Steven went over and perched on the edge of Javier’s desk.
“He’s not his father, that’s for sure.”
“I guess that’s a good thing too.”
Terence Walter had been as old-school as they came. He believed in ruling his squad with an iron fist. Some responded well to that. Others certainly didn’t. Steven was one of them. When Jamie had taken over a couple of years ago, things had really begun to fly.
“No kidding,” Javier replied. “Now Holtmann’s found his feet, we’ll be good.”
Steven straightened up. “Don’t expect goals every match.”
“Why the fuck not? He’s getting paid enough.”
“I just mean he’s still rattled about something.”
“Are you saying it was a fluke?”
“Not at all. I’m not being very clear. Sorry.”
Javier scrutinized him. “How about I buy you dinner?” he said.
It was the last thing Steven wanted really. He was dead beat.
“What about Nikki and the kids?”
“They’re in Valencia, visiting the monster-in-law,” Javier replied. “Sadly work commitments prohibited me from accompanying them.”
They laughed. Javier’s mother-in-law was a fiery woman who blamed Javier for taking her daughter away from Spain. He avoided at all costs.
Steven had met her the previous year and he could well understand why. He’d enjoyed watching Javier transform into a bumbling wreck in front of her though. Something he’d ribbed him about for quite some weeks afterward.
“Fine,” Steven said. “But only one course and local. If we’ve got to schmooze this week, I’ll need my beauty sleep.”
As far as town centres went, Brockton’s wasn’t great. It had the usual suspects selling burgers or chicken to teenagers. La Piazza was a fixture on the high street. It had been serving amazing Italian food for decades. It was the only choice when staying close to home.
As soon as Javier and Steven entered, the owner came fussing over them.
“Hi, Stefano,” Javier said.
“Mr Tosar. Mr Cox. So good to see you. I have your table over here.”
Stefano was wise enough to keep a couple of tables right at the back. They were shielded by the waiting on station. It meant people from Brockton had a decent chance of privacy while they had their meal.
Fans approaching him had never been a problem for Steven. For the most part it had always been a positive experience. It drove him mad when he was eating though.
“Nice work, Mr Amano. How are you doing now?” Steven asked.
“He’s supposed to be taking it easy,” his son, Raoul, said. He came over and slung his arm around his father’s shoulders. “But fat chance of that.”
His father had recently had a heart attack. It had even made the local newspaper.
“I’m fit as a fiddle now,” Stefano said, squirming out from under his much taller, son. “I get antsy if I’m cooped up with your mother.”
Raoul raised his eyes.
“Have a wonderful meal, gents.”
They clapped him on the shoulder before taking a seat.
