Carlos

Today, Rexi's food truck is stationed near the entrance of a small recreational park, targeting parents with kids, hungry joggers, and those recently released from the prison colloquially known as high school.

The eponymous Rexi has blue hair, a brash attitude, and a passion for good food. The burgers she serves out of her small food truck are simple but delicious, and her fries are greasy, crispy, hot, and always fresh. Unlike a regular fast-food chain, though, when she's out of ingredients for the day, there are no more burgers to be had.

I'm not the only one with frequent Rexi's cravings, either, and she usually closes up around two. It's one-thirty already, and I barely stop myself from running to get in line, instead forcing myself to match Detective Turner's more measured pace.

"You eat here often?" he asks, as we shuffle towards the ordering window behind a distressingly large family. Not only will it take forever to get their orders, but there might not be any burgers left by the time they're done.

Meanwhile, I'm nearly fainting with hunger and fidget uncomfortably, rocking forward on the balls of my feet and then back on my heels.

"Probably more often than I should. Two or three times a month. Though Rexi's only opened two months ago. Started out just wanting to support another small business owner. Now I'm hooked."

"It's that good, huh?"

"If we're lucky, you'll find out," I grumble, as the fruitful couple and their numerous offspring place orders at the window.

Luck is with us, however. The kids all want chicken fingers, the father orders a veggie burger, and only the mother asks for a Rexi's classic. Even if it was the last one, I wouldn't grudge it her; she probably needs the energy.

Finally, it's our turn and Rexi greets me with a gap-toothed smile. "Carlos! How's it going, man? Haven't seen you in a while. You been cheating on me with the golden arches?"

I laugh. "Never. I even brought a friend."

Rexi looks at Turner, and her grin widens. "¡Ooh, es muy guapo! ¡Bien hecho, güey!"

She holds out her hand for a fist bump, and I laugh anxiously. "Oh, no. It's not... I shouldn't even say 'friend.' He's, uh... He's a cop."

Rexi's smile fades. "A cop? What you doing, hanging with a cop?"

Turner takes over. "Getting lunch. But when you have a moment, I do have some questions for you."

"You can ask now," Rexi says, nodding over our heads. I turn around and see that there's a lull in the burger demand, and no one else has joined the line. "Then I'll decide if you're welcome here."

Unperturbed, Turner pulls up something on his phone and holds it out to her. "You recognize this person?"

Rexi nods. "Don't know his name, but he comes 'round regular. He was here..." She looks up and to the side as she searches her memory. "Last Friday. He came just as I was shutting things down. There was a little league game in the park across the street, and I'd already sold out."

Guilt twists my gut. Kyle didn't take my money and run, after all.

"Was he alone?" I ask.

Rexi looks at me quizzically, as if wondering why I'm asking questions, too. "Yeah. Far as I could tell."

"What did he say?"

She shrugs. "Not much. I told him I was out of beef patties and fries, but I had some veggie burgers left. He wasn't interested. He swore at me and fucked off down the street, prolly in search of the next best thing. Haven't seen him since. Why? Is he missing, or something?"

I glance at Turner, expecting him to step in, but to my surprise, he lets me take the lead.

"Kyle worked for me at the shop," I say. "He was, um... He was murdered, last Friday."

Rexi's eyes go wide. "Holy shit! Jesus, I'm sorry. Uh, I mean, how can I help?"

"We're trying to retrace his steps on the day he died," Turner says. "You said he might have gone elsewhere for lunch. Any idea where, specifically?"

"No, not specifically. He headed that way." She points west, down the street. "There's a Wendy's and a McDonald's two blocks over, but if he was really looking for the next best thing, he'd have gone to Burger Me, Daddy."

"Burger Me... Daddy?" I lift my brows at her.

"Yeah. It just opened. You haven't been?"

"Nope."

"Well, not to encourage the competition, but give it a try. It's... different. Might be your scene."

She winks at Turner, and he scowls with more than necessary vehemence.

"In the meantime, can I get you boys anything? Or are you just here to grill me?"

