I parked in the back lot of
the restaurant. Hopefully, Philips had arrived and was parked in front. He had,
since he was inside waiting for me. I'd given Julio, the owner, a head's-up and
he made sure we were seated in the rear of the restaurant, well away from the
large front windows. Ten minutes after arriving, we were in my car, heading to
Ricky's. Very carefully. I took what evasive measures were needed to thwart anyone
who might be tailing us.
When we got to Ricky's I
pulled into the building's parking garage. Ricky had two spaces, one for him, and
one for me that he rented from a tenant who didn't drive.
So far, so good. Philips was
tense as we rode up in the elevator. I swear, he kept glancing over his
shoulder even though it was just the two of us. Not that I could blame him.
This was his first experience with trying to avoid the goons and company. Okay,
the second one if you count the cab ride.
Ricky greeted us at the door
to his apartment. After I introduced him to Philips—who asked him to call him
Bailey—and vice versa, Ricky told us dinner would be ready soon and asked
Philips what he'd like to drink.
"Wine, if you have
it?" Philips said hesitantly before he went over to look at the books and
the small art pieces on the shelves along one wall. "Is this what I think
it is?" He touched a jade bowl, looking awed.
"Ming dynasty,"
Ricky replied as he poured a glass of wine and brought it to Philips. "A
minor piece that my grandfather acquired during one of his forays overseas
after the war."
"It's still a work of
art." Philips smiled a bit. "If you ever considering selling it, I'd
be happy to put you in touch with a collector I know." He chuckled,
adding, "For a commission on my part of course."
Ricky laughed. "Of
course. Walt? Beer or your usual?"
"Beer, thanks."
I'd have loved my usual, which was scotch straight-up, but the day was catching
up with me and I needed to keep a clear head if we were going to figure out
what to do about Caiazzo's offer.
Ricky handed me a beer from
the fridge behind the bar, took one for himself and then said he'd be right
back. He needed to check on dinner. From the smell drifting from the kitchen I
was betting it was his famous, at least to my way of thinking, Yankee pot
roast.
As soon as he left the room
Philips turned to me, asking, "Are you and he… more than just
friends?"
"Why would you think
that?" I said cautiously.
Philips nodded to a photo
sitting on one of the shelves. It was of me and Ricky, taken when we'd
celebrated our third anniversary together. We were leaning in and it was obvious
that we were about to kiss. "Between that and the fact he asked if you
wanted your regular… Well I'm no detective but even I can put together the
clues. Don't worry, it doesn't bother me in the least if you're a couple. Although
from what you said at one point, I was under the impression you had a
house."
"He does," Ricky
said dryly, coming back into the room. "Someday I'm going to convince him
I'd be just a safe living with him as not. Until then…" he shot me a
disgruntled look, "we commute."
Philips laughed. "I had
a lady friend I did that with, until she decided the arrangement wasn't working
for her. So I married her."
"Lucky man," Ricky
said softly before announcing that dinner was ready. As we headed to the dining
room, I stopped him long enough to give him a hug. He smiled up at me,
murmuring, "Someday."
"I suspect so," I
agreed. It wasn't that I didn't want us living together. It was just… I wanted
him safe. Or as safe as possible considering we didn’t keep our… commuting… a
big secret in the grand scheme of things.
When the three of us were
seated, I told the others we weren't going to discuss why we were here until
after dinner.
Ricky, being Ricky,
immediately riposted with, "We can't talk about this wonderful meal?"
I shook my head in amusement
and we did talk about it, and other general things, until we'd finished the
peach cobbler he'd made for dessert. My man does like to cook when he gets the
chance, and he's damned good at it.
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