Chapter 7

Amy and Bill led the way through the gallery, acting as if they knew a secret. Their secret was a side door out to the street. They giggled as they pretended to sneak out as if they weren’t supposed to.

“So stuffy,” Bill said as the door shut behind them.

Seroje was glad to be away from the bright lights, but the street had a steady flow of traffic and the headlights proved to be just as annoying as the lights in the gallery.

“We might as well walk, if that’s okay with you ladies,” Bill said. “It’s not far. Just around the corner.”

“We need to keep our figures,” Amy said with a laugh, hanging on to her husband’s left arm.

Craig took Seroje’s right hand, keeping between her and the street. She could smell his cologne amid the exhaust and sour smells of the city. Someone hadn’t cleaned up after their dog.

The walk just around the corner proved to be four blocks, irritating Seroje that the distance was misjudged. She found the walk unpleasant because of the traffic and smells. Her shoes were stiff and uncomfortable for walking on cement. She’d have preferred a park and fewer people. Craig’s warm hand helped her curb her irritation.

Four cement steps led up into the restaurant where they were enveloped by the aroma of garlic.

“Reservation for McMaulding,” Bill said. “We should be in the...”

He pointed toward the area he wanted to be seated. There was a fifty in his hand.

The maître d’ nodded.

“I have your reservation, sir, this way, please,” the man said with a smile, palming the fifty in a discreet manner.

The maître d’ led them to a table in an alcove with a rounded bench facing a garden area of the restaurant. The bench was covered with a thick luxurious fabric and was well padded. The table appeared to be solid wood with a white embroidered table cloth. The entire alcove wall was covered in engraved mirrors. This was one of the more private tables.

Seroje scooted in on one side as Amy scooted in on the other side and they met in the middle. Craig and Bill sat at the ends. Amy put her purse between them. Seroje felt something hard. As she smoothed her dress, she chanced an exploratory touch and decided Amy was packing a small pistol, probably a .22 caliber.

Waiters passed through the area, showing the restaurant was busy. Most tables were occupied. All the conversations from the tables around them were registering in Seroje’s head, overwhelming her.

“Benvenuto. Welcome. My name is Bert. May I take an order for drinks?” a waiter said with an Italian accent. He stood erect and attentive. He must have recognized someone in their party because he didn’t do the spiel the other waiters were doing, asking if they been there before or the over-friendly chitchat.

“Vodka and tonic,” Bill said.

“Pinot Grigio,” Amy said.

“Acqua, grazie,” Seroje said.

Craig paused a moment, staring at her before he spoke.

“Same,” Craig said, with a nod in Seroje’s direction.

The waiter nodded with a knowing smile, writing nothing down and left.

Amy leaned in.

“What did you get?” she said.

“Water,” Seroje said.

“In Italian,” Craig said.

“Oh,” Amy mouthed the word, looking a little surprised.

“I’ve never liked the taste of alcohol,” Seroje said with a shrug. A few minutes passed before she realized Amy wasn’t questioning what she ordered but how she ordered it, speaking Italian.

A man passed by, following his pissed off wife out of the restaurant. They’d been arguing. Seroje felt a little relief that they’d left.

The drinks came in what felt like only a few moments.

“Ah, good,” Bill said after a long sip of his drink. “So what’s this, Craig. Not drinking?”

“I have to keep up with her,” Craig said with a smile and a nod toward Seroje.

Bill laughed as if that was the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

Seroje could smell the alcohol in both the wine and the vodka; there was more vodka than tonic in Bill’s drink.

“I wish I had that problem,” Bill said as if he was telling Craig a secret. Amy pretended to hit him.

“Behave yourself,” Amy said with a glare, but Seroje could tell she wasn’t serious.

Bill smiled at Amy and kissed her cheek.

Two men in suits strolled through the restaurant as if looking for someone. Seroje didn’t like how their suit coats were buttoned. Both Craig and Bill had their suit coats open.

The waiter returned with menus.

Seroje glanced at the single page and then set the menu down.

Craig looked longer.

“What do you like?” he said to her in a quiet voice.

“Agnolotti con ricotta,” she said with no hesitation in a perfect Italian accent.

“You’ve been here before?” he said.

“No,” she said.

Craig put his menu down.

Bill and Amy looked over the menus longer, then leaned over each other’s as if their menus could be different while they bantered about what they wanted.

“Well, what’s it going to be,” Bill said to Craig. “Everything is good here.”

“Agnolotti con ricotta,” Craig said, also using an Italian accent.

“Oooh,” Amy said, diving back into her menu.

The waiter returned to take their order.

“Grilled Salmon,” Amy said. “No soups or salads, please.

“Agnolotti con ricotta,” Seroje said.

“Same,” Craig said.

“Shrimp and scallops,” Bill said.

The waiter nodded, looking delighted as if they’d ordered the best items, then he was gone.

