Damn my cuteness.
El Torito is loud and open. The loudness and openness was actually of benefit for anyone having a private conversation, which was probably why Greg had chosen it.
Personally, I found the noise level here a bit overwhelming, but then again, I'm also just a sweet and sensitive woman.
It was either that or my supernaturally acute hearing that quite literally picked up every clattering dish, scraping fork, and far ruder sounds best not described. And, of course, picked up the babble of ceaseless conversations. If I wanted to I could generally make out any inpidual conversation within any room. Handy for a P.I., trust me. Granted, I couldn't hear through walls or anything, but sounds that most people could hear, well, I could just hear that much better.
"Lots of people over at HUD talk very highly of you," he said.
"I gave them the best seven years of my life," I said.
"And then you came down with some sort of, what, rare skin disease or something?"
"Or something," I said.
"Now you work private," he said.
"Yes. A P.I."
"How's that working out?"
"It's good to be my own boss," I said. "Now I give myself weekly pay raises and extra long coffee breaks."
He grinned. "That's cute. Anyway, I was told to tell you what I could. So ask away. If I can't talk about something, or I just don't know the answer, I'll tell you."
We were sitting opposite each other in a far booth in the far corner of the bar. I was sipping some house zinfandel, and he was drinking a Jack and Coke. White wine and water were about the only two liquids I could consume. Well, that and something else.
Just thinking about that something else immediately turned my stomach.