Page 18 of Hounded
She filled them while I studied the menu. Besides breakfast all day, Neighborhood Nosh offered the standard greasy spoon fare: burgers, a few sandwiches, and anything that could be cooked in a deep fryer. Plus,the cinnamon rolls that were their claim to fame were as big as salad plates and drenched in icing.
“Ya know whatcha want?” The waitress clicked a pen and put it to her order pad, clearly accustomed to regulars who didn’t need much time to peruse the offerings.
I stared but couldn’t focus. The lines of text and menu items were smears of black and white, background noise to my preoccupied mind.
Sully gave a little cough and nudged me under the table. “Something meaty and rare. How’s that sound, Lore?”
The waitress clicked the pen again. “We got chopped steak.”
“Sure,” I said.
Sully flashed a bright smile, then rattled off her order. “Patty melt with fries and two cinnamon rolls.”
The waitress scribbled on her notepad, then stuffed it and the pen into her apron pocket before collecting our menus and tucking them under her arm. She’d barely turned away before Sully called after her.
“Make sure you don’t overcook that steak! Just warm it or whatever. We’ve got a real carnivore here.” She giggled as she faced me.
“Subtle,” I muttered.
Grabbing a few sugar packets, Sully tore the tops off and dumped the contents into her coffee mug. She pulled a spoon from a napkin-wrapped set of silverware and clinked it around in the cup.
The repetitive tinkling sound made me twitch, and my teeth clenched at the clatter as she tapped the spoon dry. I was relieved when she set it aside.
“Do you ever chow down on, like, a slab of raw meat? Fresh from the butcher, blood and all?” Sully ran her tongue across her lips as though trying to make the idea more appetizing.
Sipping my coffee, I found it as terrible as Sully had predicted. It tasted burnt and was so watered down I wondered if they’d reused old grounds to brew it. My nose wrinkled.
“Is that a no to the raw diet thing?” Sully asked.
“Can’t say that I’ve tried it.”
She chuckled again, then pushed her mug aside and stretched one hand across the table to catch her fingers in mine. “Do you want to talk more? About today?”
Yes, but not the parts she was likely interested in. There wasn’t much to be done about my missed pickup or Indy’s indifference, but the Howl for Hope gala needed to be addressed.
“They’re making new hellhounds,” I said. “Lots of them.”
Sully tipped her head in an encouraging nod. “Is that a bad thing?”
I frowned. “Not sure. It’ll keep Miss busy, I suppose.”
“And off your ass.”
She seemed far more optimistic than I was. Seeing souls traded like currency, given over to eternal servitude, made me uneasy. More than that, Whitney and I didn’t mix well with other hounds. Most of Moira’s dogs were mute, mindless beings who barely remembered how to walk upright. They slunk around the depths of Hell, straining on chains and spiked collars and baring their teeth at anyone who strayed too close.
That was the fate Whitney and I had narrowly avoided, but it was never too late for our mistress to change her mind about what kind of pets she wanted on her leash.
The waitress returned bearing wide oval plates heaped with food. The savory aromas stirred my hound to attention, so much so that I didn’t mind the chopped steak being browned all the way through.
I took the serrated steak knife and my fork and set to work cubing the meat. Sully picked the crust off her marbled rye, then dredged it through a puddle of Thousand Island dressing.
The steak was dry and chewy, but the gravy made it palatable enough that I finished it long before Sully polished off her patty melt and began picking at her side of fries.
She sifted through them, pushing aside thinner, crispier cuts in favor of long square sections. With one pinched between her teeth, she spoke again.
“I have some exciting news. The gallery is hosting an up-and-coming artist for an exhibition at the end of the month. Joss Foster. Have you heard of him?”
“You know I haven’t.”
