“Thanks for inviting me over for dinner,” C.J. McCollum said from the living room of Allen Crabbe’s apartment. “I was getting tired of getting delivery every night.”
“No problem man. I just gotta share my culinary skills with the world,” Allen replied from the kitchen. He savored the sounds and smells of the sizzling beef in the skillet in front of him. “You’re going to love my signature ‘Crabbey Patty’, I guarantee it.” A twisted smile came over his face, unseen to his teammate, who was watching TV in the other room.
“Like from Spongebob?” C.J. asked with a laugh.
“The very same,” Allen confirmed. “Although I like to put my own touch on it, you know, some bacon, some field greens, a hit of Dijon, shaved asiago, if it’s a fancy ingredient you know it’s going on this burger.” Allen saw all these ingredients arrayed in front of him, ready to be placed on top of the burger, but there was one ingredient that he had purposely kept out of sight, not wanting to risk the chance of his guest seeing it and spoiling the surprise. Out of his pocket he pulled a small vial of clear liquid; uncapping it, he shook the contents onto one of the patties. The affected patty sizzled with renewed vigor.
Now it was time to serve. C.J.’s burger was a little bit crumbly from the addition of the liquid, but it made it to the bun intact, and when it was dressed with all of Allen’s special ingredients, there was no way to tell that anything was amiss. Allen’s own burger was similarly assembled, and both plates were piled generously with fresh-made sweet potato fries, dusted with not only salt but a small amount of powdered sugar as well.
“Dinner is served!” Allen announced proudly, carrying the two plates to the small table where he usually ate alone. C.J. eagerly bounced up from the sofa in front of the TV and sat down at one of the two dining chairs. As soon as the burger was in front of him, he began to eat with gusto.
“Man, this is awesome! You’re a great cook!” C.J. gushed through mouthfuls of semi-chewed beef and cheese. “Krabby Patties always looked so good on TV but I’d say your Crabbey Patties are way better!”
Allen smiled sheepishly, but inside, his heart was pounding in his chest anticipating what was to come. “Glad you enjoy it.” He took a small bite of his own burger and chewed thoughtfully.
Meanwhile, C.J. had already finished off half of the sandwich and was working on the fries. Suddenly, he stopped and put his next french fry back on the plate. “Man, I’m not feeling to good all of a sudden. I must’ve eaten too quickly, or something,” he said, putting a hand to his head. “I’m all dizzy and light-headed.”
Allen didn’t need to feign concern, because this was the expected conclusion of the meal. Standing up quickly and dramatically from the table, he whipped the empty vial from his pocket and brandished it at his teammate. “It’s cyanide, you fool! I’ve poisoned you with cyanide!”
C.J.’s mouth gaped open in shock, but already, he was beginning to fade out of consciousness. He limply dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. “Why?” he choked.
“Now I will get all of the shooting guard minutes. Me! All for me!” Allen announced, standing over his fallen friend. “I hope you enjoyed my special recipe Crabbey Patties!” This joke struck Allen as exceptionally funny, and he laughed uproariously. “All for me! Minutes for me!”
C.J. had fallen into a coma and his breathing was slowing to a deathly pace. Allen picked up the rest of C.J.’s burger and began to shove it into his teammate’s mouth, hastening the suffocation process. “Enjoy it! Enjoy what I made for you!” he yelled gleefully, insanely. “Tastes great, doesn’t it? DOESN’T IT???” There was no answer, but Allen didn’t require one. He calmly sat back at his seat and finished his meal, stealing occasional glances at his cyanosed teammate.
“You like Crabbey Patties, don’t you, C.J.?” he whispered.