I know people who would have smacked Mario, even if it meant getting bounced from Mario’s! I wish that was me. But instead, I glared at him over my dinner. Risotto?

“You’re a traveling journalist. As a rule, you must expect, at times, to travel.”

“Travel yes, but not across the country. Not to an island off the coast of LA. I’m a country girl, Mario.”

“An island sounds relaxing. And an island is country.”

“Not this island. I looked it up. It’s more densely packed than—” I gestured aimlessly.

Mario raised his fork. “Cheers to that.” He took a sip of the red. The soft red chandelier gimmered on his jacket as he moved. The wineglass made a pleasant ring as he tapped it with a fork.

“I’ll travel out of the country any day,” I said, “But there’s a reason for that.”

“You do not love—”

“I do not love the nation of my fathers. No, Mario.”

“You would like it more if… it were legal to have more than one father? It’s not a bad country, sans a few unfortunate—.”

“That is legal. But yeah, it’s the Florida of the world.”

He shrugged. “I live in the Italy of Boston. And what’s wrong with Florida?”

“You know about the Florida Man?”

Mario grinned. His front tooth was still missing. I mean he hadn’t got a fake yet.

I held up a hand to try and keep his attention. “In Florida, if you break the right law, the cops will shoot somebody for you. If you break the wrong law…”

He sighed. “Just like in Boston, just like in New York, just like in…”

“Well, yeah. But Florida—”

“I thought it was Texas?”

“Maybe. But I’ve been to Texas. I don’t know.”

“And soon you’ll go to California.” He was Greek by the way. And Mario wore his hair long. And tonight he wore a loose-fitting cream colored blouse with an open collar. It looked expensive. Mario was just pulling off his jacket when the waiter came by, and he practically grabbed the younger man, pulling the man in close. They whispered rapidly in Greek before the waiter stood up and looked at me, as if calling out for help.

When the waiter finally ran off, I looked expectantly at Mario.

“I told him to kiss the cook.” He said simply. But he was holding back a grin.

“And he doesn’t know you’re screwing the cook.”

“How do you know I’m screwing the cook?”

I rolled my eyes and Mario shook his head smiling. “No. He hasn’t the faintest idea. And I told him I wouldn’t pay, otherwise. I told him, say it’s from Mario.”

“Oh you are not behaving yourself tonight.” I began to gather my things.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Mario noticed and nodded his head solemnly. “You think we’d better get out of here quick, before the cook comes looking for me.” He was teasing me.

“Are you done?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to take that job? Be nice to have the apartment to myself again.”

“Rude. But yeah, I think I will take the job, it’s just…”

Mario glanced around and stood up. He had left a check under his plate. When I stood up, he threw an arm around me and leaned in. I leaned in too, not facing him. When Mario spoke, it was just beside my ear. “Murdered last week is different from murdered fifty years ago?” he said, just above a murmur.

I shrugged. “And he didn’t die well.”

“What can you mean by that?”

“The way he died. What do you think would drive a kid to do that?”

I felt Mario nod. “You think the man was abusive?”

“That’s the simplest explanation, so it’s probably true, but that doesn’t tell the whole story.”

“Then where do you start?”

“There’s a cowboy in LA. I’m gonna ring him.”

Mario squeezed my shoulder lustily, though how he managed that I cannot tell say.

I rolled my eyes. “Sometimes I think you’re a twelve-year-old boy in the body of a man.”

“Twelve?” He looked insulted. “I was drooling over cowboys before that!” “There’s more,” he said. “What is holding you back right now?”

“You remember the Newspaper internship I had in high school?

Mario’s jaw tensed. “We weren’t speaking then. But yes, I remember.”

“One of my contacts found me in a hair salon today.”

“You should never have dealt with thugs.”

“I agree. But it got me that internship, and the stories they handed to me—I had my finger on the pulse of everything before it happened. Everything.”

“The underworld was a bad look on you. It’s a bad look on anybody. But what did they want?”

“She had a case, and thought I might want to throw in with her. My research skills plus her persuasive skills…”

“And?”

“It was the same damn case that Tammy Faye was gonna offer me.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, because I wasn’t gonna take it.”

“But now? I’m almost sorry I convinced you.”

“Well I’m not. I refused to let her pay me. I make my money as an investigative journalist, and if she were to pay me once cent for this job, it would put my loyalties into question.”

“Loyalties to whom?” he held the door open for me. I thanked him.

“Loyalty to the truth,” I said, “And to the best practices of journalism.”

“Is your integrity under scrutiny?” “By me it is. By the general public, no. Most people believe what they see, as long as it doesn’t offend them.”

“And if it does offend them, they don’t believe?”

“Did you take media literacy in middle school?”

“No”

“What about high school?”

“No indeed.”

“I think that’s most people. Most schools don’t even offer it. So I can’t blame them. But I’m a journalist. It’s my job to think about these things. And I have the luxury of working independently. I don’t have to meet a quota for… for anybody. Long as I can pay the bills.”

“But you said you’ll take the job.”

“I’m going to find out what happened.”

“And write the story?”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t let Tammy Faye pay you.”

I nodded. “It’s too late anyway. She took the offer down.”

“Even so, financially, it’s foolish. Actually, it’s foolish anyway. If Tammy Faye’s been shopping it around to the likes of…”

“Yeah, but I’m not about to—”

“I know.” He held up a hand. “Do not pontificate to me. You’re principled. I love that about you. All I need to know is we’re going to burn up the town, like old times. But! You do worry me.”

It was half past eight when the two of us hit the pavement. Cool New-England summer nights. I was going to miss them. Even the nights are stifling in California I’m told.

Mario took my arm one last time, and gave it a squeeze. “Going west, huh?”

I pulled him in for a hug, and then I looked one more time. I can’t say why but ever since I got the offer, I keep feeling like I won’t be coming back here for a while. Boston, if this is goodbye? I shivered. Should have worn a hoodie, but I’d warm up once I started moving.