Pale Kings and Princes

“No African beef specialists?” Susan said.

The waiter took our empty corn oyster plates and brought us grilled lobster and poured more wine in my glass. Susan shook her head when he made a pass at hers.

“Hawk gave me the .25 and the mittens and was gone by the time Lundquist got some other staties there.”

The grilled lobster was split the long way and came in two halves. There had been some splendid spicing going on in the kitchen, but since I gobbled down both halves in maybe three bites it was probably wasted. Susan sliced a one-millimeter slice and nibbled it.

“And Lundquist covered for him,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“And the man, what’s his name, who hired you.”

“Garrett Kingsley,” I said. “He thinks I’m the greatest hero since Elijah Parish Lovejoy.”

“Who?”

I shook my head. “How quickly they forget,” I said.

Susan smiled and raised her glass toward me. She was wearing a necklace of gigantic beads that matched the colors in her dress. Her earrings matched the beads. Her teeth were very white and her smile was wide.

“You pulled it off,” she said. “You probably are the greatest hero since Elijah whosis.”

“Also the greatest lover,” I said.

“I have no first-hand information on Elijah,” Susan said. “But you sure as hell will do.”

We both drank a little wine and looked at each other over the rims of the wineglasses and our eyes held and I could feel the richness and the force and the permanence.

“Forever,” I said.

“And then we’ll see,” Susan said, and put out her hand and I held it across the table.