Besides, outgoing cargo is containerized and sent by ship. If you’reworried about an ambush or something, it would happen while a shipment was being transported to the facility, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t so sure, but agreed with him anyway.
“Don’t be late.” Only slightly swaggering, he headed to his car with a backhanded wave.
Elijah’s
is a waterfront restaurant and oyster bar in downtown Wilmington that is a short distance south of the Block. John waited for me in the parking area and acted as though he’d just arrived. He probably got there early to get a look at my vehicle and tag number. In case he had ideas of perusing my true identity, I’d put a fake license plate on the X5, and covered the VIN by stashing a spiral notebook on the dash.
Greeting me with a kiss on the check, as though we were a couple, John handed me a folder containing the inventory printout of product coming to MOTSU. I secured it in the glove compartment and locked my doors.
“Sweet ride,” he said, checking out my auction car. “Selling biscuits must pay more than I imagined.”
“Oh, it’s just a lease,” I fibbed. “Life’s too unpredictable to not enjoy a few material pleasures.”
“I agree. Though carnal pleasures are always good, too.”
“Right,” I said, ignoring his reference to sex. “I can’t wait to eat. The food here is terrific.”
We ended up sitting on the outside covered deck to take advantage of the fresh breeze, even though the humidity level hovered at the top of the register. A server found us almost instantly and we ordered a crab dip starter and stuffed shrimp entrees. Without looking at a wine menu, John ordered a bottle of white Bordeaux.
“You copycatting me again?” I teased. “You chose the same thing I did at Fishy Fishy, too.”
“I guess we have similar tastes. Besides, that’s the only way I can guarantee that I won’t have to share my food. Order the same thing your date does and she won’t be asking to taste yours.”
We worked our way through the crab dip that was served with giant croutons in lieu of crackers and half a bottle of the wine when John’s phone buzzed. He consulted the caller ID display and his watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this one. You mind?”
“Not at all.”
He headed toward the walkway by the water—either for privacy or politeness—and when he returned ten minutes later, our shrimp had arrived. He apologized for taking so long.
“But the good news,” he added, spreading a napkin over his lap,” is that the problem is resolved, so I don’t need to head in to work.”
“And I thought I might get to eat two plates of shrimp.”
“No such luck.” He held his wineglass up and we clinked to good food and good health.
I didn’t learn much about MOTSU, AJAT Security, or John—other than the fact that he didn’t like to talk about himself and immediately redirected the conversation whenever I steered it toward him. Even though the dinner was a waste of time from an intel standpoint, John turned out to be a witty conversationalist as long as we discussed movies or books or restaurants. He refused to let me chip in on the tab and, gentlemanlike, walked me to my car.
Before we reached the X5, somebody let out a sloppy cat whistle. “That is one major piece of fine-looking ass.”
A group of men—six to be exact—stood around a beat-up work van, smoking cigarettes. I guessed them to be either dock workers or perhaps fishermen just in from several days at sea. With slurred words, another man joined in, ignoring John and leering at me. “Man, would I like to get me a piece of that. Maybe she’d do us both.”
“Maybe she’d do us all, being as though the rest of you assholes wouldn’t be but ten seconds apiece,” another said, and drank straight from a brown-bagged pint liquor bottle. “I’ll take up the rear.”
“You so horny, you’d take one up the rear,” somebody said and they all laughed, much louder than
I wasn’t so sure, but agreed with him anyway.
“Don’t be late.” Only slightly swaggering, he headed to his car with a backhanded wave.
Elijah’s
is a waterfront restaurant and oyster bar in downtown Wilmington that is a short distance south of the Block. John waited for me in the parking area and acted as though he’d just arrived. He probably got there early to get a look at my vehicle and tag number. In case he had ideas of perusing my true identity, I’d put a fake license plate on the X5, and covered the VIN by stashing a spiral notebook on the dash.
Greeting me with a kiss on the check, as though we were a couple, John handed me a folder containing the inventory printout of product coming to MOTSU. I secured it in the glove compartment and locked my doors.
“Sweet ride,” he said, checking out my auction car. “Selling biscuits must pay more than I imagined.”
“Oh, it’s just a lease,” I fibbed. “Life’s too unpredictable to not enjoy a few material pleasures.”
“I agree. Though carnal pleasures are always good, too.”
“Right,” I said, ignoring his reference to sex. “I can’t wait to eat. The food here is terrific.”
We ended up sitting on the outside covered deck to take advantage of the fresh breeze, even though the humidity level hovered at the top of the register. A server found us almost instantly and we ordered a crab dip starter and stuffed shrimp entrees. Without looking at a wine menu, John ordered a bottle of white Bordeaux.
“You copycatting me again?” I teased. “You chose the same thing I did at Fishy Fishy, too.”
“I guess we have similar tastes. Besides, that’s the only way I can guarantee that I won’t have to share my food. Order the same thing your date does and she won’t be asking to taste yours.”
We worked our way through the crab dip that was served with giant croutons in lieu of crackers and half a bottle of the wine when John’s phone buzzed. He consulted the caller ID display and his watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this one. You mind?”
“Not at all.”
He headed toward the walkway by the water—either for privacy or politeness—and when he returned ten minutes later, our shrimp had arrived. He apologized for taking so long.
“But the good news,” he added, spreading a napkin over his lap,” is that the problem is resolved, so I don’t need to head in to work.”
“And I thought I might get to eat two plates of shrimp.”
“No such luck.” He held his wineglass up and we clinked to good food and good health.
I didn’t learn much about MOTSU, AJAT Security, or John—other than the fact that he didn’t like to talk about himself and immediately redirected the conversation whenever I steered it toward him. Even though the dinner was a waste of time from an intel standpoint, John turned out to be a witty conversationalist as long as we discussed movies or books or restaurants. He refused to let me chip in on the tab and, gentlemanlike, walked me to my car.
Before we reached the X5, somebody let out a sloppy cat whistle. “That is one major piece of fine-looking ass.”
A group of men—six to be exact—stood around a beat-up work van, smoking cigarettes. I guessed them to be either dock workers or perhaps fishermen just in from several days at sea. With slurred words, another man joined in, ignoring John and leering at me. “Man, would I like to get me a piece of that. Maybe she’d do us both.”
“Maybe she’d do us all, being as though the rest of you assholes wouldn’t be but ten seconds apiece,” another said, and drank straight from a brown-bagged pint liquor bottle. “I’ll take up the rear.”
“You so horny, you’d take one up the rear,” somebody said and they all laughed, much louder than
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