Geno had exactly two sessions with Beau before a spring virus of some kind swept through Chelsea. Beau went down for the count, then Aedith. Half of EP was walking around sneezing and hacking, the other half trying to keep the infected at a distance.
With a reduced staff, CCT had less one-on-one sessions and more general free time. Geno showed up and worked quietly, staying far from Stef and Max. He took his shifts in the kitchen where, as predicted, Jav wasn’t volunteering anymore. His presence was sorely missed, with much speculation as to why he left.
“He didn’t leave,” Stav said. “He just needs to work on his book.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t even say goodbye,” Pablo said.
“Story of my life,” Hasan said.
Geno kept his head down, telling himself no one was looking at him, when of course it felt like everyone was.
He killed time in the fitness room and taking walks around Chelsea. He dismissed how much he missed Jav. Ignored the hole left in his daily life where Stef used to be.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and squinted at a steakhouse on the corner of 15th and Ninth. Help Wanted: Busboy, read a little sign in the window. Geno went in, talked with the manager, Ed Shaughnessy, and filled out an application. Ed talked with the EP Director and Geno started working weekend brunch shifts for peanuts, but it wasn’t about the money.
One Saturday, Ed said he was short a head for the dinner shift. Could Geno come back and work that night? EP extended his curfew to midnight, Geno grabbed a catnap and went back in time for Happy Hour.
The restaurant’s vibe changed dramatically after sundown, going from respectable to desperate. The crowd from the bar spilled into the dining area, raucous and noisy. Waitresses maneuvered through the needy crush with trays held high. Everywhere the eyes, looking, considering what they had, what they might have, what they could’ve had. Women staring up at men who glanced sideways at other women who were oblivious to men staring at them.
I really do not like bars, Geno thought, clearing and wiping tables as fast as he could, invisible in his all-black clothes. It was hot in this meat market. He paused, a knee on the seat of a chair, running a forearm across his brow. He cracked his neck to the right, then turned his head to the left and saw Anthony Fox sitting in a booth.
Oh look, he thought. It’s him.
His hands loaded two more glasses into his bus tub before it hit home.
It’s him.
He didn’t exactly piss himself. Not a full flood. But he definitely dribbled as his stomach screamed and went fleeing for the exits. For a surreal moment of abject terror, he gripped the edges of the tub, sure he was about to vomit into it. He went immobile, poised on the edge of a heave and not daring to move.
A cool, measured voice spoke in his head, but it wasn’t Mos this time.
All right, Stef said. Listen to me carefully. Move out of sight. Calmly. Pick up the tub and move. Don’t run. Walk like hell. Don’t look back.
Now.
His head floating miles above his body, he moved. He shouldered the tub and walked toward the kitchen doors, then ducked into the alcove of the waitresses’ station. A scrolled lattice partition separated it from the dining area, offering a bare minimum of cover.
Now look, Stef’s voice said. Carefully. Make damn sure about this.
Geno peered through the criss-crossed strips of wood.
Anthony wore a ball cap pulled low. When he took it off to scratch his head, his hair was cropped close and bleached to white.
But the ear.
The cauliflower ear from his wrestling days.
The fuck is he doing here? Out in the open where anyone could see him?
For a wild moment, the fear in Geno’s belly turned to white-hot anger. The nerve of this fucker, strolling into a Manhattan bar like a fine, upstanding citizen of the world. Thinking a cap and a dye job would make him invisible. What, was he fucking stupid? Or just…
Geno inhaled sharply, remembering what Detective Mackin said all those months ago.
Often a case gets cracked because a criminal is dumb or greedy. Or both.
Geno’s chest squeezed tight around his held breath. The dumb, greedy fox was in the henhouse and only Geno knew it.
What do I do?
His hand crept into his pocket, fingering his phone.
Call Stef.
But Stef was pissed at him.
Call Vern.
Vern was too far away.
Call the cops.
And say what?
He couldn’t do nothing. Anthony wasn’t alone in the booth. Across from him was a guy who looked no older than Geno. A baby chick prime for plucking. Possibly one with a twin back in the nest.
You can’t let this happen.
The fox is in the henhouse and you’re the only one around here with a lick of common sense.
“The hell are you doing?” Ed Shaughnessy appeared, clapping a hand on Geno’s shoulder and making him jump in his shoes. “Hey, hey. Easy. What’s going on?”
His heart pounding, Geno stared up at his boss.
“Dude, you’re like, green,” Ed said. “You feel okay?”
“I need help,” Geno said.
“And I need tables bussed.”
“Listen to me. Please just listen. Do you remember the Mengele Ring? The porn bust in New Jersey last year?”
Ed’s head turned sideways. “Yeah?”
“See that guy in the back booth? Plaid shirt and a ball cap? That’s him.”
“Who?”
“Anthony Fox. The ring leader.”
Ed leaned and looked through the lattice but said nothing.
“He’s wanted by the FBI,” Geno said. “Ed, I swear to God it’s him. He’s right there.”
Ed’s gaze rested on Geno a long, deliberating moment.
He doesn’t believe me.
Just like Ruby, the woman from the rape crisis hotline.
I won’t let you do this.
“How do you know?” Ed said, still expressionless.
You’re not the first sick pervert to make up a twisted story. Get a life.
Geno swallowed. “I was there. I was one of his victims. Me and my twin brother were at the house the night it was busted.”
