Page 33 of Mongrels United
“And I didn’t come all this way just to go back,” she said briskly. “Turn up the lights, Nash. I’ll talk, you can listen. Then I’ll leave you to stew in your juices once more.”
The silhouette remained still for a long moment. “My father?” he said at last…and this time he sounded slightly more sober. “What do you know about any of that?”
Grady drew in a breath. “I know everything you do, Nash, and more besides.”
Again, the silence stretched. His thinking wouldn’t be clear right now. He’d be processing what she said.
Finally, he stirred. “Lights,” he croaked.
And the lights came up.
Chapter Fourteen
Nash screwed his eyes shut as the lights brightened, and carefully settled himself on the bench and waited for the room to stop moving. The brighter illumination showed him that only a fragment of scotch was left in the bottle. There was just as little in the glass beside it.
Grady Read appeared at the end of the table. She paused there, a hand on her hip. She wore the same clothes he’d seen her in this morning.
“Youeverstop working?” he muttered. He reached for the glass, then changed his mind and pushed it further from him. The bottle, too.
“You need food,” Grady said. “And a sobersol shot.”
“Sobersol gives me headaches, later.” He was impressed the words came out clear.
“It gives everyone headaches.” Her tone was crisp. “You want to be thinking clearly for this, Nash. Trust me.” She looked around. “Are those printers standard food printers?”
He got his mind around the question. Formulated the answer. “Far left one.”
She went over to the printer, called up menus, went through them swiftly. Stabbed at items, adjusted them. The printer hummed and hissed.
Nash blinked and lifted his chin from his chest. Had he just gone to sleep for a moment?
“Here,” Grady Read said. “Nash, look.”
He blinked again and looked at her. She raised a glass in her hands, the blue-ish liquid filling half of it. “Drink all of this,” she told him. She put it in front of him.
I have news about your father, she’d said.
He reached for the sobersol and made himself drink it. It took a dozen swallows to get the revolting stuff down. The peppermint taste they added to it to make it palatable made it worse, in his opinion. But he drank it all.
By the time he was done with that, Grady had returned to the table with a plate and a bowl. She put them in front of him. The scent of hot beef stew rose from the bowl, and tickled his nose.
He breathed it in. Exhaled. His stomach wasn’t empty, but he was suddenly starving. His mouth flooded with saliva.
He detached the utensils from the side of the square plate and separated them. The other plate had little tubs of condiments, and a thick, crusty bread roll. He picked up the red pot, which had the hot mustard, and poured it over the stew.
His head was already clearing. He blinked and widened his eyes as his vision pulled into better focus. He could hear the sounds of the building around him, now. The murmur of the space heaters. The ticking of the computer servers on the other side of the bar wall. Neither of those could be heard when the bar was open, for voices and music drowned them out.
Grady slid onto the other bench, a plate in front of her, as Nash took the first big mouthful of the stew. She placed a mug of coffee beside the plate.
The plate held a large slice of black forest cake, the cherries in the middle layer glistening with juices and syrup.
Nash chewed and swallowed, so he could speak. “You like chocolate.”
Her high cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink. “I’m short on calories today and it’s late. Sugar is the fastest way top up and stay alert.”
Nash stared at her. Her blush delighted him, but he couldn’t say why, except that it seemed adorable. Which didn’t explain anything, because he didn’t do adorable. He preferred svelte. Sophisticated.
“You like chocolate alot,” he argued.
