The ride started with me asking where we were going two more times and Vice refusing to tell me. Eventually, I gave up and looked out the window, although I was starting to recognize the area. When he finally pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant near Buckhead, I looked over at him.
“You could’ve just told me.”
“You would’ve had an opinion.”
“I have an opinion now.”
“Exactly.”
I shook my head and reached for the door, but before I could open it, Vice was already getting out. By the time I stepped onto the sidewalk, he had walked around the front of the truck and was waiting for me.
The restaurant was nice without feeling like the kind of place where I needed to whisper or worry about using the wrong fork. I’d expected Vice to take me somewhere unnecessarily expensive just because he could, but this place felt comfortable. Nice enough for a business meeting, casual enough that nobody seemed out of place.
The hostess greeted him by name the second we walked in and led us to what she called his usual table. On the way there, several people stopped to speak, and Vice greeted each of them like they’d known each other for years. He never stopped long enough to hold a full conversation, but it was obvious he wasn’t just another customer.
By the time we sat down, I found myself looking at him a little different.
“What?” he asked.
“You know a lot of people.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been coming here for years.”
“That woman at the front called you Mr. Blackwell.”
“That’s my name.”
I laughed, already knowing he was going to make me work for every answer.
A server came by to take our drink order. Vice ordered without looking at the menu while I settled on a lemonade before taking another look around the restaurant. Everybody seemed to know exactly who he was, yet he acted like there was nothing unusual about it.
When we were alone again, I looked back at him.
“You don’t drink?”
“Sometimes.”
“I meant alcohol.”
“So did I.”
I sighed. “See, this is what I mean. Every answer you give creates another question.”
“Maybe you just nosy.”
“Maybe you don’t know how to have a normal conversation.”
“I was having one before you started interviewing me.”
Despite myself, I smiled and told him, “I’m trying to get to know the man who apparently controls where I live now.”
“I don’t control where you live.”
“You told me where I couldn’t live.”
“Different.”
“Only to you…”
