Page 61 of Time Served in New York
“Don’t tempt me, Christopher. That’s just cruel.”
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CHEF
“Nowthat’swhat I’m talking about,” I heard Soda say from the end of the table. “Finally! Some real food.”
“Damn, that’s good,” I heard one of the Ares men say. When I looked in that direction, I saw that Sin, Torpedo, and Executioner were all gnawing on some good Texas-style pork ribs while the rest of our friends talked around them.
I’d already packed away so much food I was afraid I’d pop, but I couldn’t resist the bowl of peach cobbler that Brea had set in front of me when she came back to the table.
“This is how people eat in Texas?” Rachel, Zeppo and Ezra Frenkel’s sister, asked before she took another bite of her chopped beef sandwich. “This food is delicious.”
“We eat this all the time,” Brea told her. “As a matter of fact, Tyler, the man that cooked all of this, is from Tenillo. Rico flew him in as a surprise, and he brought in everything he’d need to feed us tonight.”
“I can’t get enough of . . . well, any of it,” another of the group from North Carolina, this one a man named Moshe, said before he took another bite of potato salad. “It’s not like anything we have at home.”
Brea moaned, and I saw her eyes were closed as she savored a bite of cobbler.
Moshe laughed as he watched Brea enjoy her dessert. “That sound means I need a bowl of that next.”
“He’s got three different kinds over there. He even brought some Blue Bell ice cream from home,” Brea explained. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s a state treasure.”
“Oh yeah,” I agreed. “When I was in prison, I dreamed of Blue Bell.”
“I’ve been curious about that,” Moshe admitted.
“The ice cream?” Rachel asked.
“No, we have that locally,” Moshe said as he shook his head. He looked thoughtful for a second and then said, “I don’t want to overstep, but I understand that your . . . club? That’s what it’s called, correct? A motorcycle club?”
“Yeah. Time Served Motorcycle Club.”
“And yes, all of them have been in prison for one thing or another,” Brea said with a grin. She winked at Moshe and added, “Even a few of us women have served time.”
“I’m not going to lie,” Darragh, one of the men from the Irish group who’d flown up from Florida, said from a few seats away. “When we learned about your group from Rico, I looked into it. Some of your members have very illustrious pasts.”
“Illustrious? I like that. Which ones make you say that?” I asked.
“Well, you for one,” Darragh admitted. “I remember watching you play football on television when I was a kid.”
“You played in the NFL?” Moshe asked.
“I did. I retired because of a knee injury and then moved back to Texas and became a high school science teacher.”
“And then you went to prison?” Rachel asked.
“Yes. My wife died, and my daughter got into some trouble before she passed too. I’ve gotta admit, I wasn’t thinking clearly. It wasn’t temporary insanity or any kind of bullshit excuse like that. I knew exactly what I was doing when I killed a house full of drug dealers and pimps with a chemical bomb I made at the school one afternoon.”
“I think they should have given you a medal instead of incarcerating you,” Conor, another of the Irish men, said. “Sounds like you did the world a favor.”
I laughed for a second and then nodded. “I think I did.”
“Did you kill a house full of drug dealers too?” Rachel asked. Then, realizing what she’d just said, she shook her head and apologized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .”
Brea laughed. “It’s not a secret. I didn’t kill a house full, just one.”
“Well, then you need a medal too,” Conor asserted.
