Page 83 of The Hard Way

I grabbed a menu. “You have to try the banana walnut peanut butter pancakes.”

“Not sure about that.” Thor tended to go for the healthier options. I pointed out the nuts and fruit aspect of the pancakes, and he ended up ordering them. The place might be shabby, but I’d put those pancakes up against any breakfast food on the planet.

Chas showed up soon after.

“It’s your lunch break; grab a lunch,” Thor said to him. “On us.”

“It’s cool,” Chas said.

“I insist. It’s on us.”

Chas eyed Thor. “Where’d you say you’re from?”

“We travel a lot,” Thor said. “But we’re looking at property near here. We’re thinking about gutting this kitchen…” Thor showed him pictures of our fictional kitchen. Chas wasn’t entirely comfortable quoting a job he couldn’t visit, but he gave us examples of costs. He had pictures, too. It was a completely useless meeting, really, until the waitress delivered a water glass to Chas, and he took a nice big gulp of it.

Chas ordered a ham and Swiss and quizzed us a bit. How did we use a kitchen? Did we cook together? Did we like to spread out, or were we mostly heating restaurant leftovers?

Thor smiled over at me. “We like to cook big dinners. Big projects,” he said. “Sometimes we have a drink and cook for hours, making everything perfect. Sometimes we cook with other people.”

“Social cooks,” I said wistfully, remembering those brief, shining few months we spent at the Los Angeles safehouse in the hills where we really did live like that. That beautiful mod hideout with the outdoor tub and the big kitchen.

It had been like a real home. We were happy there.

“A lot of counter space,” Chas said. “I’d probably hire out the actual design. I have a few names.”

“But you could do the work?”

“After the design, I’d quote it and do the work.” He sucked down some more water and set down the glass. Both Thor and I gazed at the place where he’d grasped it. He’d left big juicy prints. His meal came, and he got oily cheese prints on the glass. And Thor went crazy for the pancakes.

Myself, I had the sweet roll.

The plan was to get Chas to leave first, and then we’d empty his glass and slip it into a baggie Thor had brought. The Morningside Diner was a nice family place, and I hated the idea of stealing its glassware—but partway through the demo, Thor got a text. “Ah. Interesting.” He passed the phone over to me, and I read the words from Zeus:JZ our guy. In the trunk. Heading up to ski slope.

So Jeremy Zern was our guy. “Huh,” I said.

“We’re going to have to cut this short,” Thor explained, passing across a fifty and two twenties. “Buy yourself dessert. Whatever you’d like.”

“I’m not going to eat fifty desserts,” Chas said.

“Leave a nice tip and keep the change. We’ll be in touch when and if.”

“Wow, thanks,” Chas said.

Well, he was innocent. We’d wasted his time, but at least he’d gotten a nice lunch out of it. And a little extra cash.

We got out of there and headed to Ski Slope Road.

“When and if,” I sighed. That was our life—when and if.

Thor looked over at me—sadly. He missed having a permanent home, too.

“I’m guessingJZ in the trunkisn’t a euphemism,” I added.

“I'm thinking no,” Thor said. “They probably dusted his glass and did a visual comparison. And lured him out.”

“Why the ski slope?”

“They’ll probably hang him over,” Thor said. “As a threat. More organic than a gun to the head.”

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