He couldn’t help but wonder if she could tell how he felt it or if she still thought he had a stick up his ass.
He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. “Lara, you don’t have to do this. I could just take Meg with me to meet Papa Joe.”
Lara shook her head. “No, I have to go,” she said. “Miguel came to me for help.”
Whatever she felt about him, he could tell that Lara had been touched by this case just as he had. He’d been obsessed from the get-go, of course, because he’d known both Miguel and Maria. But now it seemed that she knew Miguel, too. And she probably felt that she would never sleep well again if she didn’t do everything she could to help bring a killer to justice.
He knew he could stop her, should stop her.
But knowing how she felt, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He studied her wide eyes and determined features, and he nodded.
It wasn’t much of a drive to the small family-owned restaurant where they were due to meet up with Papa Joe. La Petite Bar was just between Biscayne Drive and 2nd Avenue, on the border between the Design District and an area of Little Haiti that had yet to be fully reclaimed from drugs and poverty. The place was busy, with clientele of all colors, and judging by the conversations he overheard, they were of all nationalities, as well. The sign out front had proclaimed the best Creole food this side of New Orleans, and as he looked around, Brett figured it had to be true.
A small woman had met them at the door, and seeing that Papa Joe had yet to arrive, Brett told her that they were being joined by a third person. As she led them to a vinyl-covered table in the back he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the others had scored a parking place right out front. Once he sat down he checked out the menu. The prices were reasonable, and the place smelled great. While they waited for Papa Joe they ordered sweet tea to drink.
He leaned in toward Lara once their server was gone and said softly, “I shouldn’t have let you come. In fact, my supervisors would probably ream me out for this. This is the most bizarre case I’ve ever been on, and I don’t know just how dangerous it may get. If Papa Joe were to come in here with a gun and start shooting, I’m not sure I could throw myself on you quickly enough to save you—or guarantee that the bullets wouldn’t go right through me.”
To his surprise, she smiled and set her fingers lightly on his hand. “Actually, I let you come to my meeting.”
He felt her touch, just as he felt her eyes. The restaurant grew warm. He smiled in return. “Well, then, thanks for inviting me.”
“You knew you had to let me come,” she said seriously. “I’m your connection.”
“Yes.”
“An acknowledgment,” she said quietly, and smiled. “I am helpful to you.”
He nodded, meeting her eyes.
She drew her hand back. “I really don’t think anyone is going to come in here with a gun, although...” Her smile deepened. “Now I can’t help thinking about what would happen if you did throw yourself across the table to protect me. I’ll bet you’re fast.”
“I can move pretty quickly, yes. Not as fast as a bullet, though.”
“I keep thinking about what you said about an unwitting conspiracy. This crime family—the Barillo crime family. Miguel worked for them because he’d been threatened? Is that how it happened?”
Brett nodded. “More or less. A couple of Barillo’s men approached his son at school. He knew what that meant. Barillo never would have touched his kid, but Miguel didn’t know that, so he gave in and did what Barillo asked him to.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then paused. “He’s here,” she said, and waved.
Brett turned as Papa Joe, dressed in a lightweight suit, approached the table. Brett recognized him, having seen him on the news a few times, representing the community.
Papa Joe evidently knew the hostess. He spoke with her for a minute and then approached the table, shaking hands with them as he sat and producing a small felt satchel from his pocket. He sat down, smiled and started to talk—the niceties before any business deal, except this time he wasn’t extolling the value of his merchandise.
“There is a man I know. He will be on the corner of 2nd Avenue when you leave here, carrying a looking-for-work sign. Pick him up and drive with him, and he will tell you a story that you need to hear,” Papa Joe said, his head bowed as he unwrapped several necklaces that he took from the satchel. He met Brett’s eyes for a moment. “You’re Cody, right?”
Brett nodded.