Chapter 23 - Do Not Be Late

Chapter 23: Chapter 23 - Do Not Be Late

Jesse cut into the short rib with the side of his fork.

It didn’t resist at all. The meat simply fell apart, tender and glistening, the dark red sauce seeping into every strand. He dragged a piece through the garlic mashed potatoes and put it in his mouth.

He stopped chewing.

Rich. Smoky. Sweet from the wine, sharp from the garlic, melting on his tongue like butter. The carrots had a sticky glaze that crackled slightly between his teeth.

He hadn’t eaten anything this good in years. Maybe ever. His mother had been a wonderful cook once, before the chemo took her appetite and then her strength, but even she had never made anything quite like this.

Jesse closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them, Carrie was still standing there, hands folded in front of her apron, watching him with that same tense, anxious expression.

"Well?" she asked in her Mary Poppins voice. "Is it to your liking, sir?"

Jesse swallowed.

"It’ll do," he said. "You can go."

He waved her off without looking up and dug back in.

Carrie hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure whether "it’ll do" was a compliment or a death sentence. Then she turned and walked away.

Jesse didn’t watch her go this time. He was too busy eating.

He ate like a man who’d been starving for a week. Which, he realized halfway through the plate, he basically had been. He’d eaten breakfast yesterday morning before work. Then the promotion news. Then Andrew’s office. Then the eviction notice, Tatiana, the bar, the alley and the hospital. He’d bought that bag of chicken and fries and never even touched it.

He’d gone almost a full day and a half on nothing but whiskey and adrenaline.

He scraped the last of the sauce off the plate with his fork. Then he looked around for Carrie.

She was by the coffee station, pretending to wipe down a counter that was already clean. The moment she felt his eyes on her, she looked up.

Jesse raised his hand and crooked a finger.

She came over quickly.

"Another one," Jesse said. He pushed the empty plate toward the edge of the table. "Same thing."

Carrie blinked. "Another short rib?"

"Unless you’ve got something better."

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Right away."

She picked up the plate, nearly dropped the fork, caught it, and hurried back to the kitchen.

Jesse leaned back and watched the swinging door.

She was terrified of him. He could see it in every move she made. Every time she glanced at him, her shoulders tightened, like she was waiting for him to stand up, point at her, and scream thief.

But that wasn’t something Jesse was going to do, he was enjoying this way too much to ruin it prematurely.

The second plate came out just as perfect as the first.

Jesse took his time with this one. He savored every bite. When he finally set down his fork and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin, the lunch rush was thinning. Half the booths were empty. The construction workers had gone back to their site. The woman in the lavender blazer had finally gotten her salad and left without tipping.

Carrie came to clear the plate.

"I hope you enjoyed your meal, sir," she said, still in the accent. Then she lowered her voice and dropped it. "It’s on the house."

Jesse looked up at her and chuckled.

"On the house?" He tilted his head. "You mean you’re going to pay for it."

Carrie didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to. Her eyes flicked away from his, and that told him everything he needed to know.

Two short ribs off the menu, cooked special by the chef. That wasn’t cheap, and she was going to quietly cover it out of her own paycheck, hoping to buy herself a little goodwill.

Jesse almost felt sorry for her.

He nodded at the empty seat across from him.

"Sit down."

Carrie’s eyes went wide. "I can’t. We’re not allowed to sit with customers. It’s against the rules. If my manager sees—"

Jesse looked at her.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t raise his voice. He just held her gaze, flat and steady and unblinking, the way Andrew used to look at people right before he ruined their day.

"Sit down," he repeated quietly.

Carrie glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen. At the coffee station. At the back office, where the door was half-closed.

Then she slid into the booth across from him and sat on the very edge of the seat, like she might need to run.

Jesse folded his hands on the table.

"Why did you do it?"

Carrie stared at the tabletop.

"Last night," Jesse went on. "The bar. The alley. Is that something you normally do?" He leaned forward slightly. "And most importantly, why me? Out of everyone in that bar, why did you choose me?"

Her fingers curled into the edge of her apron.

"Please," she whispered. "Not here. This isn’t the place to talk about this. I’m begging you. I get off work this afternoon. We can talk then. Anywhere you want."

