The blond faced the door, like Julian did, so his only view was sandy curls fringing the back of his collar. Both ordered coffee and pie, both kept watch on the hotel, either in tandem or individually.
Maybe these were the guys who’d managed to evade his men. The waitress lingered at their table, a big smile for the blond. The diner was too noisy to pick up on their conversation. Unable to drink another cup of mediocre coffee, Julian asked for the check.
When the waitress nodded and left, the blond turned around to face him, his arm casually over the back of the seat.
“Excuse me,” he said, his accent lilting. British or Irish, Julian wasn’t sure which. “The server said you were asking about the hotel. Can I ask your interest?”
Julian squinted at him. “I was making conversation.” His eyes drifted to where the gossipy waitress was clearing a table, before shifting back to the astute green eyes of the Brit. “Really, no interest. You?”
“Ah. We were looking for a friend who was staying there. But it seems it’s closed, so we are in a bit of a quandary, you see?”
Julian smiled slightly, both at the super polite language and the lie. The kid was good, he’d give him that. Little signs in the way of micro expressions, no inflection either way. If Julian hadn’t been such a good liar himself, he might have believed it.“I heard there was some trouble there earlier. Maybe your friend was involved? You can talk to the cops.”
Purple hair scoffed and then cleared his throat, looking innocent.
Julian shifted his gaze from one to the other. “Not a fan of the cops, eh?” He shrugged. “I get it. Neither am I. But if your friend is in some kind of trouble…”
“Why would you think that?” British guy asked.
“Well, I don’t.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin and picked up his ticket before sliding out of the booth. “I wish you luck in finding your friend.” Not waiting for anything further, he headed to the cash register. He paid his bill and left a tip on his card, silently cursing himself for not having cash. He needed no more ties to the area than he already had.
Stepping out onto the street, he pulled out his phone to order a ride. And as he waited, he paced the sidewalk in front of the diner windows, casually raising his phone as though getting a signal, snapping a few pics. Walking out of sight, he sent a quick text to Shorty. It took a few minutes, but a response came back. Despite the glare of the diner window, Shorty identified the two guys as those who’d helped the old man.
Chapter Seven
Regge, mobsters, and necromancers
From across the table, I watched Hunter’s expression as he slid to the edge of the booth.
“I’m going around back. This guy is shifty.”
“Wait.” I reached out for him. “Let’s see where he goes.”
Hunter closed his eyes for half a second. “No. He’s catching an Uber. If we want to know where he’s going, we need the car. Pay the bill. I’ll pick you up out front.” He was gone, striding toward the restrooms and hopefully a back door.
I sighed and gulped my coffee with a grimace. Not waiting for a ticket, I put a twenty on the table and stood up.
I hadn’t needed to tell Hunter the dark-haired man was lying. His face when I turned back around said it all. The man’s careless yet menacing aspect had come across as soon as I’d spoken to him.
The encounter had been polite, almost pleasant, but I still felt that alarm response in me. I stood outside the diner doors. The clear night had clouded over as a light drizzle started to fall, and I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets.
Hunter’s beat-up SUV pulled to the curb. I slid in.
He talked as he drove. “He’s in a black Toyota. I didn’t get the plates, but he turned on Washington.” Then he seemed to blank out as he gazed over the steering wheel. I thought it no less than a miracle how the man could be in the future and the present at the same time.
“You’re amazing,” I said.
We stopped at a light. Hunter grinned at me. “You think?”
“Yes, like you can see—”
Someone tapped their horn behind us, signaling that the light had turned. “Okay, don’t distract me. I gotta concentrate.” He drove on.
“How am I distracting you? Sorry, never mind. Do your thing.”
“He’s headed toward Center City. I knew this dude’s casual wear was too expensive to be truly casual.”
Center City was a posh part of Philadelphia. The San Marco Hotel where I worked was located on the edge of the neighborhood of high-rises.
