Vince looked out his office window into the business park Corporate Financial had their offices in. He’d gotten a police escort to work this morning, and with the news of the arrest of a suspect in yesterday’s attack Vince guessed that they might be scaling back their protection of him. After all, he was only an ordinary citizen, and it was probably costing the city of Irvine a lot of money to give him and Tracy what protection they’d been able to give. He wasn’t even planning to go to work, but he had a project deadline and decided to go in for a short day to tie up those loose ends.
Vince contemplated the repercussions of heading out to this meeting. Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in darting out real quick, would there? He’d be careful, would pay attention to everything around him, and he knew enough not to get himself in a sticky situation. It wouldn’t take long, either. Ten minutes to drive over, ten minutes back, maybe five minutes to get the bottom of this and he’d be back in his office. No problem.
He left for Holly Street Bar and Grill three minutes later.
HE WAS NERVOUS on the drive, checking his rearview mirror constantly. Several times at stoplights he was afraid every car that pulled up next to him was going to be an assassin. Several times he found himself flinching, one time almost ducking. He kept telling himself, they’ve got the guy in custody, it was just some fucking nut and we’ll find out why he was trying to kill me later this afternoon. That calmed him down, and he was able to drive to the mini-mall with a renewed sense of ease.
Once he found the mall, he swung into the parking lot and cruised until he found a spot. He killed the engine and sat in the car. He looked out at the mini-mall, which was bustling with business as teenagers out of school cruised for action and soccer moms shopped with their kids. The mall housed a Ralph’s grocery store, a Target, a couple of gift shops, a Barnes and Noble Bookstore with an attached Starbucks coffee shop, and an assortment of fast food eateries. Holly St. Bar and Grill was situated in the middle of the structure, between Tower Records and Round Table Pizza. Vince got out of the car and started walking toward it.
He’d driven to the mini-mall in a numbed state of shock. All he could think about were two things: this was a scam to get him out of the office so they (whoever they were) could kill him; and who was the man that called? As he drew up to the restaurant his stomach began fluttering again. His hands were clammy. He gripped the brass door handle and pulled.
The restaurant was a classy version of one of those Bar and Grill restaurants that sell burgers and taco salads and chicken strips and also have a full bar. The restaurant was filled with tables and booths, all of which was situated around a full bar. I’ll be in the corner booth, the voice had said. Vince craned his head, trying to look over the sea of people. A pretty blonde hostess smiled at him. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to meet someone,” Vince said, stepping inside.
He walked slowly to the rear of the establishment, looking for a corner booth. There were no booths back there save for one along the side against the wall. The booths had those high-backed seats that made it difficult to tell if a patron was actually seated there.
He reached the corner booth toward the rear of the restaurant.
Empty.
He let out a sigh and turned toward the front of the restaurant. He was scanning the tables, trying to make eye contact to see if somebody would meet his gaze and rise to meet him. None did. He glanced at his watch. It had taken him ten minutes to drive over here, and he supposed that from the time of the call and the time it took him to leave and get out of the building, close to twenty minutes had passed. So where was he?
He felt the presence of somebody behind him and he turned just as he heard his name being spoken aloud. “Vince Walters.”
The man had come from the short hallway in the back, which led to the kitchen and the restrooms. He was big, six foot two and muscular. Mean looking. Wearing faded blue jeans and cowboy boots, his white T-shirt sported the logo from the band White Zombie. A denim sleeveless jacket was draped over his large frame. The man had shoulder length black hair swept back over his face. Both arms were very heavily tattooed and he wore leather biker gloves. His mirror shades made it impossible for Vince to see his eyes.
“You called me here?” Vince asked, staring up at the big man’s impressive form, feeling himself tense up.
“Yes,” the man said. When Vince first laid eyes on him, the man’s features were intense. Now they softened a little bit as the man appraised him through the mirror shades. He cocked a thumb at the window, motioning outside. “Why don’t we go somewhere else and we’ll talk.”
Vince gritted his teeth. “No,” he said. “Whatever you want to say to me, say it now. You wanted me to come here, here I am.”
“Not here,” the man said. “I have my reasons.”
“And I have mine,” Vince snapped. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Now tell me what the fuck you want and—”
The man reached into his pocket. At first Vince thought he was reaching for a gun, but then relaxed as he extracted his wallet. The man flipped it open and rummaged through it. He pulled out a photograph. He held it up for Vince to see.
Vince gasped. There were two children in the photograph, both of them boys. They were sitting on a bench, mugging gap-toothed at the camera. They appeared to be between the ages of six and eight years old. The older boy had short black hair and wore blue cord jeans and a striped shirt. But the most recognizable boy in the photo was the younger one.
It was Vince. At the age of six.
Upon realizing that he was in the photo, Vince immediately placed the older boy seated on the park bench with him. His name was Frank. His parents had been Gladys and Tom, and they’d lived around the corner from Vince and his parents in those dim fog-clouded days when they’d lived in California. Vince remembered he and Frank often played together when both boys’ parents were visiting with each other. Frank had been rough sometimes, but was mostly okay. Vince remembered he’d wanted to be just like him.
The man holding the photo tapped it with one black leather gloved finger and took off his mirror shades. He had brown eyes and now Vince could make out the vague resemblance to the boy in the picture, the boy from his dim childhood. “That’s you and me in that photo, Vince. Our parents used to be friends, we lived around the corner from each other. I’m—”
“You’re Frank,” Vince said, looking at the bigger man with a sense of awe.
“Frank Black,” the man said. He put the photo back in his wallet and shoved it back in his jeans. “No resemblance to the character Lance Henrickson plays on the TV show Millennium.” He cracked a slight grin at the comment, then leveled a serious gaze at Vince. “I’m sorry to intrude on your life like this, old buddy, but I had to. You’re in danger. Serious danger, and we need to talk now.”
VINCE BEGAN TO suspect Frank was serious about the being in danger part when he suggested they exit out the back. Vince agreed—why the hell not? It was only Frank, his old childhood buddy and playmate from a time he’d almost forgotten. He’d popped back into his life to warn Vince that he was in danger, so obviously he had some information on who’d tried to kill him, right? Frank was somebody he could trust. Vince followed the bigger man warily down the short hallway to the rear door of Holly St. Bar and Grill and into the alley.