Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (100 best novels of all time txt) 📗

“A spicy Vietnamese sandwich on a soft baguette,” Pete said.

“Is it any good?”

Pete shrugged. “Depends on the place and what you want. All the sisters’ are good.”

“There was this wonderful place near my home in Virginia,” Drea said. “A few times a year Grant and I…” She hesitated and swallowed. Then she took hold of her cousin’s arm. “Haven’t had a banh mi in a long time.” She pulled Sam to the end of the Middle Sister line.

Pete and I got in line behind them, angling ourselves so each of us could scan one side, front to back, as we waited for service. Drea gave Bishop and Ramos a couple of tens and a few singles. I said they could step away long enough to get something from another truck. Bishop went to Dogberry’s and Ramos to The Organic Hispanic. Food in hand and Dasani bottles zipped in the pockets of their Weisskopf jackets, both were back before Drea and Sam reached the Middle Sister pass-through window. Inside the truck were two women in red smocks. One had a short black bob, the other dark hair to her shoulders. Both looked too young to have fled the fall of Saigon, unless they were in the arms of parents about to begin an arduous journey that would end in Buffalo. The short-haired woman in front smiled as Drea and Sam stepped up to the pass-through. The menu posted beside it listed five banh mis, each bearing a name or initials followed by ingredients. I turned away from the truck and continued to scan the area as I listened.

“Five names, five sandwiches,” Drea said. “One for each sister?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Which one is yours?”

“The grilled chicken and veggie. I’m JJ.”

“I’ll have one of those and a can of Coke,” Drea said.

“Same for me,” Sam added.

“Pull two of mine,” JJ called out, laughing. “Puts me ahead by three, Annie.”

“It’s a competition?” Drea said.

JJ grinned. “Isn’t everything?”

Pete was next, choosing Kathy’s traditional pork roll and a bottle of water.

“I know you from somewhere,” JJ said as Pete waited for his order.

“Been to your place on Allen a few times,” Pete said. “With my parents.”

JJ drew in a sharp breath. “That’s right! I met you once when my hair was longer before I got contacts. Plus, I’ve seen you out front when I worked in the kitchen. You’re Dr. Kim’s son. The police detective.”

“Not anymore. I retired.”

“Good for you! Do it while you’re young enough to have fun.” She paused a moment. “You know, I worked with your dad for years. Such a nice man. Sorry I missed his retirement party. When was it, three years ago? Four? How is he?”

“Four. He’s just fine.” Pete paused. “You worked at Roswell and now you make banh mis?”

“I still work at Roswell,” JJ said. “This is a side gig for four of us, a way to cope with stress in our regular jobs and share a family business with our retired parents. Doing this is the therapy that helps me keep my head in the game as an oncology nurse. We all need an upside to keep going.”

“Amen,” Pete said.

When it was my turn, I ordered a JJ and slipped the water bottle into my jacket’s side pocket. Once I had my sandwich in hand and took a bite, we began a circuitous walk that took us past the Explore and More Museum and the stone ruins of the original canal, along the edge of the Commercial Slip, and past the vast event lawn to the boardwalk and the river.

Canalside was crowded this first Monday after the close of school: teens in noisy clusters, parents watching children climb on playground equipment or scramble through the replica of a tugboat in the sandpit, men and boys tugging kite strings or thumbing levers that controlled a few hobby-sized drones, cyclists in helmets and shorts, runners running, walkers resting on benches facing the river, readers in plastic Adirondack chairs, couples holding hands as they walked along the water. There were ice cream vendors with stainless steel carts, stands that booked dinner cruises and on-board wine tastings, and a caricature booth with a ready sketch artist. Beyond the Clinton’s Dish food stand was the new solar-powered pavilion that housed a restored 1920s carousel. Dotting the water were kayaks, pedal boats, aqua cycles, small sailboats, and slow-moving cabin cruisers. Bobbing in the distance was the Moondance catamaran. Chugging closer, the two-deck Miss Buffalo pumped out the music of a DJ hired for the afternoon cruise. The DJ’s music clashed with the organ music from the carousel.

“This is all so beautiful.” Drea raised her voice to be heard above the cacophony as we strolled along the boardwalk. “So alive. The last time I was here—”

“Forty-some years ago,” Sam said. “You were maybe twenty, visiting me and Ruthie on a school break. All around here looked terrible then. You couldn’t call it a waterfront ‘cause you couldn’t get to the water. It was dark with the old auditorium so close to the elevated highways. I think we took you to a circus there.”

“That’s right,” Drea said. “I had never been to a circus before.”

“Good thing you came in summer. The way the aud was, right by those highways, the winter wind used to cut through there hard and fierce.” Sam winced and shivered. “After the Sabres stopped playing in it, that old building was empty for years ‘fore they tore it down. Things are so much nicer around here now.”

“Up through the end of the nineteenth century all along here were saloons and shops and brothels,” I said, echoing what I had heard Bobby say to out-of-town visitors. “Now it’s all part of the city’s renaissance. In summer and fall they have concerts and music festivals, arts fairs, street entertainers, ghost walks, sometimes theater. In the winter Liberty Hound and the military museum close for a few months but there are other attractions—winter sports, ice carving, youth hockey exhibitions. The reflecting canal under the bridge