“Right?” Dashonda takes a big sip of her coffee andmmms to herself.
Dr. Riveras folds her arms. “It’s frankly bewildering to see you taking your primary care position so seriously, Julian. I must admit, I didn’t expect you to rise to the occasion.”
“I didn’t, either,” I reply honestly. “But you were right, about everything. It’s taught me how to listen, get my head out of my own condescending ass, and improve my nonexistent people skills,” I say, repeating everything she said in that first fraught meeting when she decided to have mercy and not fire me on the spot. “It’s been very good for me, Dr. Riveras. I owe you so much. Thank you.”
Dr. Riveras’s bottom lip drops open as I head back to the Neuro ICU.
“I’ve got to run now,” I call over my shoulder. “I want to catch up with Dr. Adebayo about her recommendations for my patient’s treatment. See you around, Dr. Riveras!”
I check my phone. Nomi’s texted back, and my heart flutters in happiness at the three little words:On my way!
NOMI
The door chimes as I enter Sammy’s Steaks, the crackling beef inducing instant meat lust. I’ve barely eaten all week. While a steak would destroy me right now, it smells like a great way to go.
“Ms. Wyeth,” Sammy says from behind the cash register, pronouncing my last name as if there’s nohsound, but with such propriety it makes me straighten my back. “Right this way.”
I follow Sammy into a back office that smells like freshly baked bread. I breathe deeply and settle into the chair opposite his desk, which is inexplicably covered in a pretzel party platter, one of my only safe foods during a flare. The soft, unoffensive carbs and the little chunks of salt just go down easy.
“Care for a pretzel?” His hands hover over the plastic tray top.
“Absolutely.”
Pleased, he removes the lid, and I help myself. This is already the best interview I’ve ever conducted.
Sammy sits back, his hands folding across his stomach. “How can I help you?”
“Long story short, I suspect Mike Tonuto’s out to get me, and I think you know what that’s like.” I watch him closely for a reaction, but there’s no need because there’s nothing subtle about Sammy DiFiore. He belts out a laugh.
“What’s my brother done now?”
I blink. “Yourbrother?”
“Halfbrother, he’d want me to say.Half.” Sammy’s good-natured smile turns pained. “We’re not close.”
“Do you believe he’s behind all the attention your business gets from the city council?” I take a big bite of pretzel and pull up my notes. Audits, inspections, health code complaints, Wilson even tried getting the building designated as a historical landmark so Sammy couldn’t add a back patio. It was built in 1974! They’ve really put Sammy through the wringer.
“Oh, a hundred percent. Mikey thinks he runs this town, and he uses that sycophant Wilson to do his bidding.” Sammy huffs. “Why, what’d you do to piss him off?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could help me figure that out.”
“I do have a theory.” Sammy squints at me. “You’re trying to open the dispensary across the street, right?”
I nod as I swallow the last bite of pretzel, then reach for another.
“Well, I guarantee you that whatever he’s doing to you, it’s probably intended to hurt me.”
“But how?”
“Like you said—your dispensary will drive up people’s appetites in the area and bring hungry clientele to the downtown restaurant district.” Sammy tosses his hands. “Who’s across the street? Who owns a restaurant? Me. Mikey’s public enemy number one.”
“Do you mind telling me what happened between you two?” I wince. “I’m not trying to pry, but I’ve got a hearing in two days in front of the zoning commission, and if I don’t find a way to win it, I’m going to lose everything.”
“No, I don’t mind. It stopped hurting a long time ago.” Sammy shakes his head. “Our mother, Belinda, married Mikey’s dad first, Stan Tonuto. Stan was in the car business, and Mom always wanted to start her own steak shop. By the time she opened, she was six months’ pregnant with Mikey.”
“Belly’s Steaks,” I murmur, remembering the shop across from Strange Drugs in the model of Sparrow Nook.
“Aw, you know of it?” Sammy smiles, his eyes twinkling. “It was a great shop. Mom really knew how to make a steak. Well, Stan passed when Mikey was two or three, and Mom remarriedmydad a few years after that, Buddy DiFiore. I came along shortly thereafter, and then Mikey had a new stepdadanda new little brother, and that didn’t sit well with him. Mikey’s never liked to share. Dad adopted him, and we grew up as brothers, only five years apart, but you’d have thought Mikey was my second dad, the way he bossed me around. We spent all our time in the shop, and when we were tall enough not to get a face full of grease burns, we started working here, too. Mikey worked the grill while I was on the line, but he constantly ragged me, even then.” Sammy’s face twists into a sad smile. “Poor Mom was next to go—had a heart attack right at the counter. She left Belly’s Steaks to us in equal shares, which pissed off Mikey. He felt like he should be sole owner on account of him being oldest. We co-managed the shop for a while, but the quality really suffered. One day, your steaks would be finely chopped, another day, they’d be minced. Some days Cooper sharp, others provolone. Always Sarcone’s rolls, thank God, but that’s the only thing we agreed on. Until everything blew up for good.”
