Blue Smoke

around.
    It’ll all burn, including the little whore who started it all.
    Reena had a head full of data, theories and worries when she walked into Sirico’s. It was usually what she needed to clear out the smears of a hard day. Tonight, she had the bonus of Bo meeting her there.
    She didn’t spot him on the first scan of the tables, but did see the redhead—Mandy, she recalled—snuggled in a booth with a man of about thirty with light brown hair. J.Crew for him, retro hippie for her.
    They were drinking the house red, and plastered together at the hip.
    She also spotted John at one of the two-tops. Wending through the usual waves and greetings, she aimed for his table. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
    “Clam sauce is good tonight.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.” She sat across from him, waved off the waitress who headed their way. “I’ve got something going.”
    He forked up more linguini. “So I hear.”
    She sat back. “Dad called you.”
    “You think he wouldn’t? Why didn’t you?”
    “I was going to. I need your ear, I need your brain, but not here and not now. Can we meet in the morning, hook up for breakfast? No, better, can you come to my place? I’ll cook you breakfast.”
    “What time?”
    “Can you make it early? Seven?”
    “Probably work that into my schedule. Want to give me something to chew on meanwhile?”
    She started to, but knew once she started he’d need it all. Just as she’d need to say it all. “I’d like to let this cook in my head overnight, organize it some.”

    “Seven, then.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Reena.” He put a hand over hers as she started to rise. “Do I need to tell you to be careful?”
    “No.” She got up, bent and kissed his cheek. “No, you don’t.”
    She walked to the kitchen, made a kissy sound at Jack as he ladled sauce on a round of dough. “Have you seen Bo? I’m supposed to meet him here.”
    “Back in the prep area.”
    Curious, she walked around the work counter and into prep. Then just stood in the doorway, watching her father give Bo a lesson in the art of pizza.
    “Gotta be elastic, or it won’t stretch right. You don’t want to pull it, see it pop full of holes.”
    “Right, so I just . . .” Bo held a ball of dough from one of the oiled holding pans in the cooler. He began to stretch it, drawing it out.
    “Now, use your fists like I showed you. Start shaping.”
    Focused on the job at hand, Bo worked his fists under the dough, gently punching, turning—not bad for a beginner, Reena thought.
    “Can I toss it?”
    “You break it, you bought it,” Gib warned him.
    “Okay, okay.” Legs spread, eyes narrowed in concentration, like a man, Reena decided, about to juggle flaming torches. Bo gave the dough a toss in the air.
    A little higher than was wise, in Reena’s opinion, but he managed to catch it, keep turning, toss it again.
    And the grin that popped out on his face had her biting back a laugh. No point in breaking his rhythm, but he looked like a boy who’d just mastered a two-wheeler for the first heady solo.
    “This is so cool. But what the hell do I do with it now?”
    “Use your eyeballs,” Gib told him. “You got a large going there?”
    “Looks like. Looks about right.”
    “On the board.”
    “God, okay. Here we go.”

    He flopped the dough on the board, absently wiping his hands on the short apron he wore. “It’s not what we’d call exactly round.”
    “Not bad though, shape it up some. Give me the edges.”
    “How many did he drop before he managed that one?” Reena asked as she stepped in.
    Bo grinned over his shoulder. “I got this down. Mangled two, but nothing hit the floor.”
    “He learns quick enough,” Gib said as he and Reena exchanged kisses.
    “Who knew there was so much involved in making a pizza? You got your big-ass dough mixer there.” He nodded toward the stainless-steel machine used to mix massive amounts of flour, yeast, water. “You gotta get a couple of manly men to haul that bowl up on the counter.”
    “Excuse me, but I’ve been in on that countless times, and I’m not in the least manly.”
    “You can say that again. You divide it up, weigh it, stack the pans in the cooler, then you gotta cut the dough out after it rises. All that before you can start making the thing. I’m never taking pizza for granted again.”
    “You can finish this one out front.” Gib picked up the board, carried it out to where Jack made room on the worktable.
    “Ah,