13ReidI got up early and hit the streets the next morning, thoughts of Cora in that tiny little dress still playing through my mind. I wanted to peel her bare when we got home—but she ditched me and disappeared into her room instead. I think I pissed her off when I knocked out that fat state senator asshole, but he was drunk and he more than deserved what he got.
Enrico was waiting for me at a coffee spot on Passyunk Avenue. He slid a white enameled cup across the table toward me and I took a sip as he looked around, one arm slung over the back of the booth.
“I got news,” he said.
“Yeah? Better be good. I’m sick of bad news.” The coffee was strong and had a strange berry aftertaste—I made a mental note to come back to this place, even though it was the kind of hipster spot where they drew flowers in the lattes and everything had an industrial wood-and-metal vibe.
“I think you’ll like this.” He cleared his throat and leaned toward me. “I think I know where Jarvis has been.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? You don’t sound too sure.”
“It’s not perfect, but a guy I know spotted him a few times at this bar out near the river.”
“Spotted him at a bar.” I stared at Enrico and shook my head. “That’s not exactly solid.”
“I know, but it’s the best I got right now. Aldrik’s there right now scouting the place out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the text messages. “Says, and I quote here, ‘this place is a total fucking shithole, so Jarvis definitely comes here.’ That’s the best I got for you right now.”
I grunted and leaned back in my chair. The coffee was good, but the intel wasn’t so great—still, better than nothing. “Text him back. Do they serve food?”
He rubbed his face. “I’m not your fucking hostess.”
“Do it, asshole.”
He typed and waited until Aldrik messaged back. “Yeah. Says it’s a decent menu actually.”
“Good.” I finished the coffee and stood. “I think I’ll have dinner there tonight.”
Enrico smiled, head tilted. “Should me and Aldrik show up as well?”
“If you’re sitting at the bar around eight tonight, I wouldn’t be upset.”
“Okay, great, I hear you.” He hesitated. “Uh, just to be clear, you mean you want us to show up at eight, right?”
I sighed and shook my head. “Jesus, you’re an asshole. Yes, Enrico, be there at eight. Sit at the bar, don’t be obvious.”
“Got it, right, will do, boss.”
“And don’t come up to me if you see me there. Cora won’t know.”
“You’re bringing the girl?”
I nodded and turned away toward the entrance. An older man in a stained denim shirt came through, his beard bushy and graying—he could’ve been a rich artist or homeless, it was hard to tell sometimes.
“Good cover. You got your orders.” I left the coffee place and drove around the city for a while, running through plans and contingencies in my head.* * *Barnacled Rooster truly was a piece of shit like Aldrik said, but it was packed when I parked out front. It was in a quiet neighborhood right off Delaware Avenue, within spitting distance of the river. Cora slipped her hand through my arm as we walked toward the place, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a matching dark sweater, and I wished we were going somewhere a little bit fancier so I could’ve seen her in one of those dresses.
Still, I liked that she was comfortable with me—she didn’t hesitate to take my arm, and she didn’t seem to think it was strange to hang on me like that, even if she was still quick to remind me that our marriage was a goddamn sham.
“Nice place,” she said as we went inside. The floor was sticky, the tables were peeling, and the place was packed with drunk and loud local guys. I guessed it was a working class bar, probably for dock men or some shit like that.
“You had something better to do tonight?”
“Nope, guess not.”
I spotted a table toward the back and grabbed it, figuring there was an open seating policy. Sure enough, a waitress appeared a few minute later with menus, took our drink orders, and hustled off to help another table.
“How’d you hear about this place?” she asked.
“Aldrik recommended it.”
She laughed. “Since when did you listen to him?”
“The man’s got great taste.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“Fair enough, but don’t let his looks deceive you. He may look like a Miami pimp, but he has the soul of a poet.”
She rolled her eyes but I could tell she was relaxed already and having a good time. We fell into an easy rhythm, a comfortable conversation, that only got better as the drinks flowed.
I spotted Enrico and Aldrik at the bar ten minutes after we sat down. They took stools at the far end, blocked from our line of sight by a group of big, loud women in what I could only assume were very bad blonde wigs. Cora told me a story about almost getting arrested when she was a teenager while spraying graffiti on a dumpster.