For the third day running, he didn’t show up in the café, and there had been no sign of him back home either. The building evidence that he hadn’t any intention of holding anything over her, just as he’d claimed, should have felt like a relief. For some inexplicable reason though, it didn’t. Instead, she felt only an underlying sense of loss.
Three days to go.
And the wrench she was feeling was a further reminder of why the sooner she left, the better.
‘Ten minutes,’ Harry called out, sticking his head around the corner as she finished wiping down the tables.
Ember turned the sign to ‘closed’ on the door, but didn’t yet lock it.
She pulled down the blinds on the far side of the café. ‘You hear that, Jasper? Ten minutes. Time to kick you out.’
Their last remaining customer hurriedly swallowed back the dregs of his cold coffee. ‘On my way, little ’un.’
She headed over to the counter before joining him at the booth. She placed the paper bag in front of him. ‘Take this off my hands when you go, will you? You know how much I hate throwing food out. But don’t get too excited. There’s a good healthy chunk of vegetable lasagne in there as opposed to the doughnuts I know you’re hoping for.’
He laughed. ‘You know me too well.’
She slid into the seat on the far side of his table. ‘Have you got food in the house at the moment, Jasper? I mean real food. The weather’s due to turn.’
‘You need to stop worrying about me, missy. I’ve got plenty. I promise.’
It had been a regular question ever since the time he hadn’t shown up there for a week. Worried, she’d taken herself around to his place after work: a small flat ten storeys up in a block near the centre of Lowtown.
She’d found him ill. Too ill to leave home. His cupboards had been empty for what looked like quite some time. He hadn’t even been able to make himself a hot drink. Instead, he had survived on water from the tap. With no one to call and no one to check in on him, he’d deteriorated fast.
Ember had spent the next two weeks visiting him every day until he’d shifted the infection and got his strength back, taking food around from the café and having scraped enough together to get him the antibiotics he had needed.
‘As if I have time to worry about you, Jasper, what with all the parties I have to attend and all my dates that keep stacking up…’
He smiled, his wrinkled eyes sparkling, but then he frowned. ‘I’ve been watching you today. You don’t look your mighty fine self. Doesn’t look like you’ve been sleeping lately,’ he said, glancing at the bags under her eyes.
She hesitated, uncertain how she would tell him. She’d dreaded it almost as much as telling Harry and Casey. ‘I have some news.’
‘Good I hope?’
‘I’m going to be moving away from here.’
His eyes widened. She could see the edge of sadness and panic cross them despite him working hard to conceal both. ‘Going where?’
‘To Midtown. Believe it or not.’
He exhaled sharply. ‘You made it?’
She nodded. ‘I got through the final stage. I’m due to leave in the next few days.’
His sallow eyes flared again. ‘So soon?’
She reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘But I’m coming back for visits.’
He squeezed back. ‘Good on you, girl. You’ve done well. Real well.’
‘I need you to promise to keep an eye on this place for me though, OK?’
‘You can rely on me, little ’un.’
Feeling the breeze of the door opening behind her, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’m afraid we’re closed.’
But Ember found herself standing from the booth; turned to face the three men who entered regardless.
The last of them, the larger and stockier of the three, a grey-haired guy with painfully cold eyes, closed and flicked down the latch on the door before tugging the blind down over it. The younger of the three, a slender guy with a mop of curly brown hair, dismissed her presence completely as he sauntered around the tables like some kind of premises inspector.
Then there was the third guy, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, with thick, greying blond hair. He took his stance centrally in the room, his hands deep in the pockets of his long, taupe trench coat.
Ember remained as a barrier between them and Jasper, having already warned him with her hand concealed behind her back for him to stay in his seat. ‘Can I help you?’
The blond guy didn’t even look at her as he continued to scan the café. ‘Where’s the boss?’
‘I’m the assistant manager,’ she said, taking a step forward.
But Harry appeared a moment later.
‘Harry,’ the blond man said as he removed his hand from his pocket to hold it out. ‘Jonah Hordas. I’d like to think you’ve heard of me.’
