Free Dexter 3 - Dexter in the Dark by Jeff Lindsay

the
chair-thing nearest the window. Vince hesitated for a moment, then sat next to
me, and Manny hopped up onto the seat directly across from him.
“Well,” he said. “How have you been, Vic? Would you like some
coffee?” and without waiting for an answer he swiveled his head to his
left and called, “Eduardo!”
    Beside me Vince took a ragged breath, but before he could do anything
with it Manny whipped back around and faced me. “And you must be the
blushing bridegroom!” he said.
    “Dexter Morgan,” I said. “But I'm not a
very good blusher.”
    “Oh, well, I think Vic is doing enough for both
of you,” he said. And sure enough, Vince obligingly turned just as scarlet
as his complexion would allow him to do. Since I was still more than a little
peeved at being subjected to this ordeal, I decided not to come to his aid by
offering Manny a withering remark, or even correcting him on the subject of
Vince's actual identity as “Vince,” not “Vic.” I was sure
he knew the right name quite well and was simply tormenting Vince. And that was
fine with me: let Vince squirm-it served him right for going over my head to
Rita and getting me into this.
    Eduardo bustled in holding a vintage Fiestaware coffee service in
several bright colors, balanced on a clear plastic tray. He was a stocky young
man about twice the size of Manny, and he, too, seemed very anxious to please the
little troll. He set a yellow cup in front of Manny, and then moved to put the
blue one in front of Vince when he was stopped by Manny, who laid a finger on
his arm.
    “Eduardo,” he said
in a silky voice, and the boy froze. "Yellow? Don't we remember? Manny
gets the
     
    blue cup."
    Eduardo practically fell over himself grinding into reverse, nearly
dropping the tray in his haste to remove the offensive yellow coffee cup and
replace it with the proper blue one.
    “Thank you, Eduardo,” Manny said, and
Eduardo paused for a moment, apparently to see if Manny really meant it or if
he had done something else wrong. But Manny just patted him on the arm and
said, “Serve our guests now, please,” and Eduardo nodded and moved
around the table.
    As it turned out, I got the yellow cup, which was fine
with me, although I wondered if it meant that they didn't like me. When he had
poured the coffee, Eduardo hustled back to the kitchen and returned with a
small plate holding half a dozen pastelitos. And although they were not, in
fact, shaped like Jennifer Lopez's derriere, they might as well have been. They
looked like little cream-filled porcupines-dark brown lumps bristling with
quills that were either chocolate or taken from a sea anemone. The center was
open, revealing a blob of orange-colored custardy-type stuff, and each blob had
a dab of green, blue, or brown on top.
    Eduardo put the plate in the center of the table, and
we all just looked at it for a moment. Manny seemed to be admiring them, and
Vince was apparently feeling some kind of religious awe, as he swallowed a few
more times and made a sound that may have been a gasp. For my part, I wasn't
sure if we were supposed to eat the things or use them for some bizarre, bloody
Aztec ritual, so I simply studied the plate, hoping for a clue.
    It was finally provided by Vince. “My God,”
he blurted.
    Manny nodded. “They're wonderful, aren't
they?” he said. “But so-o-o-o last year.” He picked one up, the
one with the blue top, and gazed at it with a kind of aloof fondness. “The
color palette really got tired, and that horrible old hotel over by Indian
Creek started to copy them. Still,” he said with a shrug, and he popped it
into his mouth. I was glad to see that it didn't seem to cause any major
bleeding. “One does grow fond of one's own little tricks.” He turned
and winked at Eduardo. “Perhaps a little too fond sometimes.” Eduardo
went pale and fled to the kitchen, and Manny turned back to us with a huge crocodile
smile. “Do try one, though, won't you?”
    “I'm afraid to