He stood up and glanced at my attire, muttering something in Russian. “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”
I took another forkful of pie and watched him counting money from his wallet. I didn’t have plans to sleep, but I silently accepted the large sum of money he placed on the table.
After my pie, I enjoyed a third cup of coffee before gathering my things and heading out.
When I crossed the street, I had a perfect view of Betty picking up the biggest tip she’d ever received from my table.
* * *
It was a breezy night, and I spent most of it strolling through the city streets. But just after dawn, dark clouds rolled in, and punishing drops of rain drenched people on their way to work. The man selling umbrellas outside the apartment buildings picked a good day to make money. After a few hours of people-watching from my chair in the Laundromat, I headed north on 14th Street with the strap from my duffel bag weighing down my shoulder.
The heavy fragrance of fresh breads and pastries wafted through the open door as I entered the bakery. Water dripped from the plastic bag I’d put over my head as a makeshift hat, and I tossed it into a trash can.
A man who looked my age was sipping his coffee at a table ahead to my right, the chocolate éclair on his napkin half-eaten.
I studied the card Viktor had given me. What did I have to lose? It wasn’t as if I had my life together, and maybe this was a chance to learn something. Our world was thick with criminals, and I didn’t have a shred of guilt for the men I’d killed. Maybe getting paid for it wouldn’t be so bad.
The woman behind the register greeted me with a warm smile. “Morning! Take your time and let me know when you’re ready.”
I eased up to the glass counter and admired all the sweet pastries lined up in neat little rows. The entire wall behind them was nothing but baskets of breads separated by grain and type.
Three workers were dashing back and forth behind the counter, filling orders and emptying breadbaskets. I tapped my fingernail against the glass, uncertain who was the baker. They were all dressed the same, so I looked around the room for an “employee of the month” plaque that might narrow it down.
“Young lady, is there something that I can help you with?” a dark-skinned man asked.
He had gentle eyes, and I took a chance that he was the owner and slipped him Viktor’s card. “Um, the daily special please.”
Without a word, he reached under the counter and then handed me a pink box. “Just as you ordered. Thank you for paying us in advance; we’re more than happy to have it ready for you,” he said with a wink. Seconds later, he disappeared into the back room.
A little mystified, I turned away with the small box and stood by the door.
“Excuse me,” someone said.
I glanced up and stepped aside as the attractive man, who moments ago had been eating a chocolate éclair, was on his way out. I noticed his blond hair had dark roots, and he styled it in the disheveled manner that was the popular trend. When he smiled, it created grooves on both sides of his face.
“Don’t get wet out there,” I said with a chuckle.
“Says the girl without an umbrella.” He turned around to open the door with his back. “Maybe I should wear a plastic bag over my head,” he said playfully.
“Maybe.”
His gaze lingered on my mismatched eyes and made me uncomfortable. People couldn’t help themselves. I stared at his black ear studs in a half-assed attempt to find something wrong with him, but all he did was smile wider and then disappear into the rain.
Humans were becoming so peculiar to me, and it had only been five years since I’d been turned.
Now that I had privacy, I lifted the lid of my box, uncertain of what to expect. A key? A flash drive? A secret device? A pistol?
Beneath the wax paper was a lemon bar lightly dusted with powdered sugar.
I broke it into three pieces, searching inside for a folded-up piece of paper or… I don’t know. WhatwasI looking for? There wasn’t anything underneath the bottom sheet of paper either. What the hell was I doing? Mr. Kazan must have been the kind of guy who sought amusement from messing with people’s heads.
I threw the box into the trash and stormed out into the rain. As I crossed the street, my right boot landed in a deep puddle of water just before I stepped onto the curb.
“Swell,” I muttered, my sock turning into a sponge.
A black Honda screeched to a halt, and the engine revved twice, as if screaming for my attention. When I approached the car, the window rolled down.
“Get in. I’ll take you to Viktor.”