Hordas.
Ember’s pulse picked up a notch, not helped by Harry’s complexion turning ashen as he froze to the spot behind the counter.
‘I’d like a few minutes of your time. Let’s take a seat,’ Jonah said, indicating the booth to his left. The booth a few feet from where she stood. ‘Mine’s a coffee,’ he said, finally addressing her. ‘Black. Plenty of sugar. And you, Harry?’
It had begun: Jonah offering Harry a drink in his own establishment the onset of power play that was further reinforced by him sitting first, his claiming ownership of the space strengthened by him stretching his arms along the back of the seat.
Harry sent her a glance of concern, but Ember remained tactfully and sensibly silent.
‘Usual?’ she asked Harry, urging him to play along.
They had no other option.
He nodded. ‘Please.’
She locked gazes with him briefly as they passed each other, trying to give him her look of reassurance that they could handle it.
‘We’re in midst of a very exciting business expansion,’ she heard Jonah exclaim as she stepped behind the counter.
Having shut down and cleaned the coffee machine, she opted to heat up the percolator.
‘We already have several thriving businesses in the centre of the district and now we’re looking to branch out further, somewhere closer to the Midtown border to make life easier for some of our clientele.’
The very thing Harry had spent his entire working life trying to avoid.
‘I’m afraid the place isn’t for sale,’ Harry said, doing his utmost, she could tell, to sound as resolute as possible.
‘Harry.’ Jonah’s light-hearted drawl echoed around the café. ‘I think you misunderstand. I don’t want to buy your place from you: I just want to own it. Let me put my cards on the table to save us both time. This is the place I’m interested in. And I’m sure we can come to an agreement over how we can make that happen.’
As she turned to grab the milk from the fridge, the grey-haired guy’s icy eyes gave her a purposeful once-over from across the counter, the slight sideways cocking of his head no doubt intending to be intimidating as he lingered on her breasts.
This was not happening.
She turned her back on him again, her heart pounding painfully as she finished making the two coffees.
Reluctant to expose her anxiety, she opted for a tray to take the cups over rather than carry them by hand and have them clatter on saucers.
‘I run a clean establishment,’ Harry declared. ‘For the sake of my staff and my clients, I’d like it to remain that way.’
‘And I’d like to work with you on this, Harry, not against you. I find working against people to be so time-consuming: the constant monitoring let alone coming up with creative and effective ways to ensure they take the hint that compromise simply isn’t an option.’ There was a dramatic pause. ‘I don’t want to have to go down that route with you. I’m here to help you; help this business turn over a really good profit. That’s ultimately what I want. I’m sure it’s what you want too. This place could be a gold mine situated where it is – for both of us. The arrangement is simple: I give you advice on how to run it, I send clientele your way, you reward me with your profits and, that way, you get to keep working here. All of your staff do.’
Ember placed the tray down between them.
‘Though I must say,’ Jonah added, snagging her forearm before she had a chance to step away. ‘That might have to be the first thing we take a look at.’ He looked up at Ember. ‘Sit here, sugar,’ he said, releasing his firm, cold grip to tap the seat beside him.
Ember knew, for all their sakes, not to argue.
‘Take this uniform, for example: it’s not what people want to see. They want to see legs. A bit of belly. Some topless action in certain quarters. My clients want to be able to relax; to enjoy themselves.’ Every part of Ember recoiled in repulsion as he rested his arm across the back of the booth seat behind her. ‘I’m sure your staff know how to be hospitable; accommodating of any extra needs.’
She kept her gaze lowered. She gritted her teeth in disgust.
‘Because it all starts with creating the right atmosphere,’ Jonah added. ‘The right atmosphere breeds the right deals. And the right deals breed money. Look at you both: how tense you are. This is what I’m talking about. And yet it’s so easily resolved.’ She felt his eyes burn into her. ‘Unbutton your shirt for me, sugar.’
