“I’m taking you to lunch,” Alex said.
I dropped the pair of pants I was folding and peeked around, periscope style. I watched Avery unwrap another chunk of gum and stick it into her mouth, then settle at the register with a rock magazine. Aside from the two of us, the store was empty.
“Okay, but I only get a half hour. I wouldn’t want to upset my teenybop supervisor.”
I clicked my cell phone shut and hurried for the break room, peeling off my smock and fluffing my hair as I went. I yanked out my shoulder bag—excessively heavy due to my new Taser—and dumped the black plastic case back into my locker. No need for a stun gun with Officer Angel by my side. By the time I made it out to the main floor Alex was leaning against the front counter, examining a pair of god-awful one-off chinos while Avery swooned behind him.
“We have them in slate, charcoal, verbena, and cherry, too,” she cooed. “Or I can show you something in a soft-weave nylon.”
Alex’s eyes met mine and I watched Avery immediately stiffen. “I’m going to lunch now, okay?”
Avery’s dark eyes went from mine to Alex’s; she used her thumb and index finger to rub the bridge of her nose as she let out a long, aggravated sigh. “Fine. Just make sure you’re back on the floor by one. My moon is in the seventh house and I can already feel my chakras backing up—I really need to meditate. And you have that entire pile of side-zip capris to mark down.”
I pasted on a smile. “Can’t wait.”
Alex ushered me out the People’s Pants doorway and pointed to his white SUV, parked across the street. I looked at him, impressed. “Someone has parking karma.”
San Francisco, while loaded to the gills with gourmet restaurants, killer fashion boutiques, and the best donuts on the planet, is sadly sparse on parking spots. Last I heard there were six.
Alex grinned and opened his coat, his badge glinting in the sunlight. “This isn’t just a fancy piece of jewelry.”
I gaped. “You flashed your badge to get someone to move?”
He shrugged. “I consider this official police business.”
We pushed through the double glass doors of the diner. The V-shaped restaurant was fronted by big glass windows looking out on the city and the bay, and sported dark wood booths with tall dividers that made patrons feel cozy as the swirls of fog rolled in just beyond the glass. Inside the restaurant was slightly dark, reflecting the afternoon sky, and the homey scents of meatloaf and French fries greeted me and made my stomach growl. We stood in the foyer waiting to be seated and I hunkered back, certain that everyone was staring. As the waitress led us to our table, I stared at the ground, focusing on the toes of my shoes rather than the questioning eyes I felt boring into me. I slid in the booth and looked around nervously.
“You’re paranoid,” Alex said.
“I am not.” I bit my thumbnail. “But everyone was looking at us, right? They were staring?”
“No more than usual, Lawson.”
Another waitress came by with a carafe and filled up our coffee mugs, handing us two laminated menus. We scanned our menus and she took our order—two burgers, two fries. I watched her disappear behind the counter while Alex studied me.
“You’re completely paranoid,” he said finally.
“Okay, if I am—which I am not—don’t I have the right to be?” I tried to keep my voice hissing and low, but I could feel my voice rising. “I am the Vessel, Alex. Everyone wants me!”
The diner patrons had the uncanny ability to drop into silence at the most inopportune of moments—like this one. All heads swung toward me, appraising. The waitress strolled back over and gave me an uninterested once-over, then sloshed coffee into Alex’s mug, ignoring my own.
I hunched lower in the booth and began to whisper, spitting dirty looks at Alex, who sugared and stirred his coffee with that stupid smug grin on his face.
“I mean, everyone wants the Vessel. And it seems that a whole lot of people are onto my little secret. So excuse me if I’m just a little jumpy.”
We were silent while the waitress slid our plates in front of us. I examined my sandwich like a crime scene investigator examines a crime scene—I checked the bread, both top and bottom, poked at all the fries, tore the burger in pieces. I waited for Alex to take a bite of his burger. He did, chewed quietly. No maggots. I took a tentative bite of my lunch. Once I felt my teeth sink into the moist meat—no squishing of maggots or crunching of rat bones—I chewed happily, licking the caramelized-onion grease as it spilled over my fingers. “This is the best lunch ever,” I said with a mouthful.
Alex sat forward, his voice low. “The number of people who know about the Vessel of Souls—let alone are searching for it—is miniscule.”
I swallowed my bite. “Fabulous! So only a small number of people want to kill me. I feel so much better now.”