“I said I didn’t want to talk about it, okay?”
I bit my tongue to hold in my automatic retort. Morales and I often sparred verbally, but he rarely ever spoke to me in actual anger. Normally, he was the cool customer while I ranted and raved. What’s more—and I didn’t want to really admit this to myself—it stung me in a soft spot that I rarely acknowledged. As much as I kept him at arm’s length in some ways, I’d taken his commitment to me for granted. The fact he’d keep me at arm’s length over something this big and impactful on both his career and our relationship from me made me feel insecure—and that made me angry.
But Morales and me? We didn’t do heart-to-hearts. So, I didn’t call him on it. I just let it lie there between us like a pile of dog shit we’d both tiptoe around for the next couple of days instead of cleaning it up.
“He’s turning,” he said.
Several car lengths ahead of us, Hung had exited the bridge and turned right.
“They’re going toward the cafe district,” I said. “It’s really going to suck if all of this trouble was just to catch them grabbing some chow.”
“Even if that’s the case, why risk it?” Morales said. “Volos knows we’d cry obstruction if we caught him with Hung. Why bring him out in public like this?”
From long experience, I’d learned that my guesses about Volos’s motives were usually not nearly as fucked-up as the truth, so I didn’t bother responding.
Morales followed the Mercedes through traffic into the trendy area where the wealthy members of Babylon society ate appetizers and overpriced, tiny entrees in converted warehouse lofts that overlooked the river. The area used to be the Mundane version of slums, but ambitious developers, including Mayor Volos, had invested in the area and transformed it into a place where the hip and beautiful went to see and be seen.
The Mercedes pulled up to a valet stand in front of a two-story red brick restaurant called Nirvana. After we watched the pair walk inside, we drove up the block to find a space that wouldn’t require us waiting on a valet guy to bring the car if we needed to get out of there quickly.
“Okay,” I said, “What’s the plan?”
“I think we should go inside, ask for a table, and see if they’re meeting someone.”
“We’re not going to be able to get a table in a place like that.”
“So, we’ll go to the bar or I’ll distract the hostess while you see what you can see,” he said. “Actually, reverse that. The last time you went to do recon, we ended up being threatened with a duck.”
I couldn’t really argue with that, so I just nodded. “Let’s do this.”
As it turned out, Nirvana was a Buddhist-themed restaurant, which meant there were about a million Buddha statues inside and no meat or alcohol.
Without a bar to hide in, we had no choice but to ask for a table. Just beyond the massive smiling Buddha that sat behind the reception area, diners sat on grass mats on the floor with low tables between them. The lady at the reception wore a simple gray smock and her head was bald as a baby’s.
“We just had a cancellation, so we do have a table available,” she said in a serene voice. “If you’ll follow me.”
Morales and I exchanged a shocked glance, but we didn’t exactly relax. The entire way to our table, we both clocked the open space for signs of Hung and Volos. But they weren’t in the main dining room. Before I knew it, we were sitting in haphazard half-lotuses on grass mats.
I leaned forward, both to ease the pain in my hips and to whisper to my partner. “You see them?”
A server appeared to pour fragrant tea into our cups. He didn’t speak or make eye contact, which was fine, since we weren’t there to chat.
“I’m betting they’re upstairs,” Morales said.
On the far side of the restaurant, a set of bamboo stairs led to the second floor. I hadn’t noticed the hostess showing anyone else up there, but I did see some anxious-looking servers scurrying up there with trays laden with covered dishes.
“Welcome to Nirvana.” The man wore the saffron robes of a monk. He had no hair, and a smile as serene as a spring meadow. “I am Bodhi, your guide on this enlightened culinary journey.”
“Hey, Bodhi,” I said. “What’s upstairs?”
He blinked at my abruptness. “A couple of private dining rooms and the meditation chamber.”
I nodded and looked at Morales. “Bingo.”
“I’m afraid the private rooms are booked several weeks in advance.”
“Tell me about the meditation chamber,” Morales said.
“Any guest may use it for a few moments of quiet contemplation.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Thanks.”
He lowered his chin and briefly closed his eyes to acknowledge his acceptance of my gratitude. “Your journey will begin with a salad made of pickled lotus roots. We will then move on to the main course of sweet zucchini dumplings and—”
I held up a hand. “Just bring us whatever.”
Bodhi bowed and walked away, but I could have sworn I saw a muscle in his jaw clench at my behavior. As a rule, I tried not to be rude to people who handled my food, but this was an extenuating circumstance. We weren’t really there to eat, and Bodhi talked so slowly and calmly that I was at risk of falling asleep in my jasmine tea.
“All right,” I said, “get up there. If you run into trouble, hit the panic button.”
He rose slowly. “Don’t eat my lotus crap before I get back.”
I toasted him with my tea. “No worries there.”
Over the rim of my cup, I watched his progress across the room. He looked like a dark shadow against the enlightened background. I spotted three women and a couple of men tracking his progress, too. Guess they hadn’t mastered the practice of not desiring things yet.
Morales was halfway up the bamboo steps when Bodhi reappeared with a tray. Two tiny plates on top each held what appeared to be a single black bean, a white cube and a dot of green sauce. “Oh, man,” I said, “I don’t know if I can eat all of that.”
Bodhi didn’t respond, because he was too busy looking around.
I waved my tea cup around. “Can I get a refill?”
He lifted the tea pot. “Where’s your companion?”
“To the brim, please. I can’t get enough of this stuff,” I said, trying desperately to distract him by being obnoxious. I glanced over and realized Morales had made it up the stairs. “Anyway, he went to the little monk’s room.”
He seemed to accept this. “Please enjoy.”
I wanted to ask him if more food was coming, but decided I’d pushed his buttons enough for now. “Thanks!” I beamed and made a show of picking up the single bean with my chopsticks. I popped it in my mouth. “Mmm.” Truth was, the bean had about as much flavor as a mouthful of air.
Bodhi scurried back to the kitchen.
I was washing the nothingness off my tongue with tea when my phone buzzed.
A text from Morales: They’re in a private room. Third voice inside I don’t recognize. There’s two guards outside. White, look like L.E.
L.E. as in law enforcement. I frowned. Volos and Hung had shown up without any security, which meant they had a dining companion in that room who needed lots of muscle. Interesting.
My phone beeped again. In the meditation room. Walls thin so I can hear Volos meeting. Something about favors owed. Shit, hold on, someone just came in to meditate.
I wrote back: Do I need to come up?
I still hadn’t received an answer by the time Bodhi returned. To console myself during the wait, I’d eaten the rest of my “salad” as well as Morales’s.
Bodhi took in the two empty plates and the empty chair across from me. “Is your companion ill?”
I shook my head. “He enjoyed that so much, he needed to go meditate on it.”
He seemed to accept this and made quick work of clearing the plates.