Read Online Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4) by Alex P. Berg - Free Book Online
Authors: Alex P. Berg
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as it might’ve been a couple weeks prior with the park’s canopy ablaze in reds, oranges, and yellows. Not that I cared. In the aftermath of my introduction to Agent Sweetcheeks, my mind had retreated into the dark hole it considered its safe place, taking with it the majority of my faculties.
Shay tried to engage me in conversation as we walked. I think I managed to respond to a grand total of thirteen inquiries with some form of a grunt, frown, or ‘Mmm-hmm’ before she noticed.
“In addition to her robe, did you accidentally slip on a pair of your wife’s underwear this morning, too?” she asked.
I’d been dragging my eyes along the park’s cobblestone path as we walked. I blinked and lifted them to meet Shay’s gaze. “Say what?”
“I’m saying you’re acting like your panties are in a bunch.”
“Hardy-har har,” I said.
We stood at the edge of an algae and lily pad-ridden pond, one surrounded by thick clusters of reeds and cattails. A lazy dragonfly alighted on the water’s surface, only to get summarily introduced to a goldfish’s gullet. Before me, the park’s vegetation abruptly stopped as it met the packed earth of a main thoroughfare. Had we already traversed the entire thing?
“Seriously,” said Steele. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Steele tilted her head and gave me a skeptical double eyebrow raise.
I grunted. Shay was almost as bad as my ex-wife Nicole in her ability to sniff out my bunkum and lies—and far more persistent in her search of a response. So I replied in the only way I knew how—by telling her the truth, but only a portion of it.
“It’s that self-professed Agent Blue,” I said. “I don’t like him one bit.”
“Self-professed?” said Steele.
“Yes,” I said. “Detective, sure. Investigator. Why not? Officer. Well, given his military rank, probably. But agent? It’s not like he’s out there protecting generals and elected officials from assassination attempts.”
“It’s a perfectly suitable word,” said Steele. “And I don’t know what your issues with him are. He seemed eminently professional.”
I tried not to snort. Right. The manner in which he took your hand as he introduced himself was nothing if not professional.
“He’s going to be a pain in our backsides,” I said. “Mark my words. Lanky hadn’t even cooled to an acceptable temperature before he stuck his meddling fingers in our investigation.”
“It sounded like he had nothing to do with that,” said Steele. “The sergeant major acted on his own.”
“And you believed him?” I shook my head.
Shay rolled her eyes. “You know, I was mostly joking about you being cranky because of hunger pangs, but your attitude is convincing me otherwise.” She pointed across the street. “Want to try that place for lunch? I’ve heard good things. Inexpensive, high quality ingredients, and fast.”
I followed her finger to a sign that had an enormous steel frying pan attached to it, and to the right, the words ‘Speed Wok.’
“Stir fry?” I asked. “Really?”
“Why not?” said Steele. “And it’s not like you have any say in the matter. It’s my turn to choose.”
We crossed the road and stepped into the eatery, which had a different layout than any I’d seen before. The establishment contained no walls or partitions. It was just one big room filled with neatly arranged tables, and in the back, the kitchen, its hustle and bustle and noise and heat open for all to see and experience—not a bad idea in the cool winter months, but a questionable strategy come June.
Before us, a short line stretched to a counter manned by a gnome—of course it was a gnome—taking orders which he scribbled onto a notepad. As he finished each order, he yelled it to the kitchen staff, who repeated it three times in what I assumed was a ritual to help keep them from forgetting it. At the gnome’s side, a blackboard listed the menu in variegated colors of chalk.
I refused to
Shay tried to engage me in conversation as we walked. I think I managed to respond to a grand total of thirteen inquiries with some form of a grunt, frown, or ‘Mmm-hmm’ before she noticed.
“In addition to her robe, did you accidentally slip on a pair of your wife’s underwear this morning, too?” she asked.
I’d been dragging my eyes along the park’s cobblestone path as we walked. I blinked and lifted them to meet Shay’s gaze. “Say what?”
“I’m saying you’re acting like your panties are in a bunch.”
“Hardy-har har,” I said.
We stood at the edge of an algae and lily pad-ridden pond, one surrounded by thick clusters of reeds and cattails. A lazy dragonfly alighted on the water’s surface, only to get summarily introduced to a goldfish’s gullet. Before me, the park’s vegetation abruptly stopped as it met the packed earth of a main thoroughfare. Had we already traversed the entire thing?
“Seriously,” said Steele. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Steele tilted her head and gave me a skeptical double eyebrow raise.
I grunted. Shay was almost as bad as my ex-wife Nicole in her ability to sniff out my bunkum and lies—and far more persistent in her search of a response. So I replied in the only way I knew how—by telling her the truth, but only a portion of it.
“It’s that self-professed Agent Blue,” I said. “I don’t like him one bit.”
“Self-professed?” said Steele.
“Yes,” I said. “Detective, sure. Investigator. Why not? Officer. Well, given his military rank, probably. But agent? It’s not like he’s out there protecting generals and elected officials from assassination attempts.”
“It’s a perfectly suitable word,” said Steele. “And I don’t know what your issues with him are. He seemed eminently professional.”
I tried not to snort. Right. The manner in which he took your hand as he introduced himself was nothing if not professional.
“He’s going to be a pain in our backsides,” I said. “Mark my words. Lanky hadn’t even cooled to an acceptable temperature before he stuck his meddling fingers in our investigation.”
“It sounded like he had nothing to do with that,” said Steele. “The sergeant major acted on his own.”
“And you believed him?” I shook my head.
Shay rolled her eyes. “You know, I was mostly joking about you being cranky because of hunger pangs, but your attitude is convincing me otherwise.” She pointed across the street. “Want to try that place for lunch? I’ve heard good things. Inexpensive, high quality ingredients, and fast.”
I followed her finger to a sign that had an enormous steel frying pan attached to it, and to the right, the words ‘Speed Wok.’
“Stir fry?” I asked. “Really?”
“Why not?” said Steele. “And it’s not like you have any say in the matter. It’s my turn to choose.”
We crossed the road and stepped into the eatery, which had a different layout than any I’d seen before. The establishment contained no walls or partitions. It was just one big room filled with neatly arranged tables, and in the back, the kitchen, its hustle and bustle and noise and heat open for all to see and experience—not a bad idea in the cool winter months, but a questionable strategy come June.
Before us, a short line stretched to a counter manned by a gnome—of course it was a gnome—taking orders which he scribbled onto a notepad. As he finished each order, he yelled it to the kitchen staff, who repeated it three times in what I assumed was a ritual to help keep them from forgetting it. At the gnome’s side, a blackboard listed the menu in variegated colors of chalk.
I refused to
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