For once inI don’t know how long, nothing is about to break. It's been almost a year since our father's murder, and things are running along pretty much as they were before all of that started.
That’s the strangest part.
I step into the booth across from Keller and shrug out of my coat. No tightness in my chest. No itch under my skin. No sense that the night is winding up to punch back.
Keller is already in our booth when I step into the private booth. He’s leaning back like the world doesn’t have teeth, one ankle crossed over his knee, a glass of something amber catching the lamp glow. He looks up when he sees me, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I’m on time,” I reply, sliding in across from him.
He huffs a laugh and tips his glass in a lazy salute. “That’s the same thing Dad used to say.”
The mention lands and keeps moving. It doesn’t knock the air out of the room anymore. It’s part of the furniture now. Heavy, permanent, not something anyone expects to shift.
I shrug off my coat and drape it on the back of the booth. My phone goes face-down on the table, not because I’m hiding it, but because there’s nothing on it that matters right now. That’s new. I used to live with the screen lit in my peripheral, waiting for a fire to spark.
The fires still exist. They just don’t reach me the same way.
Keller watches me for a beat, like he’s measuring the difference. He doesn’t comment on it. He’s learned when to let things sit.
The bartender materializes at my shoulder without asking.
“Bourbon,” I say.
He nods once and disappears.
Keller leans forward slightly. “You come straight from the office?”
“Port authority meeting ran long,” I say.
“That’s code for someone came in hot, and you had to walk them back through jurisdiction.”
“Pretty much.”
He grins, then sobers, resting his forearms on the table. “How’s it look?”
“Clean,” I say. “Boring, even.”
“Boring is expensive,” Keller says.
“Boring is profitable,” I correct.
He lifts his glass again. “Too boring, then.”
I don’t break out into a grin as my brother does, but I do clink my glass against his when mine arrives. The sound is small, almost swallowed by the music, but it’s a clean note.
Keller takes a sip, then rolls the glass between his fingers. He’s dressed like he always is when he’s pretending he’s not working. Crisp shirt, a watch that costs more than most people’s cars, and his hair cut perfectly. He looks like the kind of man who belongs in rooms where everyone lies politely.
That’s fine. Keller makes a living off polite lies.
“You see Vin today?” Keller asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “He sat in on the last federal follow-up. Mostly paperwork.”
Keller’s brow lifts. “I thought all that was done.”
“It is,” I say. “This was them closing the loop. Making sure their file matches ours before they archive it and move on to something louder.”
