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CHAPTER 21

Hot Chili

      LUCY DROVE away feeling a cool wonder as to whether any of this was really real, or whether it was only another episode of last night's dream.

      "No," she murmured to herself, "You don't dream other people's troubles." And poor things, their troubles were not about to go away, either. They were hanging in the air all around them, thick as smoke.

      She realized that she hadn't told Bobby about Uncle Bob and about calling the doctor. Well, he would not have been much help anyway, considering his state of mind right now. Besides, Uncle Bob was better now, and maybe it wouldn't happen again.

      Her thoughts moved forward toward the day's work. She had to start a batch of chili, make salads, make salsa. Mentally, she ticked off supplies: chips, bread, greens for salad, spread for the bread, coffee, pies, meat. Would the meat man come today or would it not be until tomorrow, because of the snow?

      It had occurred to her over the weekend that the only things Uncle Bob had specifically forbidden were the pinball machines and the guessing game. He hadn't said anything about the rest of those suggestions, had he? Never mind that she had not exactly mentioned them.

      She began speculating over what else they could offer to eat.

      Lucy was still thinking about that as she parked the car and went in through the kitchen door and heard water running. Who could be — "Shark!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

      "Morning," Shark said. "I just got back from Duke City, and it was so late, I thought I'd come in and get things started."

      "When did you go up there?" Lucy asked, suddenly alert.

      "Real early this morning. See, Brother's been up there getting together a musical group — finding people who wanted to be in a band with him, you know? Because the only bar that would hire him wanted a group and not a single. Now that he's finished doing it, he brought me back the truck, so I could get around easier."

      "Oh," Lucy murmured, all her doubts coming back to her. "Did you two . . . have some time together?"

      "Nope. He came down early, early this morning, and I drove him right back, since I had to be here to work, and he had to meet with the group he got together."

      Then she had dreamed it all.

      And yet, she thought dreamily, could it be that he had come in the middle of the night, and Shark hadn't seen him until morning?

      But there was no way she could put that question to Shark, who was now scrubbing out the sink, whistling.

      Her dreaming thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a big red truck, pulling up at the Cafe door. Painted on its side was a large gold shield and the words "ChuckWagon Steaks are New Mexico's Finest!" Here was Eustace Mallory, the Meat Man.

      Mallory was a little, dried-out man a big, deep voice. He was so scrawny you'd think he'd never tasted a bite of hamburger, much less steak. But he'd been coming down to Los Nietos every week, ever since Lucy could remember, and never missed a time.

      Lucy went out to greet him. "Morning Mr. Mallory."

      "Morning, Lucy."

      She led him to his accustomed table, then brought the coffee pot over and set it down and left it, since he usually drank five or six cups while he was there. Uncle Bob used to call him 'Old Iron Kidneys.'

      As soon as she filled his cup, Mallory took a big swallow and nodded appreciatively. "Ahh, that's good." Then he sat back and surveyed her. Well Lucy, looks like you've had some weather around here."

      "Yes we have," Lucy sat down with him. "Good thing yesterday wasn't your day, or you'd never have made it out here."

      "Oh, I'd have made it. Meat's like the mail; it has to go through." He drank more coffee. "And speaking of which, let's do some business, shall we?"

      "Sure," she agreed. "But before we do, would you give me your advice about something?"

      "Anything you want." He sat back in his chair. "Shoot."

      "You go to so many places, and you know so many people — tell me as a friend, Mr Mallory," Lucy said, "If I were to add some new items to our menu, do you think it would bring in more customers?"

      Immediately he was serious. "Business pretty bad?"

      When she nodded he leaned forward. "Well then, strictly as a friend, and not because I'm drumming up trade, I'd tell you to go to it. You've always had a kind of limited bill of fare here, and some more variety might encourage people to come in more. But you don't have to tell your uncle I said so."

      She nodded. "Any advice about what we might offer?"

      "Mmm . . ." Mallory thought about it before he answered. "'Course, I sell a lot a steaks. And they're an expensive item, so it would be in my best interest to suggest that — but your clientele out here isn't very affluent, and you might not sell enough steak to make a difference. So why don't you just try a new kind of chili, Lucy? That way you're not straying too far from what your people here are used to."

      "A new chili? What kind?"

      He grinned and held out his cup for a refill. "Missy, you have picked the right man to ask that question of. Because right now you're sitting at the table with a real chili fanatic. I must know a dozen different ways to make it — all good. — but . . . if you won't tell where you heard it, I'll teach you my ex-wife's mother's recipe that won second place in the Eastern Star Chili Cook-off."

      "Is it really good?"

