A Mighty Fortress by S.D. Thames Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S.D. Thames
not have to wait for the valet to retrieve my car if things turned south and we needed to get out of Dodge. So I parked in the hotel garage. It was only $20, rather than the $25 for valet service. I kept the receipt for Mattie.
The hostess wore black; her hair was blonde with black streaks. She didn’t make eye contact, just asked if she could help me.
I told her I had reservations for two.
She glanced at my companion. She seemed uneasy about where to put us vagrants. I made her job easier. “Could we have a seat somewhere out of the open?”
“Gladly.”
She led us to a two-seater in a far corner of the main dining room. I didn’t know much other than I was looking for a party of four, one of whom would be Angie, or whatever her name was.
Our waiter walked over regretfully, as though he’d picked the shortest straw. His demeanor improved when Pinkerton snatched the wine book from his hand. It didn’t take Pinkerton long to order. He ordered the antipasti bar as an appetizer, and the osso bucco special the waiter had told us about—undoubtedly the most expensive entrée on the menu. The judge obviously had been here before or spent the afternoon studying the menu.
“And to drink?” asked the waiter.
Pinkerton admitted he didn’t know much about Italian reds. He asked for something that could stand up to the braised veal.
“A brunello, perhaps,” suggested the waiter.
“Sounds great. Give us your most expensive one.”
I sighed, wondering what the limit on my Amex was.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked me.
I ordered a Tuscan ribeye and an Italian beer. I’d let the good judge have his way with a bottle of wine. I was curious to see if he could finish it by himself and, if so, how he handled it.
Pinkerton disappeared for his appetizer. I glanced around the dining room. Still no sign of the Scalzo party. The waiter returned with the wine. While he worked on uncorking it, I asked if they had any private rooms for special occasions.
He set the cork on the table and hovered over my glass to pour the sample.
I covered the glass with my hand. “Just the beer for me.”
“We do have a few private booths,” he said as he poured a sample for the judge.
I asked where they were. “I’d like to see them before I leave. I might be interested in reserving one for an upcoming birthday.”
“Around that hallway.” He pointed, and I thanked him.
I was about to get a better lay of the land when Pinkerton returned with a plate filled with cuts of charcuterie, white cheeses, and every shade of olive you could imagine. He swirled the wine in his glass and took a whiff of the bouquet. His nose snarled merrily and he finally nodded in approval.
Then he raised his glass for a toast, and I met him with my beer.
“What are we toasting?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Life,” he said. “That should be good enough.” He started chewing on a piece of oily salami. “You know, speaking of life, I did a little reading on yours today.”
“You don’t say.”
“You don’t think I’d go to dinner with a complete stranger?”
“I didn’t give it much thought.”
“Sure you did. But you know me. You had no reason to. Plus, I thought your name was familiar. I realized it wasn’t just from the courtroom that I remembered you.”
I sipped my beer, not liking where this was going.
“Yeah, sonny, I saw you had your fifteen minutes of fame. Or should I say your fifteen minutes on Fox News?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Some story. You lost your dad on 9/11, dropped out of law school, and enlisted to fight the bad guys.”
“I guess that’s how they reported it.”
“And you played football too?”
I nodded. “I was a tight end at U. Conn.”
“A pretty good one. I read you tried out at the combine.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, the message I kept hearing was that I needed to put on some weight to make it at the next level, and if I did my research I could locate some
The hostess wore black; her hair was blonde with black streaks. She didn’t make eye contact, just asked if she could help me.
I told her I had reservations for two.
She glanced at my companion. She seemed uneasy about where to put us vagrants. I made her job easier. “Could we have a seat somewhere out of the open?”
“Gladly.”
She led us to a two-seater in a far corner of the main dining room. I didn’t know much other than I was looking for a party of four, one of whom would be Angie, or whatever her name was.
Our waiter walked over regretfully, as though he’d picked the shortest straw. His demeanor improved when Pinkerton snatched the wine book from his hand. It didn’t take Pinkerton long to order. He ordered the antipasti bar as an appetizer, and the osso bucco special the waiter had told us about—undoubtedly the most expensive entrée on the menu. The judge obviously had been here before or spent the afternoon studying the menu.
“And to drink?” asked the waiter.
Pinkerton admitted he didn’t know much about Italian reds. He asked for something that could stand up to the braised veal.
“A brunello, perhaps,” suggested the waiter.
“Sounds great. Give us your most expensive one.”
I sighed, wondering what the limit on my Amex was.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked me.
I ordered a Tuscan ribeye and an Italian beer. I’d let the good judge have his way with a bottle of wine. I was curious to see if he could finish it by himself and, if so, how he handled it.
Pinkerton disappeared for his appetizer. I glanced around the dining room. Still no sign of the Scalzo party. The waiter returned with the wine. While he worked on uncorking it, I asked if they had any private rooms for special occasions.
He set the cork on the table and hovered over my glass to pour the sample.
I covered the glass with my hand. “Just the beer for me.”
“We do have a few private booths,” he said as he poured a sample for the judge.
I asked where they were. “I’d like to see them before I leave. I might be interested in reserving one for an upcoming birthday.”
“Around that hallway.” He pointed, and I thanked him.
I was about to get a better lay of the land when Pinkerton returned with a plate filled with cuts of charcuterie, white cheeses, and every shade of olive you could imagine. He swirled the wine in his glass and took a whiff of the bouquet. His nose snarled merrily and he finally nodded in approval.
Then he raised his glass for a toast, and I met him with my beer.
“What are we toasting?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Life,” he said. “That should be good enough.” He started chewing on a piece of oily salami. “You know, speaking of life, I did a little reading on yours today.”
“You don’t say.”
“You don’t think I’d go to dinner with a complete stranger?”
“I didn’t give it much thought.”
“Sure you did. But you know me. You had no reason to. Plus, I thought your name was familiar. I realized it wasn’t just from the courtroom that I remembered you.”
I sipped my beer, not liking where this was going.
“Yeah, sonny, I saw you had your fifteen minutes of fame. Or should I say your fifteen minutes on Fox News?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Some story. You lost your dad on 9/11, dropped out of law school, and enlisted to fight the bad guys.”
“I guess that’s how they reported it.”
“And you played football too?”
I nodded. “I was a tight end at U. Conn.”
“A pretty good one. I read you tried out at the combine.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, the message I kept hearing was that I needed to put on some weight to make it at the next level, and if I did my research I could locate some