From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set by Christopher Smith Page A

another bartender was restocking glasses while glancing in their
direction.   “Phil, give me a minute,
OK?”
    The man looked at Carmen, then back at the bartender.   “We’re closing in forty-five, Jon.”
    “I said a minute.   I’ll be back.”

 
 
    *   *   *

 
 
    He led her to an area behind the bar.   They started walking down a short hallway
that led to a set of swinging doors.
    “Just go with this,” he said.   “Act natural.”
    They entered the kitchen, which was large and shiny due to the
bright lights glinting off the stainless steel tables, racks and appliances.   Carmen glanced around for cameras in the
ceiling, but it was so vast and Jon was moving so quickly, she didn’t notice
any.   She counted six people in the
kitchen.   They turned a corner and
she counted a seventh, all of whom were either cleaning up for the night or
doing prep for the following morning’s breakfast service.   Another sweep of the room.   It unnerved her that she saw no cameras
because she knew better.
    “Everybody,” he said.   “This is my girlfriend, Lisa.   She just got some bad news and needs a space where she can be
alone.   My shift is up in
forty-five.   Does anyone mind if she
hangs out in the stairwell until I’m finished?”
    “I thought you were gay.”
    “Funny, Mac.   Are we
good, everyone?”
    Shrugs all around.
    “Thanks.”
    He took her by the hand, they cut left and pushed through
another set of doors.   Below her was
a staircase.   Is this where he
brought Jake?   She turned to him and
asked.
    “It is, but don’t worry about it.   The door below is bolted shut.   No one can get in here and they won’t think
you’re back here.   So, stay
here.   I’ll work on getting you a
room.”
    “Threaten them with the police when they come.   Get them out.”
    “I’ll do my best.”
    “Thank you,” she said.
    “You’ll be fine.   If
they’re coming, they’re going to want to see me behind the bar.   I’ll be back.”
    He turned to leave.
    Each door had a small square window that looked into the
kitchen.   As she watched him go,
every set of eyes in that kitchen turned to her.   Carmen stepped away from the windows,
incredulous that she was in this position.  
    A simple walk in Manhattan to clear her head had turned into
this?   She was thinking how unreal
the past two hours had been when her cell phone rang.   She reached into her coat pocket and
pulled it out.   A number she didn’t
recognize.   Private caller.
    She hesitated before she answered it.   “Hello?”
    A man’s voice.   Soft, almost fragile.   “Carmen Gragera?”
    She didn’t respond.
    “It’s all right, Carmen.   I’m a friend of Vincent’s.   He called a moment ago and told me you are in something of a bind.”
    She closed her eyes in relief.
    “Would you like some help?” he asked.
    “I would.”
    “Are you able to come to me now?”
    “I’m in the middle of a situation.”
    “I see.   Is there
anything I can do?”
    “I can handle this.   Would you be able to meet tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow’s fine.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    “It’s my pleasure.   I’m old, Carmen.   You
probably can hear it in my voice.   I
don’t leave the house much anymore, but don’t let that deceive you.   I live for my calls from Vincent.   He keeps me alive with them.   Reminds me why I once was on top and
still matter now.   Name your time.”
    “Morning?”
    “Ten?”
    “Perfect.”
    He gave her his address.
    “What’s your name?” she asked.
    The line went dead.

 
 
    *   *   *

 
 
    When his shift was over and the bar was closed, the bartender,
Jon, returned.   He looked tense and
on edge, but also in control.   His
eyes reminded her of her Alex’s—big and blue.   Intelligent and intense.
    “Did they come?” she asked.
    “They came.”
    “How many?”
    “Four.”
    “What happened?”
    “They asked for you.   I told them that you left.   They