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The pork ribs fell right off the bone as Derrick bit into them, but their flavor was somewhat ruined by Tony’s smug grin, which kept intruding on the edge of Derrick’s vision as he was trying to enjoy his food.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Tony asked, with all the feigned innocence of a child preparing to ask for money. He was leaned on the table with his elbow, head propped up with the palm of his hand.

Was that even a question? “The ribs, definitely.”

“Ohh! Oh really?” Tony chuckled to himself, his stomach jiggling a bit.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I’m just glad you can appreciate fine cuisine. That’s the one Sally made. The natural born cook she is, I was sure her dish would turn out to be the best, and it looks like you agree with me! Don’t you feel bad for being so cranky with her?” Tony winked.

That bargirl made this? She could hardly wipe a mess off the floor; it was hard to believe she could handle a wok. Either way, the revelation didn’t make the ribs taste any worse. Derrick swallowed a bite of rib, savoring the rich and savory aftertaste. “Wow, really. Uh, this bitter melon is pretty good too—”

“—and she made it all by herself, with just a little help from me. Isn’t that amazing? You’d probably pay out the ass if you ordered this at a restaurant, not to mention they wouldn’t make it nearly as tender.”

Tony was the type that wouldn’t drop a subject until he was well and truly through with it. Derrick might as well do his best to disillusion the man. “Are you sure Sally didn’t buy it from a restaurant or something? She didn’t exactly seem very . . . coordinated . . . or even very well put together at all.”

“I watched her cook it right in front of me after we went to her place. Alright, Derrick, I’ll give you that. She’s not coordinated, or whatever you wanna call it. But she’s hot as hell and so sweet. I swear, I get turned on just helping her out in the kitchen. When she looks up at me with those beautiful eyes, and asks me to ‘please open the jar,’ or ‘could you lift the bowl for me? It’s so heavy,’ it makes me want to—” Tony shuddered, and his smile became progressively dirtier as he reveled in his delusions.

Was there any chance Derrick could have a meal in peace in this shop? If it wasn’t the White Leopards coming in to demand protection money, or a dissatisfied customer limping in to complain about malpractice, it was Tony himself making Derrick worry. “Have you ever considered . . .” Derrick started, fixing his gaze firmly on the bowl of rice in front of him, “that maybe she’s just like all the other bargirls that you’ve crushed on, and that she just wants to make buck off you? Not that there’s anything wrong with spending money on a bargirl . . . in moderation, I mean.”

“Bah, you’re just a killjoy. When’s the last time you brought a girl home, anyway? I don’t remember a single time, ever since you started living here with me. Learn to let loose a little, Derrick.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll try not to be so repulsive.” Most girls grimaced when they saw Derrick, and that wasn’t exactly his fault. It was at least partially Tony’s fault; the man had always claimed he wasn’t an artist with the scalpel, and it showed in his handiwork: Derrick’s botched face. It did wonders to confuse the White Leopards—they were looking for an average-looking kid who had burned down that building and immolated their foot soldiers, not a circus freak-faced mod-doctor—but it also obliterated his love life. It wasn’t like Derrick could be ungrateful; Tony had saved his life twice over: salvaging the bloody mess of bullet holes that he was, and then hiding him from the gangs. But if only, if only, Tony had just made him look different, instead of stupidly ugly.

They ate in silence for a while. Well, Tony ate a bit more loudly.

“Ah, I’m full,” Tony finally said, after he had inhaled his fourth bowl of rice. “Take your time, Derrick.” Derrick nodded and sat back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. Despite the unpleasant exchange about Sally, and Tony’s jabs at Derrick’s own lovelife, he felt full and satisfied. There were so many things that could ruin a day, but good, hot food always made it better.

“I’ll take care of the dishes, Tony. Can you buy some dish soap next time you go shopping? We’re almost out—”

Gunshots. Derrick and Tony both froze. The gunshots were soft enough that they definitely didn’t come from right outside Hack Alley, but they were loud enough that that they might’ve come from the same block: too close for comfort. It was raining, too, so the source was probably closer than it seemed.