Jesse considered her for a long moment.

"You’re right," he said finally. "This isn’t the place to talk about it." He smiled. "Since I don’t plan to have you arrested."

He let the pause hang just long enough.

"Yet."

Carrie went pale.

And then she noticed the room.

People were looking at them. A table of college kids by the window had gone quiet and were glancing over with open curiosity. Danny the busboy was standing frozen with a tray of dirty glasses. By the coffee station, Evie had stopped pretending to fill sugar caddies and was openly staring, eyebrows somewhere near her hairline.

Even Hector had stuck his head out of the kitchen pass.

Every second Carrie sat in that booth, more eyes turned their way.

"Please," she said, her voice cracking. "I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please don’t make a scene. Not here. I need this job."

Jesse watched her for a second longer.

Then he nodded.

"Stand up."

She stood so fast her knees bumped the table.

Jesse pulled a pen from his inside pocket and grabbed a clean napkin from the dispenser. He wrote quickly, his handwriting neat and small. His home address in Astoria. His phone number underneath.

He folded the napkin in half and held it out to her.

Carrie took it with trembling fingers and slipped it into the pocket of her apron.

"Six o’clock," Jesse said. "My house. You’d better be there at six p.m. sharp." He leaned back. "Or you and that brute boyfriend of yours will both be in handcuffs tonight."

Something flickered across Carrie’s face.

It was quick, just a slight twist of her mouth, a wrinkle of her nose. But it was unmistakable. It wasn’t fear. It was disgust.

Jesse caught it.

"He is your boyfriend," he said slowly. "Isn’t he?"

Carrie shook her head.

Jesse frowned.

If the brute wasn’t her boyfriend, then what was he? Her partner? Her pimp? Her boss? Her brother?

He glanced down at her hands just to confirm if Nolan missed something. No wedding ring. No engagement ring. Not even a tan line where one used to be.

Interesting.

Jesse realized right then that they were going to have a lot to talk about tonight.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet.

"Since the meal’s on the house," he said, "I’d like to leave a tip. For you and the chef."

Carrie blinked at him.

"A tip?"

"A tip. Go get the machine."

For a moment, she just stood there. Then she nodded and walked toward the register.

Her head was spinning.

A tip? Why would he leave a tip? Last night, she’d lured him into a dark alley and watched while Angus beat him half to death and drained every last penny out of his bank account. And now he wanted to tip her?

Was this a trap? A test? Some kind of sick joke?

She grabbed the card machine from beside the register and walked back to the booth.

Jesse took it from her without a word. He punched in a number, swiped his card and handed the machine back.

Carrie looked down at the screen.

She read it once. Then she read it again. Then she stopped breathing.

TIP: $30,000.00

APPROVED.

Her hands started shaking so badly the machine nearly slipped out of her grip.

"Twenty for you," Jesse said. "Ten for the chef."

He stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. He tucked the wallet back into his pocket and slid out of the booth.

He’d taken three steps toward the door when he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her.

Carrie hadn’t moved. She was still standing beside the booth, holding the card machine with both hands, staring at the screen like it might change if she looked away.

"Carrie."

She jerked her head up. It was the first time he’d used her real name.

"Do not be late."

Then he turned and walked out of Marlowe’s. The bell above the door jingled behind him.

*******

Carrie didn’t know how long she stood there.

Ten seconds. A minute. Maybe more.

Then Evie was at her elbow, practically vibrating.

"Okay. Okay, what was that?" Evie whispered. "Who was that? Why were you sitting down? Why did he look at you like that? Carrie. Carrie, talk to me. What is going on?"

Carrie couldn’t find the words.

So instead, she slowly turned the card machine around and held up the screen.

Evie leaned in and read it.

Her mouth fell open. Her eyes went wide. She looked at the screen. Then at Carrie. Then at the door Jesse had just walked out of. Then back at the screen.

"Is that..." Evie whispered. "Is that thirty thousand dollars?"

Carrie nodded.

Evie’s legs seemed to give out. She grabbed the back of the booth to keep from sliding to the floor.

"Holy shit."