Left on St. Truth-Be-Well Read Free Page B

stuck having eggs at the FA Café.
    “You see something?”
    Carson jerked his attention back to Florida and had a moment to reflect that he was wearing flip-flops and cutoffs to work. Jesus, how awesome was that?
    “Just the guy I was sent down here to get hold of.” Carson sighed, sinking back down to the picnic table. He perked up when he realized the promised breakfast was right there in front of him. “Ohmigod! That’s huge. It’s… it’s like… like breakfast-zilla! Do people really eat that much breakfast or do they just worship it until the eggs turn cold and then throw it out and worship the next one? I mean… I’ve seen families fed on that much stuff! Seriously, people eat that?”
    “No,” said Florida with a droll look. “They don’t eat it. They talk it to death and then bury it in the backyard.”
    Carson squeezed his eyes closed, embarrassed. “Shutting up now. Hey, do you guys got any, you know, ketchup or—”
    “I do know what ketchup is,” Florida said seriously. “And you won’t want to put any on that. I do have some FA sauce inside. Here.” He reached over to the table next to them and grabbed a red plastic bottle. “You put this on your potatoes if you have to. I’ll be right back.”
    Carson dutifully shook some ketchup on his potatoes and took a bite. Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Crunchy on the outside, tender on the in, and seasoned all points in between. God. Better with ketchup, but he could see why someone would get picky. He finished off the potatoes and looked inside to see where his friend in the cutoffs had gone, and realized business had gotten pretty brisk since he’d last been inside. Florida was talking to customers and taking cash, and Carson thought a little wistfully of the promised FA sauce and a little more wistfully of the company. Ah, well. At least the egg tacos were still there.
    By the second bite he was in love. Oh man! It was a good thing he wasn’t talking the eggs to death—that was no way for good eggs to die! Good eggs should be savored, made lurve to, nuzzled. He got through the first taco on his plate and was looking at the other three with great excitement when he heard a gentle thunk and a softly reproving voice.
    “I said I’d get it for you!”
    “Well, yeah, but you were busy,” Carson apologized through a full mouth. “And thank you, but you know, these eggs are awesome. I don’t know what’s in them, but—”
    “Sausage, bacon, cheese, and fish,” Florida said, squirting some of the sauce he’d thunked on the table. “Now try that.”
    Carson’s eyes crossed with his first bite. “I’m eating here every day,” he vowed fervently and then took another bite. And another. Florida let him get through that taco, and he’d started on the third on the plate before the guy started asking questions.
    “I saw you standing up and waving to someone. Anyone I’d know?”
    Carson swallowed. “Yeah, maybe. I’m here looking for my manager’s nephew, Anastacio. Stassy sort of disappeared, and I got sent down here.” Carson reached for his phone and pulled up a picture of Stassy. “Anyway, Ivan’s worried, because his brother-in-law is built like a truck and Stassy was sort of his responsibility, and I’m down here looking for him. You seen a guy like that?”
    Florida looked carefully at the picture. “Yeah, he’s been down here a couple of weeks, right?”
    Carson felt a ping of excitement. Damn. Maybe this guy knew him! Could get hold of him! Something , and Carson could get the hell out of here and go back home!
    “Yeah. He was staying across the street—”
    “Yeah. He didn’t complain like you did. Just sort of sucked it up and dealt. He’d come over here for breakfast, sometimes with a guy I know. You, uhm, know, they looked pretty friendly.”
    Carson’s shrug pretty much summed it up. “Yeah, well, that’s most of us at Ivan O’Leary’s. That’s the bar where we work. Anyway, girls, boys, we’re all sort of, you