"I'll have the classic with cheese and a large fries and a chocolate shake," I say, the words spilling from my mouth before I can stop them. "Please."

Rexi blinks at me and looks at Turner. He gives her a lazy smile that makes my heart clench with nonsensical jealousy. I really need to eat something.

"The same for me," he says.

We retreat to a picnic bench to wait for our order, and I make sure to sit as far away from Turner as I can.

"She's interesting," Turner says, nodding towards the food truck, where Rexi trades places with her one employee, taking over the grill while the other woman stands at the window. "You believe her?"

"No reason I shouldn't," I say, shrugging. "She seems genuine."

"Yeah," he agrees, still watching the food truck like a cat watching a bird. "She does. Then again, a lot of things that seem genuine turn out to be fakes."

~ ★ ~

The burgers are delicious. Mine is, anyway, and from the first bite to the last, my attention is nowhere else.

Finally, my appetite sated at last, I look up to find Turner watching me with the same predatory keenness with which he'd been watching Rexi before.

Self-consciously, I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin and note that he's only a few bites into his own meal, while I've reduced mine to a bit of stray tomato and greasy paper.

"Sorry," I say, apologizing reflexively. "I was hungry."

"No need to be sorry," he says, still staring at me with a gaze that could spark a fire. "In fact, that should be my line. I've been a poor host so far. I usually only eat one meal a day. I should have remembered most... people... require more regular nourishment."

I recall how, the night before, he'd eaten over half the pizza on his own.

"You always eat like that?" I ask.

"Since my divorce," he says with a shrug. "I'm no cook, and it's less hassle that way. I only have to think about it once a day."

I laugh. "I guess that's how it is in the wild, huh? Most carnivores are lucky if they eat once a day."

The look he gives me is so intense it makes me really glad we're not eating at that place Rexi mentioned; because holy shit, he could snap his fingers and have me on my knees.

I look away, hoping he doesn't see that on my face — perceptive as he is — and clear my throat.

"Anyway, if you're open to it, I can cook, if you like. I can, you know... While I'm staying with you, that is... To, like... help out, or whatever."

"I won't stop you," he says, popping a fry in his mouth with a level of hotness that should be illegal. "I always appreciate a good meal."

Jesus fucking Christ. If the man told me to bend over right now, right in front of Rexi's innocent food truck and the family seated at the next bench over, I'd do it.

I cough and take a sip of milkshake to cool my head.

The fuck is wrong with you, hombre? Get your mind out the fucking gutter already. Concentrate on Kyle.

"So, what next?" I ask. "We gonna keep on the trail, or..."

As I speak, Turner's phone buzzes. He holds up a hand, excusing himself, and checks it. Frowning, he rises and answers it, walking away and into the adjacent park.

If he means to keep his conversation private, however, he doesn't walk far enough, because I can hear his side perfectly well.

"Hey, Becky. What's up?" he asks, and waits for a reply, hips angled as he rests his weight on one side, shoulders tense. "No, no. I'm not busy. Go ahead.

He listens, head cocked to the side as he holds his phone to his ear, and I see agitation in the way he shifts it to the other side.

"Hey, hey. Slow down. You know I can't take them. I'm barely home as it is, and—" He pauses again, listening. "No, I get that. But, Becky, listen to me. I can't just—"

He goes stiff, chest heaving as if he's about to enter fight or flight mode, and my nerves tingle as at a threat of danger as his voice raises in pitch and volume.

"You did what!? I swear to God, Becky, if you don't—" He holds the phone away from his face, checking the screen, then pockets it with forced calmness and strides back towards our table, face set as stone. Scooping up the remains of his meal, he tosses it in the trash bin, plastic tray and all.

I cast Rexi a glance and press my hands together in a 'please forgive us' gesture, and trail after him towards his vehicle.

"Hey," I call. "What's going on? You got kids or something?"

He unlocks his car with a 'beep beep' from his remote key. "Or something," he says. "Get in. We're going home."