“Oh yeah?”
“Uh, yeah.Fratelli’s.It’s pretty good.”
“You happened to have pizza in your truck.”
“Well, not exactly.”
I can’t fight it anymore.I rub my eye.
“It’s just, you don’t eat,” Sam says.“I mean, at work.You never eat when you’re on duty.”
“I eat.”
“No, you don’t.”
It’s a surprisingly combative response from the guy who, a few seconds ago, wasn’t exactly sure if he had pizza in his truck.For some reason, it makes me smile.
“Ehlers said you never eat.And Detective Palomo agreed with her.And then everybody was talking about how all you do is drink coffee and vape and—”
I’ve got my vape halfway to my mouth as he’s saying this, so of course, now I have to stop.
“Who’s everybody?”
“Just—” Sam flails.“Everybody.”
And what the fuck do you say to that?
So, I hit my vape, crack the door, and exhale into the night.The vapor whips away.
When I shut the door, Sam says, “It’s pepperoni.”
A laugh bursts out of me.“Okay.”
“Plus I owe you for the burrito bowl.”
“God damn it, Samuel, I said okay.Let’s eat some pizza.”
He looks so fucking happy as he reaches into the back seat and grabs the box.It’s pepperoni, sure enough, and he has napkins that he hands over to use as a plate, and yes, Fratelli’s is fucking fantastic.We sit there, eating, and I can’t believe I’m fucking starving.It’s like some connection between brain and body got turned off a while ago, and I don’t even think about it anymore.Now, with garlicky tomato sauce and spicy pepperoni and a crust that’s soft and slightly chewy, it all comes rushing back, and I honestly can’t believe how hungry I am.
Sam’s eating too; he’s not murdering slice after slice like I am, but he’s not doing too bad himself.I don’t even know how old he is.Twenty-two?Twenty-three?That fucking age when he can eat whatever he wants.He looks out the windshield mostly, and he’s either thinking about something else or not thinking about anything at all.The dark eyes are distant, and they make him look older than twenty-two or twenty-three.He missed a spot shaving today, and in the oblique light through the windshield, the scattering of dark hairs along his jaw makes him look older too.
“It happens,” I say.“You know it happens.”
He nods slowly.Chews.Swallows.“But if I should have done something different—”
“Fuck that.You did it as well as anybody could have.Victims change their stories.We’ll still try to prosecute; at this point, it all comes down to if Diana thinks we’ve got enough.You got pictures, and that’s some solid fucking shit right there.”
He nods.He’s still looking out the window, and a slice of pizza droops in his hand.
“You’re serious about this stuff, huh?”I say.“The self-improvement bit.”
Sam shrugs.
“Don’t give me that,” I say.“You’re like the fucking Terminator sometimes.”
He gives a little laugh.“What?”
“All the books and studying and mentorship shit.And I’ve seen you out running.You’re a fucking terror.”
