Page 12 of Consumed
Con wasn’t convinced that time-warp cuisine was such a great idea, but he followed Molina inside. The interior proved to be as vintage as the sign. Framed paintings of Chinese landscapes hung on the red-painted walls, and red lanterns with gold fringe were suspended from the ceiling. Only a handful of tables were occupied, mostly by families that looked as if they were on vacation. A smiling older man led Con and Molina to a booth near the back, for which Con was grateful; he wouldn’t be easily visible to the other patrons. Maybe that had occurred to the host too.
The usual restaurant ritual followed: the distribution of menus, the pouring of water and jasmine tea, the careful writing of items on the order pad. It all felt foreign to Con, who very rarely ate out. On those occasions when he grew tired of his own cooking, he got orders to go.
“Isn’t this place great?” Molina looked pleased with himself. “I dunno if the food’s any good, but that doesn’t matter. This place has ambience. It’s unique.”
Huh. Other people might have called it old-fashioned or kitschy.
Molina slurped happily at his tea. “Someone told me there’s a giant tiki head a few miles east of town.”
“A what?”
“Giant tiki head. We’d have to take a slight detour along the original Route 66, but that runs pretty much parallel to I-40, so it won’t slow us down much.”
“Why do we need to see a giant tiki head?”
“’Cause we never have before.” Molina tilted his head and peered at Con. “Least,Inever have. You?”
Con sighed. “I think we should discuss the mission.”
That bored expression came over Molina again, the same one he wore during trainings, but he nodded. “Can you maybe give me the Cliff’s Notes version? The boss always gives a whole book when really just a page or two would do just fine.”
“It’s important to be prepared.”
Molina shrugged. “Doesn’t matter in our line of work. You can be hella prepared, you can follow every goddamned rule, and still”—he clapped his hands loudly—“the bad guys get you.”
Con ducked his head self-consciously. “They’re less likely to get you if you do what you’re supposed to.”
It looked as if Molina was going to argue, but just then the waiter arrived with their food, served family style. They both filled their plates and had a few bites. “See?” said Molina, grinning. “It’s absolutely mediocre. Perfect.”
Con ate a little more before soldiering onward regarding the mission. “The subjects live in the mountains west of the Verde Valley and Sedona.”
“Oh, hey, not far from Gerard. Some of my parents’ artsy friends used to live there.”
“We’re not visiting artists. We’re visiting coyote shifters.”
Con waited for a response and was pleased when Molina frowned. “Coyotes? Why the hell are we talking to coyotes?” He seemed as bewildered as Con had been over the tiki head.
“The chief explained that yesterday. We’re… ambassadors, I guess. We’re supposed to form a mutual defense agreement with them.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Molina waved his hand dismissively. “I knowthat. But why send us five hundred miles to talk to coyote shifters? For one thing, there are plenty of ’em way closer to home. Hell, I know of three packs within LA County. For another, their packs are small—like, usually just an extended family—and I don’t see how much help only a few coyotes would be. And for another thing, they’re generally more or less friendly to humans anyway, as long as nobody hassles them.”
All of these points were absolutely accurate, and Con had ruminated over them himself as he read the briefing, but it was good to know that Molina was aware of them too. He might be impatient, but he wasn’t ignorant.
Con chased a bit of rice around his plate with his fork. “The paperwork doesn’t explain why we’re doing this. It just describes the scope of the agreement we’re supposed to forge. And it goes into extensive detail about coyote-shifter culture.”
Molina made an impatientpfft. “Culture. They’re pretty much like regular guys. They like to party. They go out hunting on weekends. The families stick together real tight. The ones in LA, they hold regular jobs. My buddy Abby is a gymnastics coach in Glendale. She and I go running together sometimes, and man, she isfast.” Suddenly, Molina frowned. “Oh, shit.”
Still processing the fact that Molina had a coyote-shifter jogging partner, Con took a moment to respond. “What’s wrong?”
“Gifts. That is one important coyote thing. When you meet with them, you’re supposed to exchange presents. I usually bring Abby a carob cake from the vegan bakery near me ’cause she can’t eat chocolate, and she usually buys me a burger after our run. So we’re gonna have to stop along the way and pick up something for the pack we’re visiting.”
There had been something about that in the briefing paperwork. “The chief suggested some good steaks and maybe a couple of frozen turkeys, if we can find them.”
“Okay.” Molina relaxed. “But I still don’t get why we’re going.”
Con remembered what Des had said to him yesterday. “Chief Townsend usually knows what he’s doing.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
