been very affectionate, and he’d been having a problem sitting down all morning.
“Maybe,” Steve replied without heat. “Alex Gagnon, right?” Joe nodded. “He from around here?”
“What do you think,” Joe snapped. “You work with his brother.”
“Chris hasn’t mentioned he had a brother,” Steve said. What he failed to say was that Chris hadn’t mentioned a brother for twenty-three years. Nor had Chris’ grandmother, who Steve had known since he was four. And she’d talked about Chris, his good-for-nothing father, and her long-suffering daughter-in-law a lot in the years before they’d died and Chris had come to live with her.
Joe snorted. “No surprise. Alex is gay. None of my family talks about me, either.”
“I want to be clear here, Joe. I don’t have a problem with you, or who you date.”
Joe looked at him with suspicion. “What’s the problem, then?”
“There isn’t a problem.” Joe frowned again at Steve. The man was lying. Even if the tingle at the back of his head hadn’t told him he’d have known.
“You’re lying to me. Don’t.”
Steve raised an eyebrow at Joe. He was an excellent liar, something that normally served him well. Chris was the only other person he knew of who could reliably catch him out. “Fine. Have you ever seen Alex’s drivers license?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Humor me.”
Joe tried to think. It wasn’t the normal sort of question. Well, normal for him, at least. Maybe this was regular police small-talk or something.
“Maybe,” he said after a minute. “We got carded once or twice. Bernie thought it was funny.”
“What state was it from?”
“It was a Connecticut license,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped. “I run the damn HR department. I know what licenses look like.”
Steve frowned. That only confirmed his suspicions. There was no record of an Alex Gagnon in the DMV’s computers. That meant the license was fake or Joe was lying. While Steve would be willing to put money on Joe being happy to tell him to go fuck himself, he couldn’t see any reason Joe would lie about it.
The waitress interrupted with their food. She put a small pepperoni pizza in front of Steve, and, with a disgusted flourish, dropped a bowl full of lettuce in front of Joe. There was a lone albino tomato slice lying on top.
Joe poked at it with a water-spotted fork, then lifted up one limp leaf. It was shiny in the light, and dripped with oil and vinegar dressing.
“There’s more grease on my salad than on your pizza,” he said.
“Yep,” Steve said. He bit into a piece with enthusiasm.
“You eat here often?”
“Most days,” Steve answered.
“How come your arteries haven’t turned to stone?”
“The station-house coffee cleans ‘em right out. Works pretty well on the drains, too.”
Joe shuddered. “Maybe I wasn’t hungry after all.”
“Live a little,” Steve said, handing him a slice of pizza.
“Uh… thanks?”
“Don’t mention it,” Steve said. “So, what are you doing this Saturday?”
Joe tossed the piece of pizza back onto Steve’s plate.
“Last night wasn’t any of your business. Why should tomorrow be any different?”
“You really need to relax,” Steve said blandly. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack, you’re so tense.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Joe.
“I’m sure. The pizza’ll get you first.”
“At least I’ll die happy. Anyway. Saturday. What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Joe snapped. Before
“Maybe,” Steve replied without heat. “Alex Gagnon, right?” Joe nodded. “He from around here?”
“What do you think,” Joe snapped. “You work with his brother.”
“Chris hasn’t mentioned he had a brother,” Steve said. What he failed to say was that Chris hadn’t mentioned a brother for twenty-three years. Nor had Chris’ grandmother, who Steve had known since he was four. And she’d talked about Chris, his good-for-nothing father, and her long-suffering daughter-in-law a lot in the years before they’d died and Chris had come to live with her.
Joe snorted. “No surprise. Alex is gay. None of my family talks about me, either.”
“I want to be clear here, Joe. I don’t have a problem with you, or who you date.”
Joe looked at him with suspicion. “What’s the problem, then?”
“There isn’t a problem.” Joe frowned again at Steve. The man was lying. Even if the tingle at the back of his head hadn’t told him he’d have known.
“You’re lying to me. Don’t.”
Steve raised an eyebrow at Joe. He was an excellent liar, something that normally served him well. Chris was the only other person he knew of who could reliably catch him out. “Fine. Have you ever seen Alex’s drivers license?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Humor me.”
Joe tried to think. It wasn’t the normal sort of question. Well, normal for him, at least. Maybe this was regular police small-talk or something.
“Maybe,” he said after a minute. “We got carded once or twice. Bernie thought it was funny.”
“What state was it from?”
“It was a Connecticut license,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped. “I run the damn HR department. I know what licenses look like.”
Steve frowned. That only confirmed his suspicions. There was no record of an Alex Gagnon in the DMV’s computers. That meant the license was fake or Joe was lying. While Steve would be willing to put money on Joe being happy to tell him to go fuck himself, he couldn’t see any reason Joe would lie about it.
The waitress interrupted with their food. She put a small pepperoni pizza in front of Steve, and, with a disgusted flourish, dropped a bowl full of lettuce in front of Joe. There was a lone albino tomato slice lying on top.
Joe poked at it with a water-spotted fork, then lifted up one limp leaf. It was shiny in the light, and dripped with oil and vinegar dressing.
“There’s more grease on my salad than on your pizza,” he said.
“Yep,” Steve said. He bit into a piece with enthusiasm.
“You eat here often?”
“Most days,” Steve answered.
“How come your arteries haven’t turned to stone?”
“The station-house coffee cleans ‘em right out. Works pretty well on the drains, too.”
Joe shuddered. “Maybe I wasn’t hungry after all.”
“Live a little,” Steve said, handing him a slice of pizza.
“Uh… thanks?”
“Don’t mention it,” Steve said. “So, what are you doing this Saturday?”
Joe tossed the piece of pizza back onto Steve’s plate.
“Last night wasn’t any of your business. Why should tomorrow be any different?”
“You really need to relax,” Steve said blandly. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack, you’re so tense.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Joe.
“I’m sure. The pizza’ll get you first.”
“At least I’ll die happy. Anyway. Saturday. What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Joe snapped. Before
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