A long staring moment, during which Geno thought about dying. Maybe tonight. Then Ed put a hand on his shoulder again. Gentle this time. “Did he see you?”
“No.”
“Would he recognize you?”
Fear splashed up like acid in Geno’s chest. “Yes.”
Ed looked back over his shoulder and called to a waitress passing by. “Erin? Get Andre for me? Send him right back here. Quick.” His fingers tightened into Geno’s arm and he walked them a few steps backward, further into the alcove, cutting off the dining room from their line of sight. “You stay with me.”
Geno swayed on his legs and leaned back against the wall. “I need to get out of here. Before he sees me.”
“It’s okay,” Ed said. “Deep breaths. I’m not going to leave you alone.”
“You need me, Ed?” Andre, the bouncer, came around the corner into the alcove. Short and burly with bad skin and a nose that had been broken more than once. Ed explained the situation quickly.
“You’re sure about this?” Andre said to Geno.
Geno nodded.
“Deep breath,” Ed said.
“His name’s Anthony Fox,” Geno said.
“I remember,” Andre said.
“But he’s probably moving under another name now. Stockton Police made the arrest. You can call them and ask for Captain Hook or Detective Mackin. They’ll know my name. They know who I am. Or you can call the FBI or U.S. Marshals if…”
“All right, all right,” Ed said. “You’re going green again. Take it easy, let me think.”
“He needs to stay out of sight,” Andre said. “This has to be quiet and quick or we’ll have a riot on our hands. If we start drawing attention, this fucker might bolt.”
“We’ll go in back and make a call. Andre, tell the hostess no more reservations. Whoever’s waiting gets seated upstairs. Then figure out a way with the cooks to delay the order on that table. Burn it, drop it on the floor, do something. Then buy him a free round. Geno, come on. Come with me.”
Off the kitchen was a small office, just enough room for a desk and a couple of folding chairs. Geno sat, shaking, his stomach a wreck, teeth chattering.
They won’t believe me. Nobody will believe me. They won’t come. They’ll take too long to come and he’ll be gone again. He’ll take that guy with him and…
“Kathy,” Ed called out the door to one of the bartenders. “Get a ginger ale for me please? No ice.”
Ed called the Stockton Police. He was only a few sentences into his explanation when he said the name Anthony Fox, then he held the phone away from his ear. Through it, Geno could hear a buzz of loud talk.
“Shit just got real,” Ed said. He listened more than he talked for the rest of the conversation, and hung up wide-eyed, a mist of sweat along his hairline.
“What do we do now?” Geno asked.
“We sit tight.” Ed glanced at the waitress who came in. “Thanks, Kathy, just set it down.”
Geno tried to sip but the soda dribbled down his chin and onto his chest.
“Nice and easy,” Ed said. “You’re staying here until he’s gone, okay? He’ll have to get through Andre, over the bar and past me first.”
Geno nodded, concentrating on not throwing up.
“Is there someone you can call at EP?” Ed asked. “Your folks? A friend?”
Geno turned his phone over and over in his hand. “Yeah.”
“I’d feel better if you didn’t walk out of here alone tonight. I’ll call you a cab or take you myself.”
Geno brought up Stef’s contact entry. His thumb quivered over the call button.
Just call him. He’s a professional. It’s his job. He’ll help or send someone who can.
He swallowed hard, closed his eyes and let his thumb touch down.
Two rings. A third.
“Hello?”
Geno’s eyes opened. It wasn’t Stef’s voice, and Stef always answered by saying his full name.
Did I dial right?
“Hello?”
“Stef?”
“No, it’s Jav.”
I called the home phone. Shit, Jav’s the last person who wants to talk to me.
“Hello?”
He clenched his free fist. “Jav, it’s Geno.”
A beat. “What’s up?”
“¿Stef esta en casa?” He hoped Spanish would help pave the way.
“No, he’s up at a thing in New Rochelle,” Jav said in English, his voice cool and dry.
“Oh.” Geno pulled in a trembling breath. “Okay.”
“What’s going on?” The tone, while not warm and friendly, wasn’t angry either.
“Um…”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at work. There’s kind of a situation and…”
“Are you all right?” Now Jav’s voice leaned on Geno like an arm around his shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m okay, but—”
“Do you need help?”
Geno’s throat seized up hard. “I need…”
“Háblame, amigo.”
Talk to me.
“Something’s happening right now,” Geno said in Spanish. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Do you want me to come get you?”
Yes. Yes, come get me. Come find me, Dad. Find me. Save me. Come get me, Dad, please come get me out of here.
“Geno?”
“Yeah,” Geno said. “I need… I need someone…” His voice was breaking up, cracking under the strain of silent screaming.
Ed took the phone and had a short conversation, telling Jav to come to the back door where one of the bouncers, Billy, would be. “Show him some ID and he’ll let you in. Right. Okay. Hold on.” He handed the phone back to Geno. “He needs to ask you something.”
“Do you want me to call Stef for you?” Jav said.
“Yeah,” Geno said, clearing his sludgy throat. “Tell him Anthony Fox is sitting in this bar. He’s here. Stef will know what it means.”
A beat of silence that felt like a gamble, then Jav said, “I know what it means. I’m on my way.”
“Jav, I’m sorry,” Geno said. “About—”
“It’s all right,” Jav said. “None of that matters tonight. Let’s just get you the hell out of there. You stay with Ed. I’m coming.”