Minnesota

family

Steve tapped the crisp white napkin with the sharp end of the knife. Regina waited for Steve to start asking questions. Oblivious, Mark noisily chewed on his fourth piece of freshly baked bread, washing it down with Pinot Noir. 

          They sat in a booth at the far end of Ristorante Bardolino with no other customers in hearing range. The upholstery was a tasteful burgundy with silver stitching. The furniture was crafted from solid pine wood. The silverware heavy and spotless. Steve had selected this restaurant for a late lunch.

            It was mid-afternoon, the lunch crowd having come and gone. Her stomach rumbled and she reached for a piece of bread.   

Steve leaned back, releasing his grip on the knife. “Care to explain your fit about Regina being in South Dakota?” Mark leaned on the table, breadcrumbs falling down. His manicured hands reached for the wine bottle.

Mark’s pale blue eyes flipped toward Steve. “That's a bit dramatic.”

Regina buttered a slice of bread, the still warm center melting the butter. She said nothing, letting Steve handle it. And while she agreed that Mark needed to be on a short leash, she often thought Steve was too critical.

But Steve didn’t relent. “Care to explain why you’ve been in Minneapolis for two weeks when you were supposed to be in China? You were supposed to arrange the immigration for Myling, our attorney. Where is she?”

Mark growled, butter dripping down his chin. “Because it's done. She'll be here next week. There's no reason for me to sit over there, waiting. So, stop being an ass.” Regina handed him a napkin to wipe off the butter. And why did he didn’t tell me that he came to Minneapolis? She didn’t ask. She didn’t have to.

Steve’s fingers seized the knife again, resuming his assault on the napkin. “You are to report in, that was the deal we made two years ago. Don’t make me regret allowing you to keep working for us.”

Mark coughed, sat up straight, eyes narrow. “I'm the one with the contacts. No one wants to deal with you, her," he motioned toward Regina, "or anyone else. I've taken care of these people for twenty years. If I decide to spend time with a friend that's none of your business. That thing in Seattle was nothing, it’s been over two years, almost three …”

Steve scoffed and leaned in. “And the deal is that we run checks on everyone you hang out with because of the undercover cop in Seattle. How do you know that your ‘friend’ isn’t after our business?”

Mark jumped up, hitting the table. “Fuck you. Duane is the one person I can trust.” He rushed out of the restaurant.  

Regina crossed her arms. “Nicely done.” She glared at Steve.

He shook his head. “At least we have a first name.” He leaned back into his chair. “I have the key for the apartment, we’ll go and check it out later today.”