All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer Read Free Book Online

nearly bumping into the ponytailed waitress as she passes with a small tray of appetizers.
    I shadow her across the restaurant, sometimes stumbling to keep from running into her long, hypnotic legs, before realizing that the appetizers are for us. Her smile as I sit down seems, again, full of pity.
    â€œI do hope you washed your hands,” Celia says as I sit.
    â€œAntibacterial, even.”
    â€œIt’s a question I ask every hour these days.”
    â€œDrew isn’t washing his hands? I’ve heard that about Republicans.”
    She winks, giving me more credit than I deserve. “So you’re going to be like that, are you?”
    Our waitress has been standing patiently with her tray during the back-and-forth, and now she serves up our plates, identifying each. “For the lady, goat-cheese salad with rucola, bitter greens, and a balsamic emulsion. For the gentleman, fresh mozzarella wrapped in honey-cured, free-range bacon, with a side of rucola.”
    At least I’ll have an excellent recording of our food.
    She notices we’ve emptied our glasses, and we accept her invitation to drink more. As she heads off, I can’t help watching those legs as they navigate around chairs. At one table, a heavy, mostly bald man with a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle catches her attention. He’s caught mine, because I recognize him from the airport. The angry penny-pincher in the hatchback whom I don’t remember from the flight itself.
    â€œYes, she’s very pretty,” says Celia. “But that’s youth for you.”
    Embarrassed, I shake my head. “I just recognized someone.”
    She turns in her chair, and I see how she’s pulled up her hair in the back with a tortoiseshell clip to keep those chestnut strands from contaminating her food. “From where?”
    â€œDon’t be obvious,” I tell her, and she turns back, embarrassed herself.
    â€œSorry. A few years away, and all subtlety’s gone.”
    â€œJust someone from the airport. Doesn’t matter.”
    â€œMaybe it does ,” she suggests, face serious before breaking into a toothy, condescending grin. “Remember, dear. This is not the real world. You can let down your guard here.”
    I may be able to let down my guard, but she shouldn’t.
    She says, “Your bacon smells divine.”
    I spear a log of mozzarella and bacon and hold it out. Surprisingly, she thinks about it, as if it really requires thought. Watching her weight, perhaps. “Live a little,” I tell her. I reach toward her still-so-beautiful mouth, and she gives in. She lives a little, taking it into her mouth, and as soon as her tongue touches the bacon fat her eyes close, lips purse, and she sucks everything off of the fork.
    â€œMmm,” she says.
    Indeed, it’s delicious, and we both eat with pleasure, me occasionally glancing at the businessman at the far table, who reads his newspaper between sips of red. The salty pork provokes my thirst, and, just in time, our waitress brings fresh glasses.
    â€œI shouldn’t keep drinking,” Celia says as I reach over to her face and, with a finger, wipe off a flake of rucola. Admirably, she doesn’t flinch. She just says, “The kids still need to be tucked in.”
    â€œCan’t Drew take care of it?”
    She nods quickly, almost defensive. “He’s amazing with the kids, actually. I sometimes think that if I disappeared, they wouldn’t miss a thing. He devotes all his time to them.”
    â€œExcept when he’s helping the Republicans.”
    â€œCareful.”
    The waitress takes away our plates. I raise my glass. “To new ways of living.”
    This time, she hesitates. Perhaps she senses irony. Perhaps I’m buzzed enough to let my real feelings slip through the cracks between my words. I don’t know. But then she smiles, and we tap glasses and drink. She sets hers down first and stares into my