      "It's why I married her — just for the sake of that chili! And I'd be with her still, if she hadn't thrown me over for a younger man."

      "And you'll let me have it? That would be grand."

      Mallory leaned forward, his leathery face intent. "I'll tell it to you before I go. But listen, you got to follow the directions to the letter, hear? Because this recipe came down in her family, straight from Montezuma. Or so her mamma says. And in any case, to spoil a chili this good would be . . . well, a sacrilege."

      "I'll do it exactly the way you tell me." Lucy promised, and she went and got a pencil and paper.

      "Okay," Eustace Mallory leaned back in his chair and began to dictate. "First you start with stew meat — a whole hellava lot of stew meat."

      "How much," Lucy asked, writing.

      He poured himself a third cup of coffee while he thought about it. "Well, I got maybe fifteen pounds in the truck today. That ought to be enough to keep you going for a day or so."

      That did indeed seem like a hell of a lot, so Lucy nodded and wrote it down.

      "Okay. You start by cutting it all up into little squares, maybe a little bigger than sugar cubes. Then you roll them in a very little bit of masa harina and brown them in some cooking oil over a fairly hot fire. Okay?"

      She scribbled furiously. "How much oil?"

      "Just enough to do the job — a cup maybe, for that much meat. Or maybe a little more, but not too much." He sipped his coffee. "Then you lower the fire some and put in your chili and your tomatoes."

      "Green chili?"

      "Not on your life. Got to use hot-as-hell red chili powder — the spiciest you can find. For that much meat, you'll need maybe five cups of chili and about four gallons of canned tomatoes. Got that down?"

      "Got it."

      "Okay. Then you cover it all up and let it cook — forever. About halfway through the first hour, you chop up maybe ten, twelve cloves of garlic and throw them in and stir it up, and then put in eight, nine tablespoons of oregano powder. Keep stirring it and tasting it once in a while — but keep on cooking it till the meat starts to fall apart. Oh yes — and drop in a fist-full of bay leaves."

      "Bay leaves," Lucy muttered, writing.

      Mallory nodded. "That's right. But you better make a note to tie them up in a little bag or something first, so you can fish them out when you're done cooking. Bay leaves are no good to eat — they'll puncture your insides if you swallow them."

      "What about the onions," Lucy asked.

      "What onions! You don't use onions to make chili with."

      "But I always heard . . ." she began.

      "Then you heard wrong. Montezuma would've died before he'd put onions in his chili — so don't you do it either. No onions and no beans."

      "Well, if you say so," Lucy agreed doubtfully. "But I always thought that you made chili with onions and beans. Can I serve beans and chopped onions on the side, if people want it?"

      "Sure. On the side is okay. With maybe a little grated-up yellow cheese, if you like that. Just don't put any of that stuff in the pot with the chili." He got up and stretched himself. "I'll tell you right now, if this won't help your business, I'll . . ."

      Then he sat down again. "No, hold on. I'm going to give you something better than promises: I'm going to sell you that first order of stew meat at ten — no, at seventeen percent off. Just because I got such strong faith in old Montezuma's chili. How about that!"

      Lucy grinned. "Got yourself a deal."

      "Thought you'd like that." He grinned back at her, and she could see that his big coffee-stained teeth were worn down at the edges, flattened by time like the teeth of an old horse.

      Then Eustace Mallory drank his fourth cup of coffee, and went out to his truck. He came back lugging her regular meat order, plus fifteen pounds of stew meat, and put it all in the cooler for her. It took him two trips, and on the way by, he grinned at Lucy and said, "Maybe I should've sold you something lighter to carry. Shows I got your best interest at heart, don't it."

      "You want me to get Shark to help you?"

      He shook his head. "I been doing this all my life."

      Once the meat was all stowed away, he totaled her up, carefully subtracting seventeen percent from the price of the stew meat, just as he'd promised. Then, after Lucy paid him, he sat back down over another cup of coffee and went over the recipe with her one more time. "You make it like I told you, and you'll sell so much chili that I'll have to bring a bigger meat truck next time. So I got a stake in your success — you remember that."

      "I hope so."

      "Oh yes, one more thing," He nodded at her. "You got to let me sample it when I come in — so's I can check up on you. Make sure you don't start polluting it with any onions or beans. Okay?"

      "Okay, I promise."

      After he left, Lucy went back in the kitchen, feeling cheerful. So. A new kind of chili. Maybe they really would sell a whole lot of it. Enough to show a real profit on the food. Maybe even enough to pay off the beer man! How nice of him to give her Montezuma's recipe.

      "But this stuff'll take a long time to make. I better get started."

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