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“It is,” he acknowledges.
He’s still staring at me, and I get the feeling he’s referring to me, too. I bristle at that, but I have to play nice for the time being. Be his “good guest.”
“How did you know my mother doesn’t live in Arizona?” I ask, wondering if he had looked up my life somehow.
“You don’t lie that well,” he answers.
“Actually, I’m pretty good. I’ve just never lied to a gangster before. I’ve never had any problems with anyone else. My mom still doesn’t know what I do.”
“What does she think you do?”
“I tell her I have freelance gigs as a virtual assistant and supplement that with odd jobs, like passing out flyers, getting signatures for petitions, or delivering food.”
“She doesn’t think a bright young woman like yourself should be in college?”
“She knows it’s expensive. I don’t want to be paying a bunch of student loans. When I’ve saved up enough money, then I’ll go. My mom is pretty easygoing. She lets me live my life. I take it yours is...proud of your accomplishments?”
His expression darkens briefly. “My mother passed away a year after I was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was raised by my maternal grandmother till she passed away.”
“That must have been very tough on you.”
“Others have had it worse.”
“Still.”
“I’m not sure how we ended up talking about my family again. Let’s get back to you. What is the heist you’re most proud of?”
“Our biggest job—other than the Morelli—was a jewelry heist. Peter and I weren’t the lead on the job, but I was the one who chose the store.”
“Yeah?”
“I chose it for two reasons. One, it shared a wall with a store that had gone out of business, so there was less chance of us getting caught drilling through the walls. Also, the jewelry store owner was a jerk. I saw him twice turn away Black customers. He even threatened to call the cops on one of them because the guy dared to challenge him on his racism.”
“What other jobs have you done?”
I go through the times Peter and I have broken into homes, walked out of stores with electronics, or broken into lockers and safes.
By the time I’m done, the rest of lunch is being served, and I actually have my appetite back. My fried fare is not nearly as healthy as what Rafe is eating, but it’s comfort food to me.
“This has got to be the best burger I’ve ever had,” I say before stuffing my face with fries while Rafe has his seared Bluefin Tuna on a bed of fragrant rice and garnished with pickled vegetables. I eye the tuna. I wonder what thousand-dollar fish tastes like.
“You want to try it?” Rafe asks.
“Um, sure,” I reply.
He pries off a piece with his chopsticks and holds it out to me. I wrap my mouth around the bite.
“So smooth,” I remark after swallowing. “Like butter.”
He offers me another bite. “You want more?”
“Maybe one more bite.”
With his chopsticks, he places the bite of tuna in my mouth and slowly withdraws the chopsticks. I chew slowly, partly to savor the fish, partly because I’m discombobulated again by the way Rafe is looking at me. Kind of like I’m his next meal.
