“C’mon, then.”
They entered a small restaurant with darker, smoke-grey walls covered in charcoal sketches of propeller planes and sailing ships.
“Miss Louise,” said a handsome older man with curly hair who looked vaguely Italian. He was wearing a white t-shirt with black pants and wore an orange Atlas apron over the top. “Always a pleasure to have you.” The man smiled broadly.
“Sorry we haven’t been in for a while — you know how life goes,” Louise answered in pleasant if breezy fashion. “Jack, this is Mister Burgos, the owner of the restaurant.”
“Karl,” Burgos said, while he proceeded to crush Jack’s fingers with a grip of steel.
The rest of the staff also knew Louise, and a waitress showed them to a scenic table over by the front window.
“Thanks, Tara. Could I trouble you for an ashtray?”
“No worries, Louise.”
“A glass of Bollinger too. Jack?”
“Coffee would be great.”
The waitress nodded. “Today’s special is the barbecued lamb — it’s a real humdinger. I’ll scoot back with the drinks.”
Louise took out her packet of cigarettes and lit up while Jack examined the menu.
“It was such a surprise to see you when I got home. In a good way.”
Louise had a smile that took up most of her face. Jack’d never seen an expression so infectiously uplifting — except, perhaps, the last time they’d met.
“Likewise,” he said simply.
“So. Here we are. Tonight, can we do something different?
“Sure.”
“Tell me about yourself.”
After a few seconds’ hesitation — during which time he realized he couldn’t wrangle out of this one — Jack almost mentioned his adoration for comicbooks, but then remembered the Professor’s warning.
“Not much to say, really.”
The girl sat back and exhaled a puff of smoke. Her smile was dead in the water. “Oh, I don’t believe it.”
“I love books.”
“Yes, we have established that.”
Jack looked away. He didn’t know what to reveal — and then something came to him. “Okay. My parents died when I was young.”
Louise instantly leaned forward to place a hand over his fingers. “Really? Oh, no. I’m so sorry. God. Mine too.”
“It’s okay.”
They ordered a dinner of barbecued lamb and actually said little more of note. Occasionally, Jack felt Louise’s emerald eyes on him, but he focused on the meal gracing the table.
His partner ordered two more glasses of champagne and talked for a while with Karl, the owner, who leaned in too close — and had Jack fidgeting uncomfortably.
Other than that, he kept thinking about his mother and father, about how quick he’d been to say they were dead. Maybe it was true. Probably they were — and yet he had no idea. He felt like he’d betrayed them.
After dinner, Jack played it honourable. He deposited the girl on her doorstep, pecked a cheek, told her what a swell evening he’d had.
Then he virtually ran away.
#137
Next day, Jack got Gypsie-Ann on the line at the Patriot.
“Any news on the Blando lead?” he asked, following thankfully abridged unnecessary pleasantries.
“I thought you volunteered for the leg-work?”
“Got a few other angles I have to pursue.”
“Fat lot of good that does me.”
Jack adjusted the receiver in the crook of his neck. “Look, maybe we should drop it.”
“You really know how to grab my interest, Jack. Why drop it now?”
“No reason.”
“This Sekrine character is no longer important?”
“I don’t know.”
He hung up and stared at the wall. Was he doing the wrong thing? The Professor seemed to know so much. Why couldn’t he ask the old man directly?
More than that, Jack felt he already owed Louise twice an apology and was intruding in a domain none of his business.
#138
An interminable ringing woke him, its source the ancient black Western Electric Model 202 telephone on his bedside table. Jack’d never heard a peep from the bugger, but apparently an almighty clanging at five minutes past two in the morning was its specialized party trick. He juggled with the overlarge handset, as he rose to a halfway decent upright position in the dark.
“Hello?”
There was sobbing on the other end — a girl? — and then he heard a soft voice pleading to somebody, a scream, and two shouted words: “No! No!”
“Louise…?” He couldn’t tell. Neither tone nor line was clear.
“Monarch Theatre — Pearl Street — oh, God, please hurry!”