not if we had to put our backs to the windows. Yeah, the chances of someone walking up and just starting to shoot at us was small, but small wasn't the same as not ever happening. Police aren't paranoid because of some psychological disorder, they're paranoid because real bad things have happened to them, and in our job paranoia was just another word for staying alive.
So, where to sit?
There was a booth that sat back in a corner with a wall that backed the kitchen so there were no windows, and as many as four could sit comfortably with enough room to get to weapons without crowding each other. We also had a clear line of sight to the door. It was perfect. We slid into the booth, with me in the middle, which would have trapped Brice or Zerbrowski, but I was small enough that if I had to, I could go under the table and be shooting at people's legs and be shooting them in the chest and face as they dropped to their knees, because that's what happens to most people if bullets shatter their leg bones. Yes, that is how cops think, that's how anyone who lives by the gun thinks. We don't talk about it, but we are totally into preplanning our survival.
We got settled into the booth, portioned out our food, and started eating before we started talking, because we could talk in the car, but we couldn't eat most of the food we'd gotten in the car while driving. Have you ever tried to eat a salad in a car? Of course, I hadn't ordered a salad, I had a burger, but you can't eat Jimmy's burgers in a car either unless you want to be wearing all that yummy condiment goodness.
"Red meat is bad for you, you know," Zerbrowski said, sort of forlornly.
"My cholesterol is fine," I said, stacking the bun higher with all the layers of vegetables on the burger.
"Mine, too," Brice said, as he took his first bite.
"You should have said something when we were ordering, if you were going to pout, Zerbrowski."
"Would you have ordered a salad to keep me company?"
"No, but I would have felt guilty about it." I took the first bite of the burger. It was juicy and cooked to perfection. The veggies were crisp, ripe, and yummy. I tried to keep the look of bliss off my face, but I think I failed, because Zerbrowski looked like something hurt.
Brice and I ate in happy silence for a few minutes, and then I said, "Sorry, Zerbrowski, but I eat salads at home because Nathaniel decides the menu; when I'm not at home, I eat what I want."
"Nathaniel is your live-in boyfriend?" Brice asked, after he'd swallowed another bite of burger.
"Yep," I said, and took another bite of burger.
Zerbrowski gave me a pained look.
I ignored him.
"You said he does the menus; what does that mean?"
"He does most of the cooking, as either head chef or sous chef to one of the others."
"You make it sound like a restaurant," Brice said.
I shrugged. "The men started it; whoever is the main cook for a meal is designated chef and the others are sous chefs. It's their system and it works, so I just work with it. I figure if I'm not doing the cooking, I shouldn't bitch about how they want to do it."
"Very reasonable," Brice said.
I shrugged again and took another bite of my burger.
"She usually is," Zerbrowski said, as he took a small bite of his salad. He chewed the lettuce as if it were the opposite of yummy.
He was only about nine years older than me; would I have to give up burgers someday? Of course, I was as lean as I had been in college, but more muscular. Zerbrowski had started getting a little thicker around the middle, nothing bad, but he had put on weight. With two kids and a wife, he had more trouble finding time to hit the gym. Kids seemed to make things a lot harder; good thing I'd probably never have to worry about that particular complication.
"Earth to Anita," Zerbrowski was saying.
I blinked at him. "What?"
"What were you thinking about so hard just now?" he asked, and he looked suspicious.
"Nothing," I said.
"Liar; women are never thinking nothing."
"When you say you're thinking nothing, I believe you," I said.
"I'm a man, I really am thinking nothing."
I gave him an exasperated smile. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I want to know