baseball hat, no unlaced Converse. Instead he sported an ice-blue linen shirt, complemented with graphite gray trousers and spit-shined grown-man shoes. Every piercing he had remained, even the one in his eyebrow, but he’d gone with tasteful diamond studs and sophisticated silver hoops for the occasion. They gleamed against his chocolate skin like pirate booty.
“This isn’t the third degree,” I countered. “Third degree involves yelling and thumbscrews.”
I was almost yelling anyway, over the increasing din of the restaurant. Lupa was packed wall-to-exposed-brick-wall with poets and friends of poets and wanna-be poets—it smelled of perfumed sweat and air conditioning mingled with a barely detectable hit of polyurethene.
“It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you,” Rico said. “I figured you’d notice when Trey strapped on the gun.”
“You could have told me before then.”
“I never had a chance.”
“You had lots of chances!”
He slid an impatient glare toward the front door of the restaurant, where Trey stood at the entrance, backbone like a ruler. I knew Trey required a wall against his spine. He needed a clear line of sight to at least two exits, plus a primary cover and a secondary one. No distractions, which meant no conversation, no food, and no drink—except for Pellegrino. Trey always had a Pellegrino close at hand, this time with a twist of lime. He was a man of habits. I’d been able to break only one—he now occasionally kissed me without being told to do so first.
We did other things too. He still waited for me to suggest those.
Rico looked frustrated. “Doesn’t he ever sit down?”
“No.”
“Can’t he at least be—oh, I don’t know—covert?”
“Former SWAT ops don’t do covert. In Trey’s experience, ‘look out for things’ means prepare for the threat of imminent lethal aggression.” I pointed. “See how he keeps his right hand free? That’s his gun hand. Even from a shoulder holster under a jacket, he has a draw time of one-point-four seconds. That’s how close he is at any moment from ventilating someone’s chest cavity.”
Two twenty-somethings at a nearby table simpered at him, crossing and re-crossing their legs. One wrapped her lips around a pink straw in a pinker drink. Trey took a sip of his Pellegrino and put the glass back down. He used his left hand to do this.
I leaned closer to Rico. “So maybe you don’t want me poking at your problem. Maybe you prefer Trey, who will keep a nice respectful distance and not ask any inconvenient questions. But remember this—you cannot undo him. He’s the nuclear option. Once you’ve engaged him, you’d better be prepared for whatever follows.”
Rico examined Trey again. I knew he was seeing the surface—polite, controlled, efficient. He couldn’t see the underneath. I’d tried explaining and gotten nowhere. But how could I explain? I myself had only glimpsed it from an angle, like seeing a ripple of patterned hide in the jungle and knowing it for a tiger. I had only seen its shadow. Yet the memory held me transfixed sometimes, like when his strong gentle hands went around my neck…
I swallowed the last of my champagne. Rico kept his eyes on Trey.
“Tell him to stand down, and we’ll talk.”
“Not until you spill it.”
“Not now.”
“Yes now.”
Rico eyed me warily. “Fine. But you gotta promise not to tell Adam. He’s freaked out enough already.”
He jabbed his chin toward the merchandise table, where his boyfriend Adam stacked tee-shirts and CDs. The two of them had been dating for five months, living together for four of them, and already I could tell that it was serious. They made a good couple—Rico dark and suave, Adam fair and boyish. Tonight he looked like a cross between a choir boy and a farmhand, with blue jeans and a windowpane plaid shirt, his corn-colored hair in a halo of tousles and cowlicks. He waved and grinned when he saw us looking, as innocent as cherry pie.
I waved back, then crossed my heart seriously. “Not a word to Adam.”
Rico poured another glass of champagne. “We want to put Vigil back on the team.”
“Vigil the switchblade-toting felon? Is that a good idea?”
“Depends. He’s a good poet.”
“If you like anger and attitude.”
“People do. And he’s got community support.”
I remembered the PR materials for the team, which played up Vigil’s do-gooder status. Vigil shooting hoops with kids at the Atlanta Children’s Shelter. Vigil attending community initiative meetings and working voter registration drives.
Rico poured more champagne for me too. “Only one problem. He’s got it in his head that I was the one who set him