Affairs of Steak Read Free

restaurants. About halfway down the dark space, three men stood outside a side door to Tous le Monde, taking a smoke break. All three wore kitchen whites and surly expressions. One also wore a shabby trench coat. He looked up as we hurried past.
    The icy wind lifted my hair, creating goose bumps that danced across the back of my neck. I shivered. I was glad Lexington Place was our final destination for the day. As much as I didn’t want to credit Sargeant, taking a cab back to the White House might not be a bad idea.
    We were a few steps past the alleyway when I heard a shout and the unmistakable sound of someone running. Too many unwelcome surprises in the past few years had made me wary of anything even slightly unusual and I spun defensively, turning just as the intruder emerged.
    The man in the shabby coat looked harmless enough. Short, with a full head of dark hair streaked with gray, he stopped long enough to focus before scurrying over. He, too, held his collar tight against his neck. His unbelted open coat flapped as he ran. Nothing about him would have been the least bit remarkable except for the fact that his full attention was focused on us. On Sargeant, to be specific.
    “Petey!” he shouted.
    Sargeant had continued walking without me. At the man’s shout, his shoulders dropped and he turned. His face went through a series of contortions I’d characterize as pained.
    “Petey?” I asked.
    I swore he snarled at me. In the two seconds it took for the man to reach us, Sargeant jammed his fists into his sides. “Milton—”
    The guy was breathless. “You told me you might stop by. But you just rushed right past without even looking in.”
    “‘Might,’” Sargeant said through clenched teeth, “I said ‘might’ stop by. Something came up.” Pointing at me, he added, “I’m with a colleague. I’m busy.”
    Sargeant referring to me as a colleague? Would wonders never cease?
    “I knew you’d try to blow me off,” the man said. “Good thing I was keeping an eye out.”
    Fresh cigarette smoke wafted off his body, surrounding our little group. I took a step back. Milton, whoever he was, didn’t seem to notice. Beneath the ratty coat, his kitchen whites were badly stained. I hoped to heaven he wasn’t a cook. His fingers were tobacco brown and the whites of his large, droopy eyes a sickly yellow. Red veins spidered across his cheeks and nose, leading me to believe he and Jack Daniels were close personal friends.
    Sargeant was clearly not happy to see him. “We’ll talk later,” he said, backing away from the man.
    With an uneasy smile, Milton moved in closer toward Sargeant, clapping the other man’s upper arms, looking ready to pull him into a bear hug.
    Visibly repulsed, Sargeant flinched. “Kindly remove your hands.”
    Milton’s cheeks darkened slightly, but he shrugged and backed off. “It’s been too long, Petey.”
    Prissy as ever, Sargeant brushed down the sides of both his arms as though to flick away germs. Silently I watched their interplay, slowly realizing that Sargeant and Milton shared more than just short stature. Though less pinched and certainly more friendly, there was something in Milton’s face that reminded me of Sargeant’s. Age-wise, they were close. “Are you two brothers?” I asked.
    Milton brightened, but Sargeant bristled. “No.”
    “Pete’s my uncle,” Milton said.
    I couldn’t hide my reaction. “Uncle?” I repeated. “But—”
    Sargeant practically chewed the words before spitting them out. “My sister was much older.”
    “Pete was a bonus baby,” Milton offered with a grin. “We’re only six months apart, but I’m his nephew. We went to school together, even. Kind of like growing up as brothers. Well, except for fifth grade, when he made me call him Uncle Pete.” Milton laughed at the memory.
    Sargeant was not amused. He looked at his watch. “We have to go. We’re late.”
    We weren’t, but I wasn’t about to correct him.
    Milton