Gromet's Plaza Trashcan Stories
Blue Ribbon Chili
by Jo
jzami@hotmail.com | forum feedback
© Copyright 2011 - Jo - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f; contest; spy; trick; trashcan; garbage; sauce; foodwaste; messy; stuck; revenge; reluct/nc; X
WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death.
Blue Ribbon Chili Jo M/f; contest; spy; trick; trashcan; garbage; sauce; foodwaste; messy; stuck; revenge; reluct/nc; X
 

"Uncle Dave? You know who that is don't you?"

"Who?"

"The redhead over yonder."

Dave shrugged. "Said she was in culinary school and as a class project she had to help in the cook-off."

"Well, that's Caitlin Ballard, old man Ballard's granddaughter."

"You sure? Said her name was Tracy Simms or Simmons, something like that."

"Uh uh. She goes to Western. They play us in basketball. She's a cheerleader and they had a picture of the squad in the program. I kinda had a thing for her, so I asked around. She's old man Ballard's kin for sure."

"Son of a bitch," Dave muttered.

"Want me to run her off?"

"Eh? No, oh no. Better to have a spy we know about than one we don't."

"Where do you want these Mister Randall?"

"Huh? Oh, over there on that table."

Tracy/Caitlin dumped the bag of onions on the table and headed back toward the truck.

"Tracy? Have you met my nephew?"

"Uh, no. Hi! I'm Tracy."

"Steve. Nice to meet you."

"Same here."

She walked over to the truck and stepped in.

"You had a thing for her?"

"I think she's in disguise. She never wears her hair pulled back and she always has makeup on and those clothes? The Caitlin I know wouldn't be caught dead in bib jeans and work boots."

"Mm."

"So what are gonna do, Uncle Dave?"

"We? Well I'm going to figure a way to get her the wrong recipe. You are going to get lucky. Way I figure it, she'll do anything to get our recipe. You said you had a thing for her, right?"

Dave clapped his nephew on the shoulder and gave him a wink, nudged him toward the truck.

"Hey, uh, Tracy, let me give you a hand with that."

Dave pulled a Camel from the pack, lit it. "Son of a bitch."

***

"How's it going?"

"I got to second base."

"So soon?"

"Uncle Dave, kids today are a bit looser than in your day. Lot of them will hook up on the first date or even not a date, just running into someone new at the fair, say."

"Hook up?"

"Sex, Uncle Dave."

"Do tell."

"But I'm playing it cool, letting her chase me and she's doing some serious chasing."

"Well, that figures, only got three days."

"Yeah. Have you got a plan yet?"

"Yep. I'm gonna mix the stuff up. Put the paprika in a cumin can, cumin in a chili can, that sort of thing. Mark the bottom of the cans so we know what's what. I'll print off a bogus recipe. You make sure she knows you've got it and give her a chance to steal it."

"Don't even need to do that, Uncle Dave. She's got a cell phone. All she needs to do is see the recipe and text it or take a picture of it."

"Yeah, good, I like it. That way the "recipe" doesn't go missing and there's no reason to suspect her."

"Right."

 "Think you can get your hands on that phone?"

"Got that covered, too, Uncle Dave. Her phone's the same as mine, won't take a second to check it, you know send her on an errand or something."

***

"How's it looking, Jimmy?"

"For you? You're a shoe in. Ballard is in deep doo doo. Seems his batch went bad and he spent all morning making another."

"That ain't gonna fly. It'll be too green."

"For sure. And you didn't hear this from me."

Dave gave the judge a wink.

"Hey Uncle Dave, good news?"

"Yeah, seems Ballard had a problem with his new recipe."

"Really? Do tell."

"Where is she, Stevie?"

"Out back cleaning up."

"Let's swap these out," Dave said grabbing the big pot.

"There's still a lot in there, Uncle Dave."

"Yeah, but I always make too much. Besides the best stuff is in the top half of the pot. Stuff left in here ain't quite up to snuff."

Steve hefted the full pot onto the fire.

"Make sure you keep that fire on real low. Stuff's already cooked. Don't need to cook it more. Just keep it barely warm."

"Sure thing, Uncle Dave.

Dave headed back toward the truck. Tracy/Caitlin was scrubbing utensils. Dave set the pot down. He checked the trash bin he'd set aside, found it mostly empty.

"How's it going?"

"Good. Almost done here."

She had dressed up for the judging - kind of. She had a white blouse tied off under her titties. He didn't see any evidence of a bra. She had on a torn pair of Daisy Dukes and flip flops.

Dave reached for her handbag, fished out her cell phone. She stood there, elbow deep in dishwater, watching him. He thumbed around a bit, then nodded, pushed a few buttons.

"Set you up real good, we did, Caitlin. Real good. Gonna tell you how we did it, so's you'll know what to tell your grandpa. I changed ingredients in the cans and I came up with a bogus recipe to match, let you get a chance to eyeball it and send it to your grandpa."

He held up her phone.

"See, it's right here. My recipe, Ballard's number."

"Listen, Mister Randall, I'm sorry. Really. It wasn't Paw Paw. It was me. My idea. When I told him he went nuts and told me not to do it."

"But you did anyway."

"Well, by then it was too late."

"Yeah, well, we got a judging to do and I really don't want you runnin' your mouth off, so you're gonna stay here."

"Listen, Mister Randall, I won't tell anybody. It'd get Paw Paw kicked out of the competition for good."

"Yeah, well, maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, you're stayin'."

And with that Dave flipped the trash bin open, grabbed the girl, and dropped her in.

"Hey! Stop!"

"You interested in chili recipes? I'm gonna give you a first hand look at my secret ingredients."

He grabbed a shovel, flipped the lid on another trash bin, and scooped a load of garbage right on Caitlin's head."

"Oh, please. Oh yuck!  Please, Mister Randall, please!"

She tried to stand, but her legs had bent and she was stuck, kneeling in the bottom of the bin. When she tried to use her hands Dave rapped her knuckles.

"Ow! Hey! What are you doing?! Stop it!"

Caitlin kept begging, Dave kept shoveling. The level of garbage rose, covering her feet and legs, up over her hips to her chest, then up to her chin.

"Now you've seen all our quality ingredients, here's the finished product just so you get a taste of my blue-ribbon chili."

He picked up the deep pot and upended it over her head.

"Please, Mister Randall, oh, please stop," she sobbed.

"Gonna give you a chance to ponder what you tried to do, how you tried to steal from me, and how you almost got your grandpa kicked out of the competition. Here's the deal, I'll fetch you out of there after the judging, might be an hour, might be two, and you'll not say a word about this to anyone. I got no truck with Ballard, but if I beat him it'll be fair and square. Don't need you sticking your nose into places it don't belong. Figure he's learned his lesson and it's time you learned yours."

Dave dropped the lid, plunging Caitlin into slimy darkness. He grabbed a bit of rope and tied the handle.

"Now don't you go anywhere, hear?"

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21.03.11

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