Page 31 of Drunk In Love
Max nods, though he appears uncertain. “If you think this will work…”
I didn’t know for sure if any of this would go according to plan, but we had to try. We were close to figuring this thing out. I could feel it. Franco was our last hope. If he was guilty, I didn’t expect him to come right out with it, but presuming he was innocent, maybe he could point us in a different direction.
We both exit the car and begin heading towards the front of the restaurant when Max suddenly grabs my hand.
Maxwell is taking in our surroundings. I look too and don’t see anything that seems suspicious or out of the ordinary. No dark cars around. I hoped that we weren’t being followed again. Holding Max’s hand feels odd but also like something we should have done ages ago. There’s a sense of comfort in feeling his warm palm against mine.
Focus, Kamaya!
After making our way across the street with the coast seemingly clear, we approach the cherrywood paneled host’s stand. Maxwell reacts first when the host looks up and greets us.
“Just two? Table or booth?” the host questions.
“Booth,” Max answers while I scan the inside of the restaurant.
There were two pictures of Franco that I’d seen when I searched for him. So far, none of the male workers passing by resembled him. Again, I wondered if he’d made any significant changes to his person since those photos were taken.
We follow the host over to a booth small enough to seat only two. We’re surrounded by more of the same wooden tables with checkered tablecloths, matching the outside seating. The walls are covered in old Hollywood star headshots, some with signatures on them. When I researched the restaurant, the search results showed it had been family run since the early fifties after the end of World War II when the family immigrated to New York through Ellis Island.
“Can I get you started with something to drink?” the host asks.
“A diet Coke for me,” Max responds. “A strawberry lemonade for you, Kam?”
I wasn’t sure if it was because I was a creature of habit or if Max just knew me so well, but he guessed exactly what I was planning to say.
“Yes, that’s fine,” I respond to Max and the server.
“I’ll give you some time to look over the menu,” the server advises before walking off.
Now that we were alone again, I use my seating position to my vantage point. With my back to the rear of the seating area, I am able to see who enters and exits from the kitchen.
Hopefully we didn’t have Franco’s days wrong, and we’d see him before our meal was complete. I didn’t doubt my skills, but I was beginning to feel anxious about the trajectory of this assignment so far.
As far as I was concerned, we could have turned in Harry as an accomplice to fraud, but I didn’t believe he was working alone.
“Have you seen him yet?” Maxwell asks.
“Not yet,” I say.
The server returns and takes our orders. I order cacio de pepe and Max decides on spicy bucatini. With our order placed, I use the time waiting for our meal to pay attention to the goings and comings of the restaurant staff.
After some time, the server returns and sets our steaming bowls down, and Max waits until they’re out of earshot before speaking again. “So what if he never shows? We can’t eat at every Italian restaurant in New York until we find him.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” I quip, twining a string of the sauce-covered pasta around my fork.
Maxwell levels a look at me.
“Okay, okay. You’re right,” I concede. “So far, this is the best lead we have for Franco. That apartment was a bust, and it’s not like any other employees at FJ are forthcoming.”
“You’re right,” he says, dipping bread into olive oil. “We may need to come up with a plan B.”
“I haven’t given up yet,” I say. “Besides, the trip down here to Little Italy hasn’t been a total waste. The food here is fantastic.”
“Take your time,” the server advises while putting the check down.
Maxwell slides the bill towards him before I can think to grab it. Max is distracted with pulling his TSS company card out of his wallet when I see Franco.
Finally!