Page 14 of Shadow Of Sin

Why don’t all restaurants have cereal?

“So what’d you decide?” Sal asks as he returns to me. “Chicken parm, right? It’s the best!”

Chicken parm. I swallow hard. It’s not my usual. Not even close. I never order chicken out because if it’s the least bit rubbery, I’m out. And forget parm…all those textures and layers. No fucking thank you.

But Sal looks so excited, I give in. “Yes, I’ll have the chicken parm.”

“Smart man.” He taps the bar twice and disappears into the kitchen.

I drink my ginger ale and look around. The restaurant is half full for a Saturday. Families, couples, a few guys watching a basketball game on the television mounted on the wall in the corner. My brain settles a little, the way it does when everything around me is straightforward. It’s nice and definitely doesn’t happen often enough.

Sal comes back while I wait for my meal. He leans on the bar and keeps up a steady flow of conversation. He asks where I’m from, what I do, how long am I staying. It’s not like he’s interrogating me, either. He’s just interested. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me questions because they actually wanted to hear the answers.

I give him my cover story, that I relocated to the area to do freelance computer work and needed somewhere cheap while I get my business off the ground.

“Computer guy,” he says with a nod. “My sister’s into that stuff too. She’s really good at it.” He says it proudly, but so casually as if he’s completely unaware that what she actually does could land her in prison again. “She comes in most nights. You two would probably get along.”

Something tightens behind my ribs.

“Maybe,” I say.

The chicken parm arrives, a serving so big, it takes up the entire plate. I pick up my fork and slowly work it around the food, trying to figure out exactly where to cut. He watches me, waiting for a reaction, so I just say fuck it.

I cut a small piece of the edge where the breading is crispiest.

Then I put it into my mouth and chew.

Wow. It’s excellent. Not rubbery at all.

That or it’s been so long since I’ve eaten real food, I’ve forgotten what it tastes like.

“Good?” Sal asks, watching me eat with the look of a man whose entire purpose on earth is feeding people.

I nod. “Really good.”

“Glad to hear it. Lemme know if you need anything else.” He grins and goes to take care of someone else. He mentions Eva two more times to another customer before I finish eating. I don’t think it’s done on purpose. She just comes up, the way she probably comes up in every conversation he has, because she’s the most important thing in his life and he can’t help circling back to her.

I get that. I have the same thing with Cillian, though I’d probably rather get punched than admit it out loud.

The front door opens and the chime jingles.

I know it’s her before I look. I don’t know how, and that’s going to bother me later, but something in the room just shifts. When I turn, Eva stands in the doorway, her jacket zipped to her chin, eyes already doing the sweep of the restaurant just like she does of the street when she leaves her apartment.

Her eyes land on me.

She doesn’t react. She’s too controlled for that. But her eyes hold mine for a long second and I catch the flare before she shuts it down.

“E!” Sal calls out. “Get over here. I saved you the good stool.”

She walks to the bar and sits one seat away from me. Close enough that I can smell her soap…the same one from the gala hallway, the one that’s been stuck in my head for almost two years. Far enough away that Sal won’t think anything of it.

“Sal,” she says, leaning forward. “Feed me.”

“You always say that like I’m running a shelter.”

She tilts her head to the side and winks. “You kind of are.”

He grins and heads for the kitchen. The second he’s out of earshot, she looks at me.