Chapter Text
The sliding door to the freight elevator slammed shut with a bang. Bodhi’s sweaty palms gripped the cart handle firmly as the lift jolted to begin its slow ascent to the upper levels of the building. Cold blue light slanted intermittently through the slim view window as the floors slid by. Bodhi inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in an effort to calm himself and slow his heartrate. This nightmare was almost over.
…………..
Four months ago, in the aftermath of the Alderaan fire, Draven had approached Bodhi with a proposition. As it turned out, Draven was a former FBI agent who still maintained contacts within the agency and passed along information about criminal activity in the restaurant world. Draven had introduced him to Agent Luke Skywalker and the two had proceeded to inform him of an opportunity to get vengeance on the suspected perpetrators of Alderaan’s destruction. The fire was found to have been obviously set with traces of ignition fluid uncommon to a kitchen setting found on the main stove. Any evidence of the perpetrators such as the security feed, however, had conveniently disappeared, and so an arrest could not yet be made. Agent Skywalker had explained that Empire Restaurant Group had long been suspected of having major mob ties and that his unit was very close to being able to bring them down. Evidence of their involvement in this fire would be a direct hit. Bodhi, he explained, was in the unique position of having left Empire Group under good terms. He wanted him to go back in, under the pretense of having valuable information and having made the grave mistake of defecting in the first place, and ingratiate himself through false loyalty to be the eyes and ears for the FBI. It was risky and incredibly dangerous. Bodhi would have been lying if he had said that it hadn’t scared the crap out of him but he also passionately wanted to help. He had agreed to do it.
………
And so, months into this deep undercover operation, he was starting to wear thin like the final roll out of a delicate puffed pastry dough; translucent, fragile; on the precipice of tearing in half. Krennic had easily taken him back when he had turned up at the Empire flagship, L’Etoile Noire, with a few secret recipes and the name of a specialty supplier (provided by Draven, of course). At first he had just been behind the line, keenly aware of his surroundings at all times. The first few weeks, during his weekly coffee meeting with Agent Skywalker, he mostly reported on the main kitchen area, specifically Chef Krennic’s very bad behavior. Krennic was an asshole who preyed upon every single woman who worked there. Bodhi had noted that they only had one woman on the kitchen side, Vera the pastry chef, but the waitstaff was made up of attractive young women who received most of his unwanted attention. Bodhi wondered how he had gotten away with it as no one said a thing, although he assumed that everyone feared for the loss of their livelihoods or worse.
Once or twice a month, the lead sous chef would be pulled off all other duties to assist Krennic in making special accommodations. Those evenings, Bodhi noted, the sous would load all the various items onto a cart and disappear into the freight elevator in the rear of the kitchen. Bodhi suspected that there was another space that neither guests nor staff was permitted to see at the top of the lift but could never fully investigate as there were no less than five security cameras pointed in that direction and usually a large, armed man near the sliding doors. When Bodhi happened a glance at the carts, they were usually filled with exotic and often illegal fare: Beluga caviar heaped generously in silver bowls, various imported cheeses, and unfamiliar cuts of meat. A near empty cart would emerge a short time after it’s initial ascent in the lift. Curious indeed.
About a month previous, the sous chef had gone outside for a cigarette and never returned. Chef Krennic seemed oddly nonplussed about his disappearance and casually strolled over to Bodhi as he pan seared an order of scallops on the line.
“I need you to drop what you’re doing follow me, Rook,” Krennic said in his drawling lilt. “Vera can pick up your work.”
There was the sound of a rolling pin hitting the stainless table from the pastry nook as Vera replied angrily, “I am literally in the middle of making those fifty mini tarts you requested on top of the fifteen loaves of bread, compound butters, and plating all the desserts for your menu! How am I supposed to pick up the goddamn line too?!”
Bodhi watched as Krennic turned sharply to her, his voice pitched low, the crescendo of a growl to a pinched roar, “I don’t give a shit how you do it just GET IT DONE! This is MY kitchen. You work for ME. If you can’t handle that, then get the hell out but don’t expect to find work somewhere else.”
Vera glared at him, eyes blazing, cheeks darkening, “Are you threatening to blacklist me?”
Krennic looked down at her, chin raised high with a smug smile on his condescending face, “You know I can. Get it done.”
Vera’s cheeks were still flushed, her mouth pinched in rage, but she backed down and set to doing as he had asked. Krennic turned abruptly on his heel, his apron billowing around him, and addressed Bodhi as if the unpleasant exchange had never happened, “Well, where were we now?”
It had been Ortolans, that first meal. Bodhi’s stomach sank into nausea as he walked back to where the minute birds had been plunked into a vat of Armagnac, tiny carcasses floating in the bubbling liquid. He had to pluck them out with tongs and arrange them on a garnished, covered platter. He was led to the elevator, the one he had been so curious about except now it felt like a death march. An armed man accompanied him that first time, silent but for the sound of his hand gripping the butt of his holstered gun. At the top of the lift a darkened room sat at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway. Around a circular table sat men of obvious importance. Bodhi only recognized one, General Manager Tarkin. That first night, the group stopped talking about whatever they had been discussing upon his entrance, eyeing his new presence warily before haughtily ignoring it. He carefully placed the still hot birds on each of their plates along with a fine linen napkin. As he turned to retrieve his cart, he saw as they lifted the airy napkins delicately over their heads and in the low light of the room, the whole exchange seemed even more sinister; hooded figures backlit against the darkness, a taboo ritual about to take place. As he retreated down the hall, one foot clicking on the meticulously waxed marble in front of the other, he heard the sickening crunch of tiny bones as five human mouths bit into sinew and dripping fat. He cringed and although he knew that he was in the middle of doing the right thing, the brave thing, he couldn’t help but feel complicit in the act that had just been committed.
