Unleash Me, Vol. 2 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) (17 page)


Where is he?

I asked.

The waiter placed the martini down in front of me and
handed me the envelope, which wasn

t sealed.
 
Inside was a piece of paper.
 

Actually, he left some time ago.

Tank held out his hand for the envelope.
 
I gave it to him, and then he moved the
martini out of my reach.
 

Where
was this gentleman sitting?

he asked the waiter.


He didn

t dine here tonight,

the waiter said.
 

Not long after you and Ms. Ward
entered the restaurant and were seated, he came in.
 
He paid for the drink, and asked me to
wait until you were about to leave before I delivered it and the envelope to
Ms. Ward.
 
Now seemed the appropriate
time.

Tank took the envelope and held it up to the light above
him.
 
I watched him squint his eyes,
and saw the frustration that crossed his face.
 
He then pressed the envelope together,
likely to get a better view of what was inside.
 
Tank was a master at concealing emotion,
and he revealed nothing to anyone now.


What is it?

I asked.


Don

t touch that martini,

he said to me.
 
He looked at the waiter.
 

You took the order?


I did.


Then we need to talk.
 
Front desk?


Of course.


Tank,

I said.

But he ignored me.
 
He got up from his seat with the envelope clutched in his hand, and left
the rear dining area.
 
He parted the
curtains that separated the two dining rooms, and cut through them,
disappearing from sight.


What

s going on?

Blackwell said.


I don

t know, but I

m
going to find out.
 
Excuse me.

I got up from my seat, and stepped past Jennifer, who
squeezed my hand as I passed her.
 
I
followed Tank through the curtains into the first dining room, and then stepped
into the small reception area, where Tank already was questioning the waiter.


What

s the problem?

I asked.

When Tank saw me, he looked irritated.
 

I

d like a moment alone
with our waiter.
 
Would you mind
giving us that moment?


I would.
 
If
this involves me, I want to know what

s going on.


Please?

he said.


Sorry, but no.
 
Something

s wrong.
 
It
obviously involves me.
 
I have a
right to know what it is.
 
What

s
inside that envelope?


It doesn

t matter,

he said.

By the guarded look on his face, I knew he was trying to protect
me from something.
 
But if he knew
me at all at this point in our relationship, then he knew I wasn

t
one to walk away from any sort of situation.
 

You need to respect me now,

I said.
 

I

m no fool.
 
Neither are any of our friends.
 
Something isn

t
right.
 
What

s
the issue?

We respected each other enough that he knew that he needed
to give in and come clean with me.
 
And so he did.


You

ve received a threat,

he said.

Given the way he was acting, I sensed that was the
case.
 
But who sent it?
 

What kind of threat?
 
What

s in the
envelope?
 
Let me see it.

With reluctance, he handed it over to me.
 
I removed the piece of paper that was
inside, and unfolded it.
 
For a
moment, I just stared at the words.
 
Spelled out in the middle of the paper in letters clipped from magazines
and newspapers, someone had glued the words

Enjoy your final
drink, bitch, because it

s your last.

Shaken, I handed it back to Tank, who tried to console me
by placing his hand on my arm.
 
But
there was no consoling me.
 

Who
did this?

I
asked the waiter.
 

Who
bought me that drink and gave this envelope to you?

The man look flustered.

I don

t
know, Ms. Ward.


How can

t you know?
 
How did he pay?


In cash.


What did he look like?


Solid build.
 
Brown hair.

Immediately, I thought of Kevin, who had brown hair.
 
Had he followed us tonight?
 
Someone had.
 

Did he have a beard?


He didn

t.

That caught me off guard

Kevin
had a beard.
 
Or at least he did the
last time I saw him.
 
Could he have
cut it off?
 
Of course he could
have.
 

Describe
him to me,

I
said.
 

What
was he wearing?
 
What did he look
like?

 
I looked around the space.
 

Do you have security cameras in
here?
 
If you do, that would be
helpful.


They don

t,

Tank said.
 

This
isn

t a
destination spot for tourists.
 
Their main clientele are locals, most of whom they know on a first-name
basis.
 
There are no cameras

just
a security code to gain entrance to the restaurant.

I looked at the waiter.
 

Describe him to me.


It was busy.
 
He
just came in, and said that he recognized you and wanted to buy you a drink,
and then asked me to pass along a note from a fan.
 
It

s a Saturday night.
 
We had a full house.
 
It

s been crazy.
 
I just took the money from him, took the
envelope, and asked when he wanted me to deliver the drink and the envelope to
you.
 
He told me when.
 
I

m sorry if I

ve
upset you, Ms. Ward.


You were just doing your job,

I said.
 

This
isn

t
on you

I apologize if I

m coming off hot.
 
I don

t mean to

I

m
just worried.
 
And a little angry.
 
Was this man of average height, or was
he tall?


You

re thinking of Boss?

Tank said.


Of course I am.
 
I

m thinking of Kevin and Boss.
 
Both have it in for me.


I

d say he was about six feet tall,

the waiter said.


Are you sure of that?


Not completely.
 
But I

m six feet tall, and we were eye-to-eye.
 
I do remember that.

Marco Boss was a giant.
 
Kevin was about five-foot-ten, but who
knew how tall he was in whatever shoes he was wearing.
 

Did this man seem homeless to you?


Not at all.


Did he seem high or drunk to you?


No, ma

am.


What was he wearing?


A brown overcoat

I remember that.
 
And I think a sweater.
 
I don

t know what he was
wearing for pants.
 
I didn

t
notice that.

I took a breath in an effort to settle down.
 

The reason we

re
being so clinical about this is that there

s been a prior threat.
 
I

m just frustrated, that

s
all.
 
Please accept my apologies if
I

ve
come on too strong.


None are needed.

I looked at Tank.
 

What do you make of this?


That it

s time to show him the composite.


You have it with you?


You

ve been threatened.
 
Anything can happen at any moment.
 
Tonight confirms that.
 
So, of course I do.

 
He looked at the waiter.
 

I

ll just need my
overcoat.

 
When the man brought it to Tank, he
fished out the composite from an inside pocket and showed it to the
waiter.
 

Was
this him?


No

he didn

t have a beard.
 
And his hair was much shorter.


Then look beyond the beard.
 
Imagine him with shorter hair?
 
Use your imagination.
 
Could this be him if he were cleaned up?

The waiter studied the photograph.
 

It

s tough to say,

he said.
 

Maybe.
 
I

m not sure.
 
The man who bought the drink looked
younger than this guy, but a shave and a haircut
would
make him look
younger, so I don

t know.

 
He
looked at us.
 

I wish
I could be of help, but I don

t want to mislead you.

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