Silence. Nero forced himself to glance around again. Lenny was hovering by the fridge, a frown Nero would be proud of darkening his features. “Can’t you just pass me stuff?”
“Pass you stuff?”
Lenny shrugged, all traces of his previous playfulness gone, even with the pink animal-print trousers hugging his slim waist. “I can put it away if you tell me where it goes.”
In his head, Nero roared, like he would at any other fucker who didn’t do as they were bloody told, but Cass’s ominous words resonated, echoed, and despite the odd heat Lenny’s presence seemed to stir, Nero felt chilled to the bone. “Keep Lenny close, if you can. Don’t let him be scared.”
Easier said than done when it was plain Lenny wasn’t going to venture closer while Nero was at the back door. “Wait there.”
Nero stepped over a box of venison and made short work of shoving the stacked deliveries through the door and into the kitchen. “There. How ’bout them apples? Can you work with me now?”
Lenny stared like Nero had grown horns, then a slow smile eclipsed the unsettling fear that had been there. “You’re supposed to be a grumpy motherfucker.”
“Cass tell you that too?”
“Maybe.”
Nero’s fingers itched to send Cass another abusive text, but, as per Cass’s own kitchen rules, he’d left his phone in the staff room. “I ain’t grumpy, just busy. Now you gonna help me, or what?”
Lenny shrugged. “Make me your bitch.”
Only if you return the favour.
They packed the deliveries away, working in the companionable silence Nero preferred in the kitchen. The last box was the hake that Fred had brought. “Leave it there.” Nero pointed at his bench. “I’ll need it in a bit.”
“Why? What are you making?”
“Merluza a la gallega, but don’t worry about that right now. We’ve got shit to do before we start cooking.”
Shit that entailed training Lenny to set up the kitchen, a ritual Nero usually conducted most days—whatever kitchen he was running—in relative solitude, no matter how late he’d been to bed the night before. Not today, though. Today, Lenny trailed behind him, asking a million questions Nero had never thought to ask when he’d followed Cass around this very kitchen too long ago for him to truly remember.
“What’s that?” Lenny asked.
“A mixer.”
“For cement?”
Nero scowled. “What do you think?”
Lenny peered into the giant mixing bowl. “There’s one at Misfits for making the burger buns. It’s not as big as this, though.”
“This one’s not staying here. We don’t use it enough. I reckon it’ll go to the new place in Vauxhall when it’s set up.”
“Jake said there’d be something new this year when he came in a few weeks ago.”
“You know Jake, eh?”
“I’ve met him a few times. He asked me to paint the mural on the wall.”
“That was you?” Nero pictured the geometric mural painted onto the bare bricks in the main dining area at Misfits. It had appeared overnight a month ago and no one seemed to know how. “Cass wouldn’t tell me who did it.”
“He doesn’t know. Jake asked me not to tell anyone for a while. Said it made it cooler.”
“So you told me?”
Lenny winced, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Nero said. “Okay, that’s all the ovens on. I’m gonna light the grill. Reckon you can remember how to set up the steamers?”