Ember met his gaze. Jaw clenched, her stomach somersaulting as her mind raced ahead for a way out, she fought to keep her fists firmly on the booth seat either side of her.
His eyes narrowed pensively. ‘Hang on a second. Do I know you?’
‘I doubt it,’ she said.
‘No?’ He frowned. ‘There’s definitely something familiar about you.’ He smiled; a smile that chilled her almost as much as his soulless eyes. He reached for her top button. ‘Maybe it’ll come back to me when I get a look at your better attributes.’
‘Leave her alone,’ Harry said, his palms flattening against the table.
Jonah smirked. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been there, Harry. All those dark hours after closing time? She isn’t as pretty as that cute little brunette that works here, granted. What’s her name?’
‘Casey,’ the grey-eyed guy said.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Thanks, Stirling,’ Jonah said. ‘Casey. I like Casey. Now there’s a pretty little thing in desperate need of some attention.’
Ember’s pulse raced enough to flat-line, not just from repugnance at the way Jonah had said Casey’s name, or the smirk that had accompanied it, but the confirmation that they had been watching.
‘But still,’ Jonah said, reaching for her top button again. ‘Waste not, want not.’
As she used every ounce of willpower not to smash her fist into his nose, Harry stood at the same time as she saw Jasper step into view in the corner of her eye.
‘You heard him! You leave her alone!’ Jasper said. ‘Picking on a young girl. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Ember snapped her head towards Jasper to warn him to keep out of it, only to see Stirling had already closed in. A split-second later, he ploughed his fist straight into the side of Jasper’s head.
The thunk of him landing against the table and then the floor chilled her blood, Jasper’s elderly hands reaching up to protect himself from Stirling’s fist coming at him again.
Fury blazing, Ember lunged out of the booth to intervene, but Jonah grabbed her hair and yanked her back against him.
She looked left at Harry only to see the bead of sweat rolling down his temple. His jaw had slackened, his face was ashen again, his eyes bulging in horror as the curly-haired guy held a gun to the back of his head.
A gun Ember knew they would use. A gun they would use if she so much as flinched.
A tear trickled involuntarily down her cheek as Stirling’s fist and then his foot slammed into Jasper until, moments later, everything fell silent. Deathly silent. Ember could hear only the echo of her ragged breaths, the sound of the storm beating against the windows.
Fucking cowards, was all she could hear her inner voice saying. Fucking, fucking cowards.
She knew Jasper was dead. She knew he was gone. Another tear involuntarily streaked down her face, as much as she hated his murderers seeing them.
Jonah smacked her face-first down on the table.
‘See,’ Jonah said, clearly addressing Harry. ‘This is how you manage your place. You take no shit from your clients and no shit from your staff. And that’s what I’m going to help you with. You don’t want customers who sit over the same coffee all day, every day – you want real customers. Those willing to pay above and beyond for what you can offer them. Clients, Harry. Real clients. Get rid of him, will you, Stirling? He’s bringing down the tone.’
Ember stared through her mask of hair, her nails digging into the edge of the seat as she saw the jeans of Jasper’s murderer pass by, Jasper’s shoes hanging off his limp feet as the former carried him over his shoulder.
She heard the door being opened; she felt the breeze against her legs and feet. And then it was closed again.
‘Now,’ Jonah said, his breath hot against her ear. ‘While me and your boss close this deal, you’re going to clean up after the mess you started by not doing as you were asked. And I don’t want to see as much as a trace left, do you understand? If there is, you’ll be next. And then we’ll see if Harry here can do a better job cleaning you up.’
Jonah released his vice-like grip on her neck.
Ember got up out of the booth seat. In a glaze of shock, of grief, she made her way back behind the counter, into the corridor and through to the utility area.
She scanned the bottles of disinfectant, of bleach – of all the things she could throw in their faces. But it would achieve nothing. Nothing at all. And she sure as hell wouldn’t be quick enough to stop them pulling the trigger. And they would pull that trigger. All Harry was – just as they all were – was nothing more than expendable cheap labour.
