for your customers. Going at a very cheap price. One hundred dollars.”

Chef Dahl took a closer look at the fish in the bag. A recipe running through his mind. He shook his head. “Sorry. Too high. I give you twenty dollars. Take it, or leave it. That's my final offer.”

“Seventy-five. Fifty. I have seven children to feed. Have a heart.”

“You don't spend too much time fishing, do you. Twenty-five.” He moved back like he intended to shut the door.

“Okay. I take twenty-five.” He looked over his shoulder. His jerky body movements showed his nervousness. Picked up the bag to hand over to Chef Dahl when he was paid. Before money changed hands a shot rang out. The bargainer slumped to the ground shot in the back. With automatic reflex action Chef Dahl threw the meat cleaver to hit the shooter in the chest toppling him to the ground. He cursed. There were two dead men at the back door and a bag of stolen fish.