Free Grave Consequences by Aimée Thurlo Page B

So, Garden, you with me on this?”
    â€œYeah, there’s nothing good on TV tonight anyway, and I haven’t been in a brawl outside a restaurant since, well, last night. But let’s have a burger or so before we go. I’m not starving until nine and if I’m hungry when I get into a fight I might get carried away and really hurt somebody.”

 
    Chapter Seven
    The Pi ñ on Mesa Steakhouse was a family-owned restaurant with old, thick adobe walls, kiva fireplaces, a corrugated metal roof, and brick floors worn by decades of foot traffic. Reservations were suggested, but Charlie and Gordon were able to get seated in the long, narrow dining room after a short wait. During that break they each had a rum and cola in a small bar nestled in what was probably at one time the front porch.
    It was after nine by then, so Marco, their greeter, had no problem allowing them to choose between three tables, one with a good view of a private alcove off the kitchen. Charlie had already spotted Al seated with several other diners in that section, one woman among men. They chose seats where Charlie could watch his brother’s back.
    Gordon sat across from him, his eyes checking the entrance whenever there was activity, as was their custom. No spot was outside their field of view.
    They’d elected to switch to small handguns tonight, easily concealed. Charlie kept his in his right pocket and Gordon wore his .380 on his ankle inside his pant leg. They’d planned to do nothing more than watch and dine, remaining as anonymous as possible. For Gordon, Charlie knew that would be a challenge. He loved to flirt.
    The two prettiest women in the place appeared to be the waitresses, but Charlie sighed a breath of relief when a waiter approached instead, a guy with a name tag that read Lane.
    Lane was efficient, and within fifteen minutes they were dining on fork-tender twelve-ounce sirloins and some of the best-tasting summer squash and asparagus tips Charlie had ever had. The mashed potatoes were just a little chunky, cooked with enough sour cream and butter to make him consider a second round.
    Gordon was deeply engrossed in his own steak, and it wasn’t until Charlie heard a subtle “oh, shit, Steve” that he looked over.
    Charlie didn’t turn his head—he’d learned to watch people with his eyes when around strangers and possible insurgents, so he reached down and took a sip of iced tea and looked near the figure at the front entrance talking with Marco, the greeter.
    â€œSteve Martinez, the boyfriend’s brother—the guy I looked at eye-to-eye across the counter. If he sees my face…” Charlie said quite casually, now looking back at his plate.
    â€œAt least Al seems to have found the right guys,” Gordon said, keeping his voice low.
    Charlie set down his fork, brought out his cell phone, and made a point of appearing occupied. His elbow was on the table and he was resting his forehead in his fingertips as he looked down at the cell phone display. “Let me know when I can look up.”
    â€œHe’s checking out the customers, table by table. There he goes, already looking past us at one of those beautiful waitresses. Wonder if they date customers?”
    â€œEye on the target, bro,” Charlie mumbled. “Where’s he going?”
    â€œOver to the long table with Al’s new best friends. I’d like to get a photo.”
    â€œToo risky and too dark in here for a cell phone camera at this distance,” Charlie said, checking out of the corner of his eye. Al was being introduced, it appeared, but there was no hand shaking. No surprise.
    â€œGood thing you and Al don’t share a family resemblance,” Gordon said.
    â€œBe careful who you say that to. My father almost kicked a guy’s ass at a tribal powwow one time when he suggested Al and I must have different fathers. The guy had been fired from a tribal job and was looking