help me find my son, and with the hope that I would do work for them in the future. To be Their Man in Havana, and a few dozen other cities. To Leonie, Milaas-boss must mean she was concerned with the running of the bar. Which paled in importance to our kids.
The realization went through my mind in a second. ‘Leonie. It’s okay. It’ll just take a minute.’
‘You could go downstairs and get a drink,’ Mila said helpfully. ‘Perhaps one with an umbrella in it.’
‘I don’t want a drink,’ Leonie said. The ice for the drink she didn’t want found its way into her voice.
‘A coffee, then. Although you seem anxious. The decaf here is excellent.’ Mila smiled.
Leonie didn’t get up.
‘Is English a second language for her?’ Mila asked me. She looked back to Leonie. ‘I want to talk to him. Alone. Please go downstairs.’
Now Leonie got up but not with grace. More with fury.
I stepped between them. ‘Leonie, please.’
‘How is she your boss if you own the bar?’
‘Just give us a minute, okay?’
‘Actually, I need a shower. I’ll take it now and you and your charming friend can talk.’ Leonie retrieved her bag and vanished into the bedroom. She slammed the door closed.
‘She thinks she is so smart,’ Mila said. ‘She runs a shower, but she tries to listen. The doors are soundproofed. We added those last year after Bertrand and I beat up a man in the bathroom to get him to tell us… ’
I didn’t need to hear about her past crimes. ‘Don’t be adversarial.’
‘I just enjoy it. Where have you been?’
‘Here.’
‘And hanging out at this bar is so dangerous you manage to break your arm. I watch the news, Sam.’ She went to the small bar in the corner, poured herself a neat Glenfiddich. ‘Maybe this man you hunt is a huge threat to Nine Suns. Maybe I could find this man useful to me. Maybe I don’t want you to kill him because I might want to have a nice, long, whisky-soaked talk with this man myself and let him tell me all his secrets.’
‘You can’t have him,’ I said. ‘No.’ Leonie would be ready to kill Mila if she interfered.
‘Your child concerns me,’ Mila said. Her voice went low. ‘Did you think I would ever let you fight this battle alone?’
‘Mila, please don’t do this.’
‘You do not want my help.’
‘I have my orders.’
‘I am so hurt. I thought only I gave you orders.’ She took a sip of the Glenfiddich.
‘Mila. Let me handle this.’
‘And this woman, this Leonie-’ she said the name as though mispronouncing leprosy, ‘she is, what? Your new assistant? I did not approve a hiring.’
‘She has her reasons for assisting me.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Someone with very good reason to help me.’
‘Do you think you can keep a secret from me? That is so cute.’ She smiled over the whisky glass.
‘Mila, go. Leave.’ There. I can slam a door with the best of them.
‘I will leave. When you tell me who is this man you kill for your child.’
‘No.’
‘The bars – which are providing you with meeting places, and staying places, and getting-your-broken-arm- set places – were given to you easily, and they can be taken from you just as easily.’
‘Take them, then.’ I stood.
‘I am not your enemy.’ She set down the whisky glass. ‘Do you think you’re the first person I’ve recruited to work for the Round Table?’
I said nothing.
She ran a finger along the rim of the glass.‘Often the second job shows more about the new person than the first job. You helped us break up the assassination plot. You worked hard, you made a great impression. Self- starter. Very tough. Resourceful. Slightly crazy in a good way. Now you are settled into the job, into working with me, now suddenly I see your secrets, your bad habits.’
‘This is not a job for you. This is my son’s life at stake. We are not negotiating.’
‘All I want to do is to help you.’
‘Sure. And if you get info on Nine Suns, then all the better… ’
‘What is this ransom, Sam? You owe me. You know you owe me.’
I put an elbow down on the table; I rested my head against the heel of my hand. ‘They want me to kill an informant who is attempting to surrender to Special Projects. He has information that could gut Novem Soles. I broke up his surrender to the CIA. But someone else is hunting him; I’ve killed three assassins already who tried to get to him before I could’ – now I raised my gaze to meet hers – ‘and all three of them asked me about you.’
‘Me.’ Her expression was unchanged. Poker players should have bowed to it in respect.
‘Yes. Someone wants to collect the price on your head.’
This silenced her.
‘You and I have a common enemy, Mila.’
‘Tell me what you’re thinking, Sam.’ She said it low, soft, the way you might to a lover lying next to you in the warm bed. The thought of Mila that way jolted me.
‘Sam,’ Mila said, ‘what is it Americans say? Let us kill the two birds with the one stone.’
61
The Last Minute’s lights were low when Braun stepped through the antique doors. He scanned the room. A dozen people at the bar, mostly corporate types in suits having a drink at the end of the day. One knot looked like financial types, another like publishing types. The financial suits were stiffer and all the way across the room he heard a woman bray a laughing comment about how to get kids to read. Fifteen tables, half of them occupied. An old lady sat at a piano, playing languid, soft versions of Louis Armstrong standards.
No sign of Sam Capra. Or the woman Mila. He noticed a tall black man in an impeccable suit, behind the bar. Manager on duty, he decided. Or, considering the man’s stately authority, a partner in the business.
He could play this two ways. Either march up and announce he was looking for Sam Capra, or sit and wait. But he had no other lead, and he had no one else in New York to send against his enemies. Sam Capra had killed them all.
Braun sat down at the bar, in the dead zone between the two loud groups. He ordered a Harp lager. He took one sip of it, didn’t touch it again. He didn’t much like alcohol and he didn’t often drink. It was a waste; a lowering of necessary defenses.
He could see the range of tables, the front door, if he kept his eyes to the mirror at the bar. He sat and he looked ahead, in his particular quiet. The groups on both sides laughed and talked and for an odd moment his own loneliness made him sad. It was strange to watch people with friends; their laughter, their openness filled him with unease. He had long resigned himself to his own company. He got up from the bar and retreated to a corner table. He watched the laughing women and silently hated them. Anyone you let close might have had a knife ready to slide along your throat.
Lindsay, for instance. She’d tired of him, she’d left him. She’d run away, and after all he’d done for her. Bad, bad girl. Friends were too much trouble.
‘Is everything all right, sir?’ The tall black man in the suit stood at his table. He had a very slight Haitian lilt to his voice.
Braun brought a polite smile to his face. ‘Yes, fine.’
‘I just noticed you took one sip of your beer and then left it. Does it taste all right?’
Awfully observant for a bar manager, he thought. ‘Yes, it’s fine. Thank you. I just got lost in thought.’
