“A mile,” he said.
“No, I said a decent taco.”
“Fifteen miles,” he corrected.
“See what I’m saying?” Lily smiled and went to the bar top, where she’d left her keys. “I’d keep the barstools. They’re perfect as they are, if a little worn. We can have them re-covered to match the new look. Save us a bundle.”
She took her keys and headed to the entrance, and he followed, wondering what she was up to. Outside, it was warm and dusty—the kind of day when breathing through your mouth would leave dust on your tongue. His boots tapped the concrete parking lot, and he watched as she thumbed a button and opened the trunk.
“Would you put that savings toward the private bathroom upstairs, or the fire-and-water feature? If we had to choose,” he asked.
She pulled a white picnic cooler from inside and then slammed the trunk. “If it were up to me? Fire-and-water feature first. It’s gonna be one of the things we’re known for. That and you.” She was staring at his chest, not his face, when she got stuck. Then she met his eyes, her cheeks went pink and she lowered them again. “You and the acts you bring in, I mean.”
“I hope those are all we’re known for. But this whole thing with Silver’s threats, and then his death and this brown car squatter, whoever he is?—”
“I know. It’s like, will this be the end of it, or is there a bigger bad guy behind this one?”
“There’s always a bigger bad guy.” He took the cooler from her as she passed him, because he hadn’t been raised in a cave, then followed her back inside. The coolness hit him. “Must be the adobe, keeps it so cool in here,” he said. “I’ll tell Burdick we want to keep that.”
“He’s something, isn’t he?” she said, as Ethan put the cooler on the bar and opened the lid. He took partially melted ice bags off the top and pulled out a gigantic bowl with a plastic lid, two smaller bowls, and a plethora of silverware.
“I can’t believe you left food in your trunk.”
“I parked in the shade, and it was very well-iced. Feel. Still cold.”
She held out the bowl, and he touched it, then pried off the lid. The bowl had compartments. One was full of small, round, cooked potatoes. Another, what looked like Spanish rice, and another had a mix of broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots, drizzled in something dark brown. The fourth compartment had fat slices of bread.
“Have you ever had salt potatoes?”
“Never,” he said.
She nodded. “It’s a New York thing.” She slid a bowl in his direction.
He helped himself to a fork and put some of everything onto his plate, then relaxed onto a barstool. The first thing he tried was a tiny potato, and found her watching him, waiting. He popped the whole thing into his mouth.
“Well?”
“Salty,” he said.
“Yes! That’s the point. Most people dip them in melted butter, but I didn’t know how to manage that in a cooler.”
“They’re good just like they are. Like pre-sliced, pre-fried potato chips.”
“Dad made everything. I think that’s aged balsamic on the veggies. It’s thick and sweet.”
He tried everything. The Spanish rice had a twist of something that made it even better. Was it lime? “He’s a top-notch cook,” he said.
“You’re changing the subject. We were going to talk about Cadillac guy. What did Manny say? You did call him, didn’t you?”
“Right after I paid for the fire & flood insurance.” He had called Manny that morning, as he’d told her he would. “He doesn’t know this Silver character. But I also asked about how the finances had worked before. He said de Lorean’s guy took care of everything. The bills got paid, and profits piled up.”
“No shit.”
He shrugged. “I asked the bank to give me access to the account associated with the cantina. Sent them proof I bought the business. They’re reviewing my request and will get back to me.”
“And then what?” Lily asked.
“Then we hire an accountant to go through the transactions with a bullshit meter. Find out what, if anything, is goin’ on.”