She placed the bucket in the utility sink and turned the tap on. She squeezed in the disinfectant before grabbing the mop. Shoving the cleaning cloths in her apron, she glanced across her shoulder to see Stirling filling the doorway.
Her stomach lurched. She clutched the mop handle as she faced the sink again, watching, urging, the bucket to fill quickly. When it was midway, unable to stand feeling him watching her any longer, she turned off the tap and lifted the bucket out of the sink.
She tentatively headed over to the door, hoping he would move out of the way in the process.
He didn’t.
She met his gaze. Her grip tightened on the mop handle that she could so easily ram up under his jaw if she was feeling stupid enough to do so.
He looked back down at her chest. ‘Ember,’ he said, running the very tip of his forefinger over the name badge resting above her breast.
He dragged his finger across to her cleavage, ran it down her buttons, his gaze following its path.
He looked into her eyes again, his glinting with unwarranted triumph as she waited on a knife-edge. But, to her immense relief, he retreated.
Brushing past him, she hurried back through to the café.
Her breathing snagged again at the sight of Jasper’s blood on the booth seat, on the table, on the floor.
Barely holding back her tears, her rage, she placed the bucket on the floor. She wiped down the seat and the table. She mopped the floor; mopped up the last traces of him. She made two trips back to the utility area to refill her bucket as, all the while, Jonah reclined in the booth seat, sipping on the coffee she’d made him.
Her gut wrenched with every wring of the cloth, her throat clogging with held back tears of betrayal as she finished the job as quickly and effectively as she could – cleaning away every trace of evidence. Every last trace of her friend.
‘Now polish the floor,’ Jonah said to her. ‘And if I’m not satisfied, you’ll polish it again.’
She got down on her hands and knees, her cheeks burning with the humiliation under the weight of all eyes being upon her.
‘I don’t know about you, Harry,’ Jonah said, ‘but I love seeing a woman down on all fours. There’s nothing sexier.’
There was a tense pause.
Ember’s hand fisted around the cloth. She polished the floor hard enough to remove the pattern on the tiles.
‘Anyway. Let’s cut to the chase and say the deal is done, shall we, Harry?’ Jonah finally said. ‘I expect everyone in work as normal tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that until the new arrangements begin.
‘We already have a list of your staff, so if anyone doesn’t turn up for work, I will find them and I will redeploy them. I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s a very lucrative little earner doing the rounds lately. Vampire Russian roulette, they’re calling it – the new ultimate high for risk takers. Competitors take one syringe after another until someone draws the unlucky straw of dying blood. It’s all about how close they can get before that lethal final syringe kills one of them – and, of course, how long they can keep the subject alive in order to get there. I don’t want to be looking to make up my profits that way, not that those two lovely daughters of yours wouldn’t make me a very decent profit indeed.’
Ember glanced up to see any resolve Harry had left dissipate in front of her eyes.
It was over. This was it.
She pulled herself to her feet.
‘What kind of profits are you expecting?’ Harry asked, his voice wavering.
‘Either eighty per cent or two thousand a week, whichever is greater.’
‘We don’t even make two thousand a fortnight.’
‘Then eighty per cent it is.’
‘But out of that money, I have salaries to pay, I have the upkeep. I barely take home enough to–’
‘Based on how your business is run now, Harry. But that will change.’ Jonah moved out of the booth. ‘I’ll make sure someone drops in tomorrow to check everything is as it should be. And, remember, if any of your staff think about going walkabout, I’ll hold you liable for not keeping control. I’ll be back soon to discuss arrangements further. Until then…’ He held out his hand. He smirked. ‘Come on now, Harry. Don’t leave me hanging.’
As Harry held out his hand, Jonah took control in being the one to shake.
Before he stepped away, he looked down at the floor to examine her handiwork. ‘Cracking job. I knew you’d get there, Ember,’ he declared, with a smack on her behind. He looked back at Harry. ‘See, all they need is a little bit of motivation and inspiration. You’re going to do great, Harry. Real great. We’re going to make one hell of a team. I can just feel it.’