Death of My Mentor
So this is the fourth of my true paranormal encounters.
The first you can find on this subreddit.
It’s called “Devil at My Door.”
Second one was broken up into three different parts about the Circus Circus in Reno and I cant recall if the fourth story was before or after the second one.
I’m tabling my third encounter because this fourth one will make the third make more sense.
Last thought before the story.
Many have lampooned me for being a writer of fiction.
I want to let you all know that yes, I write fiction but this is a true story.
The year is 2016
Somehow I ended up becoming the general manager of the infamous Rainbow Bar and Grill on the sunset strip about two years before this event.
The head chef of the Rainbow whose name is Miguel Murillo, had rejected the three or four managers who tried to run the place between my reign and the reign of Tony and Mike, the original managers who ran the joint for 56 years respectively.
They retired and Miguel all but chased out the fuckboi new managers one by one until I came along.
The OG staff were like “I can’t believe how much Miguel has taken to you. We all thought you were dead meat.”
He started immediately by showing me how to fix the shitty ac units in the A-frame, where the breakers were, what light switches did what, how to handle the 100 year old shitters upstairs dumping fecal matter onto the guests at the downstairs bar with a wet dry vac and a pen in hand ready to comp away the shit in their hair and on their plates.
At a certain point, I got the vibe that Miguel was scrambling to pass on his legacy to someone he thought could carry the torch. It was an honor but also concerning. He was only 63, I didn’t think he was going to pass on so soon.
Little did I know…
Monday night at the Rainbow.
I’m eating habanero clam linguini that Miguels younger brother Sabino, who was the other head chef and a year Miguels junior, always made without me asking when he knew I was hungover. There’s a table in the kitchen for employees and regulars to chill at and eat or whatever and Im sitting their with the pasta.
Miguel sits across from me.
“Hey baby. How’s the comeda?”
Miguel was old hollywood and called everyone he liked “Baby”
He was always upbeat and lived like it all ain’t no thang.
His eyes drooped and I was encumbered by the weight of the world I finally saw on his old and sagging shoulders.
I asked him what was the matter.
He told me that he wasted his whole life at this place. He said that it has killed him and then the tears faded from his churlish eyes and with conviction and furrowed brows he told me to not let this place kill me and to get out. Get out soon, baby. It’ll kill you too.
He put the happy and in charge mask back on and went back behind the line like nothing happened.
I couldn’t shake the gravity of what he said. It followed me like that evil sun thing from the third Mario game.
The next day, the owner fired our prep cook Juan. He deserved it. He was drunk AF but then, he was always drunk and so was the owner. Miguel pleaded for them to let us bring Juan back because shit fell apart in the kitchen that week.
Sunday comes.
I’m pissed at having to make pizzas each night in a three-piece suit and I pick up the phone, call Juan. Tell him that I am sending an Uber and to get his ass back here asap.
The owner sees Juan walk in.
He yells at me.
I’d had it. Told him this is Miguels and my kitchen and to kick rocks.
He backs down and returns to his scratchers on the patio.
About 6:30pm
I’m having a steak sandwich in the kitchen again.
Miguel calls my cell.
“Hey baby. Did you find someone to replace juan for tomorrow?”
“Fuck that man. I brought Juan back. Told the owner this is our kitchen.”
Miguel choked up and exhaled.
“I’ll see you soon baby.”
Ten minutes later.
First, David the bar back (Miguels son) starts screaming and crying, curls up in fetal position in the middle of the kitchen.
Next Sabino screams “My brothers dead.”
Im startled and confused.
“What? Which brother?”
“Pinche Miguel! Ijo le punta!”
I told everyone to calm the fuck down. I just spoke to Miguel ten minutes ago for fucks sake.
David calms down and tells me that Miguel had a valve in his heart rupture at 4pm, he went to Cedar Sinia at 4:45, was pronounced dead at 6:33pm. He literally died as soon as we hung up.
I break down. Now its my turn.
I am sobbing and lock myself in the office.
Get drunk.
Kick all the patrons out of the restaurant like Jesus chasing the money changers out of Jerusalem.
Finally, I go to the end of the dining room to switch off the neon rainbow sign.
I hear a crash and turn around.
Table twenty is galloping like a stallion, levitating for about five seconds.
“Get out of here, baby. This place will kill you too.”