The second time he was called upon to do this service it had been sea turtle soup. Bodhi could not wait to nail these terrible people to the wall, to help lay down the hammer of the law. He persevered by thinking of his friends, of Jyn and Cassian and Kay and the rest. He was doing this to help them. He would be reunited with them soon. Jyn had emailed him multiple times and he felt so terrible that he could not respond. It was just too dangerous right now but it broke his heart. He missed her.
…………..
The elevator jolted to a stop and the doors began their creaky opening as Bodhi’s eyes flew open. This was it. He was almost out. Skywalker had promised. He just had to push this cart into that room one more time. He just had to make a tableside Caesar salad for whoever tonight’s guest was. He just had to forget about the second button down on his chef coat; the one that was actually a tiny camera and microphone. Act cool, Rook, he told himself, willing his heartrate to a more moderate level.
The neon blue lights that ran along the nearly black corridor painted the silver domes and trays in a chilling pallor. As he entered the room, his heart leapt into his throat because tonight at the round table, next to Tarkin and a few lackeys he vaguely recognized, was a figure he did know. Darth Vader was a well-known mob boss, characterized by his sinister breathing apparatus and penchant for callous murder. He had a brutal, powerful reputation but as of yet the government had not been able to touch him. This was a big catch. The biggest, really.
Bodhi pushed forward, silent and steady. Tarkin made no motion of acknowledgement to his presence nor did any of the other guests so he parked the cart and began the motions of his service. He angled himself so that he could capture the whole table on the hidden camera as he added homemade, crunchy croutons and grated fresh parmesan to the inlaid bowl of precisely shredded Romaine.
“As I was saying, there has been some talk of a leak in the system,” Tarkin’s lofty voice echoed throughout the room, “but it was taken care of a few weeks ago.”
Vader made no visible movement from the vantage point of Bodhi’s downcast face but he heard the skepticism in the masked man’s thunderous voice, “Are you quite sure? I have little tolerance for incompetent mistakes.”
“Absolutely, the problem employee has been taken care of. Unless, he has somehow sprouted gills and superhuman strength, the leak is quite plugged, I should think,” Tarkin stated with great boredom.
Bodhi felt a chill run down his spine. He suspected that the mentioned leaker was the former occupant of his current predicament.
“Good, now on to other business. Chef Krennic is making too much noise with his dalliances. Please deal with it,” Vader stated in his low monotone.
Tarkin nodded in agreement as he replied, “And the police are still suspicious of the Alderaan fire. Two birds, one stone, I say.”
“Indeed,” was Vader’s terse reply as Bodhi gently loaded a perfectly presented pile of salad onto his plate, trying desperately not the touch the man nor garner any attention. He just needed to finish this one task and then he would be free to escape down the godforsaken hallway.
He gripped the cart handle firmly and was just about to remove himself when Vader turned his attention upon him. Bodhi felt as though he was going to burn up and melt, the adrenaline coursed through his veins and he felt the panic set in. Just a few more seconds, he pleaded with himself, keep it together for just a few more-
“Thank you for the service,” the seemingly evil man in his unsettling respirator voice politely addressed him.
Bodhi felt relief, panic and surprise all at the same time but he managed to squeak out a, “You’re welcome, sir,” and a polite nod before finally retreating down the sterile hall.
An hour later, Bodhi finally stepped outside the service backdoor, his knife kit tucked securely across his shoulder. The late night was still fixed with the chill of early spring and he zipped up his hooded jacket to his chin and walked down a dimly lit side street. He felt exhausted. This job (mission, really) was heavy on him and the weight of what he had heard that evening was terribly troubling. It was good information for sure but he felt as if the danger of his position had increased exponentially. He was so lost in thought that he did not realize that he had let his guard down until a hand was gripping around his mouth and an arm was pulling his chest backwards into a waiting vehicle. The panic that had simmered just below the surface all evening was now bursting to the top but his scream was muffled by the expert grasp on his face. He thought that they had surely figured him out. He would soon be at the bottom of a river!
The van was now moving and a voice was in his ear, muffled at first but soon becoming clearer, “Bodhi! Bodhi, it’s me!”
The hand was no longer clutching his face, his body free against the floor of the vehicle. As he started to come out of the panic spiral, he took in his surroundings. Surveillance equipment; people in black chest vests; yellow letters; FBI.
“Bodhi. Hey, you’re out. You’re safe,” Agent Skywalker’s sandy blonde hair and blue eyes came into focus above him as Bodhi exhaled heavily, “We got you out. You’re done. Really good job!”
Bodhi let his body collapse in relief on the jostling metal floor. He was done. He didn’t have to go back there. He started to feel the glimmer of safety peek through the tenseness of his mind, a feeling he had not recognized in months.