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The Brazilian Steakhouse was expensive. Rick could tell that just by walking in. The subtle lighting, the elegant chandeliers, the cut flower arrangements, and the immaculately set tables gave an ambiance of sophistication that was far beyond the family dining chains Rick was more used to. The director had made the reservations, and PNI was paying, so Rick was determined to enjoy himself and not ask too many questions. The waitress took him to a table with a white tablecloth set for three and took his drink order. The director already sat there, poking at his cell phone.
“Director Leon.” Rick greeted him as he pulled out a black, wooden chair and sat beside the older man.
“Charles, please.” Director Leon laid his phone face down on the table and looked at Rick. “Dante’s partners form a rather exclusive club. You’ll come to appreciate what I mean in time.”
“I’m beginning to already.” Rick pushed the memory of their time in the bank away before it got going. “Where is our illustrious partner?”
“Probably just getting out of the shower.” Charles scoffed as he stood to go to the buffet. “It’s a wonder we weren’t late to every assignment. I guess after several centuries, he’s well aware of how long he takes.”
“I live with him, remember.” Rick stood to follow him. “It was literally his alibi when he faced the mythic council, remember? I nagged him to get out of the bathroom several times the morning Ms. Moore was killed.”
“That saved his butt once in the seventies.” Charles filled his plate with vegetables as he spoke. “His powder blue bell-bottomed suit was lost at the cleaners in Vegas and one of my predecessors had to make an emergency run with him to confront the cleaner. Their hotel room was blown up while they were gone. It was well into my tenure before he stopped using it as proof that it pays to take care of your appearance.”
They had just returned to their table when the waiter approached with Dante in tow. Dante approached the table with a heavier step than he usually had. It was clear by his stiff movements and tight expression that the man was still in pain. He wore a burgundy three piece with white lapels and cuffs. His right arm was in a black sling, and he hissed out a low breath when he accidentally bumped his side against the edge of the table as he lowered himself into the chair across from Rick.
“Are you wearing makeup?” Rick narrowed his eyes as his partner and pointed at him with his fork. “You are.” He nearly choked on suppressed laughter. “You really are a peacock.”
Dante touched his swollen eye gingerly with one gloved finger. The fingertip came back with a light tint of concealer. “If you had looked like I did this morning, you’d wear makeup as well.”
“No chance. Not until I’m dead.” Rick snorted. “And only because I don’t want the guests at my funeral to think I’m a zombie.”
“Zombies look better than the face that greeted me in the mirror this morning.” Dante grumbled, focusing his attention on the medium well steak in front of him.
“Hey, you should just be glad you’re still alive.” Rick paused to direct the waiter to serve him a cut of well done brisket.
“Hmm. You’re sure I can’t get you to reconsider that?” Dante wrestled with the steak with his left hand for a moment before sighing in frustration.
Charles reached for Dante’s plate, but Rick beat him to it without thinking. Dante began to protest, but only earned himself a dirty look from both his companions.
“You have better odds of getting me to put on makeup.” Rick gestured at his partner with the steak knife and started cutting Dante’s steak for him. “Also. Not talking about that. Ever again. Not unless the next thing you want to do is star in your own reality show where you torment potential partners as you whittle your way down to the poor sap who has to put up with you.”
“Isn’t that what I did with you?” Dante gave him an infuriatingly saccharine smile.
“Look in a mirror, pal. I’m not the one who looks like he’s been through the gauntlet.” Rick laughed as he started cutting the steak in smaller pieces. “Newsflash. A broken arm, two broken ribs, and a messed up face aren’t terminal injuries.”
“You are as stubborn as a bulldog.” Dante snarled and snatched his plate back from Rick. A few stray pieces of meat tumbled into his lap at his rough movement.
“Lucky for you.” Charles interjected, the big grin on his face showing he was enjoying their banter. “Rick’s stubbornness is the only reason you’re not at the bottom of the Potomac, or buried who knows where by Vikas.”
“Granted. And I am grateful. Bulldogs can be loyal and protective as well as stubborn.” Dante sobered as he stabbed at his meal awkwardly. “Rick also stopped Finnegan before he could kill again. Without my help, and in direct defiance of his previous skepticism.”
“It’s kinda hard to remain a skeptic after everything we’ve been through in the last month.” Rick washed down a bite of potatoes with his Coke. “Whatever happened to Finnegan anyway? Vikas didn’t eat him, did he?”
Dante made a choked squawk and hastily took a long drink of Cabernet to avoid inhaling his dinner by laughing.
“No, of course not.” Charles chuckled. “Finnegan is in mythic custody and relatively unharmed, all things considered. It’s up to the DA to decide whether to allow the mythics to try him or sue for extradition.”
"After our experience with Mythic' 'justice', I'd recommend extradition." Rick swallowed with a grimace. “Unless you’d really like someone to eat him – or worse.”
“Now that Vikas has his spirit ball back, PNI has no concerns in that area.” Charles shrugged dismissively, then paused as the waiter came by with another long skewer of meat, this time with a rack of ribs on it. After directing the waiter to place some on his plate, he continued, “For now, the threat of a Mythic war has been averted.”
“Not bad for our first case.” Rick smiled at Dante. “Though, if we’re going to continue this partnership, we’re going to have to take you to an outlet mall. Find you some clothes people actually wear this century.” Rick picked up Dante’s left arm by the embroidered hem of his suit coat between a thumb and forefinger and made an exaggerated grimace. “Peacock.”
“You’re stuck with me. You wouldn’t have it any other way and you know it.” Dante gave a soft, musical laugh. “Bulldog.”
Dante was right, of course, but Rick wasn’t about to admit that out loud. Rick shook his head as he stood to take another trip to the buffet. He waited until he was just behind Dante’s line of sight and messed up his partner’s perfectly styled hair.
Dante let out an indignant squawk that turned to a low hiss when he turned too fast and hit his arm on the table.
“Peacock.” Rick repeated softly. A month ago, he’d stood in Charles’s office and scoffed at everything about Dante Brand. Now he couldn’t imagine another man by his side. Dante was right, he wouldn’t have it any other way.