Killing Time in Crystal City Read Online Free PDF Page B

finishing.
    â€œWhat I should have said,” he says, “is that I never had a kid, until now.”
    I have to smile at his gesture, a cube of beef suspended on the tines of the fork in front of my lips.
    â€œThat’s a damn nice thing to say.”
    â€œWell, I damn mean it, dammit.”
    â€œOkay, but this is only temporary until I get myself oriented. I will not be bothering you for long.”
    â€œWell, there ya go, I was just about to tell you the exact same thing.” He laughs heartily, though we both understand that he means every syllable, as I believe he means every syllable of everything he says. Chowing down is how we seal the deal.
    I make the appropriate moans of approval as I chew—as much as I even need to—the first buttery bite of beef. “Fantastic, Uncle Sydney, no kidding.”
    â€œThat pleases me greatly,” he says.
    â€œThere’s no way I could eat all this food, though.”
    He is chewing, so he holds up a hold-on finger till he’s ready. Then, he’s ready.
    â€œThere is a way. And you will find it.”
    â€œBut it’s massive.”
    â€œThere’s a big T-bone in there somewhere, so it’s really not as much meat as it looks like. In this place, we get our protein, our fresh fruit and vegetables to the tune of at least eight portions a day, seeds, nuts, whole grains, plenty of hydration. Gimme a few days and I’ll turn you into the man somebody else couldn’t manage in seventeen years. Not certain how much I can do for that complexion, but we’ll start by cutting out sugar and see where we go from there.”
    Since nothing in there seemed like an invitation to debate, I don’t debate with him. I still don’t think if we managed to clone me, twice, all of my selves could finish, but this one is going to give it a try.
    My uncle is a methodical eater. It could well be that he is putting on a how-to-eat clinic for my benefit, but the way he fully interacts with each item and each mouthful makes me think he’s a natural. The result is that there is a calm, welcome quiet to the meal while he focuses, and a jarring breaking of that calm after he neatly wipes his mouth with his napkin.
    â€œI’ll be away for a few days on business,” he says while pretending not to stare at my slow-moving knife and fork.
    â€œOkay,” I say.
    My father always said that his brother was a filthy criminal. I can see for myself he has the fussy cleanliness of a cat, so that’s one myth busted. Also, my father’s unique take on truth was, “A statement containing an inaccurate detail or two is not a lie if it is serving a larger, more honest narrative.” So, you could say his pronouncements about his brother or anybody else’s were not necessarily take-it-to-the-bank reliable.
    â€œCan I ask you a question, Uncle Sydney?”
    â€œYou want to know what it is I do.”
    I nod.
    â€œYou know, Kevin, I’m happy to tell you anything. But, sometimes just knowing things is enough to get you into trouble or play havoc with your inner peace. Maybe safe and simple is the better way to go with your life.”
    I look at him for a long minute while he does the same to me, a something across his mouth that could be a smile but is not quite declaring itself. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite as sure as he is, and I have to say I find that extremely powerful and alluring.
    â€œAre you telling me that you recommend ‘safe and simple’ as a rule for life, Uncle?”
    His smile declares itself fully now and he reacts as if I have flipped over the right card.
    â€œI am categorically not telling you that, Nephew.”
    Who could resist?
    â€œI would love to know what it is you do.”
    â€œI am a large-scale transporter, basically, of luxury goods. Mostly fine cars, but whatever high-margin items come available. I see to it that these items find their way far, far