A young couple practicing Italian walked by, but their pronunciation was dismal and irritating to Seroje.

Another waiter appeared with a basket of bread, warm and smelling of yeast. The butter pats he set down were cold and hard because there were pieces of ice surrounding them to keep them chilled. Amy passed around the basket.

Seroje put a pat of butter on her plate with her roll to let the butter warm up since she disliked cold butter, which didn’t spread well.

A man appeared, dressed in work pants and a light leather jacket, causing Seroje to feel uncomfortable since this was out of place. The jacket was zipped.

The other two men, who’d seemed to be looking for someone, passed this man and exchanged words with him, but she couldn’t see or hear what they said. All three disappeared, then reappeared, partially hidden by the plants in the garden area of the restaurant. The jacket was now unzipped, and the suit coats were unbuttoned. One man’s hand lingered inside his jacket.

“I dropped my ring,” Seroje said, thinking as fast as she could, putting just enough concern and panic in her voice. She made sure her hand with the ring was under the table. “Can you see it?”

Bill and Amy obeyed like puppets, leaning over to look under the table. Craig followed suit, allowing Seroje to slip Amy’s gun out of her purse, using her napkin to prevent finger prints and mask any gunfire residue.

All motion slowed down for Seroje as her eyes jittered over the area, calculating the distances and the positions of the three men. She was ready when one man fired, hitting the mirror behind them. She coordinated with the movement of the other two and fired three shots as the other two fired. One man’s shot felt as if it went over her head just as she finished her third shot and ducked down. Two of her shots were direct hits, but the other man, realizing there was return fire, fled and she missed him.

She slid the gun back into Amy’s purse as glass rained down on them.

The screaming began from the patrons around them and everything sped up with disturbing speed.

Seroje closed her eyes, feeling glass gouge into her shoulder. She didn’t move, overwhelmed with the rise and fall of the screams, feeling as if they were waves crashing against the rocks during a violent storm.

“You okay?” Craig’s voice reached her. She noted his tone of panic and concern. He touched her arm.

‘Yes,” she said with no emotion.

“She’s bleeding. She’s shot,” Bill said with panic.

Amy screamed, causing Seroje to flinch.

“Just glass from the mirror,” Seroje said, opening her eyes. Her mind was already working on what happened. What this a failed hit or a scare tactic? And on whom? Craig? Bill? Amy? Or herself? Or some combination of the four?

Craig brushed glass from her shoulders with care. He found where a piece of glass protruded from her left shoulder and removed it, putting his napkin over the wound.

“Minor,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” Seroje said, noting the bullet holes in the wall behind his head.

People were moving around now, running in a panic.

Waiters and the maitre d’ circled around, checking what happened.

The only damage was to the wall and mirrors behind their table. However, there were the two dead bodies by the garden.

Seroje found she had to measure the time while she sat, breathing as if meditating to calm herself.

Three minutes after the maitre d’ saw the broken mirrors, they were moved to an unoccupied table. Police arrived eight minutes after the shooting. Three minutes later, one sat to interview them.

During this time, Seroje rued the fact that she’d not be getting her dinner, but she didn’t say anything out loud. She learned through beatings not to vocalize a complaint.

“Did you see what happened?” a police officer said, sitting with them. His name badge read Carl Buffer.

“Shots, glass, dead bodies. That’s the best I can say,” Amy said looking bewildered. Bill nodded in agreement.

“Three people, three guns,” Seroje said, making her statement as simple as possible. “Glass rained down.”

“She was the only one hurt by a shard of glass,” Craig said, raising up his napkin with the blood. The wound was weeping just a little.

“Did you see anyone return fire?” Officer Buffer said.

“We ducked,” Amy said as if the officer’s question were the stupidest question one could ask.

“We saw nothing,” Bill said, while Craig and Seroje nodded in agreement with him.

“May I have your names,” Officer Buffer said.

“Bill and Amy McMaulding,” Bill said.

“Of McMaulding Manufacturing?”

Bill nodded.

“Craig Manor,” Craig said.

“Yes, Mr. Manor,” Officer Buffer said with a nod, showing he knew him.

“Seroje Mur,” she said.

“She’s with me,” Craig said.

“How do you spell that?”

“S-e-r-o-j-e. M-u-r,” she said.

The officer nodded. “If we need any further information, we will contact you. You can go. And get that cut looked at.”

“Yes,” Craig said, giving Seroje’s shoulder one more dab.

“Sir?” the maitra d’ said, approaching them. “Your dinners were already waiting, we put them in boxes. Please take them. They will go to waste if you don’t. No charge.”

The man waved a hand as if waving away money.

One waiter handed a bag to Craig while another waiter handed a bag to Bill.

“Thank you,” Bill said, somewhat subdued.

“I think we’re calling it a night,” Craig said as they left the restaurant. A crowd was gathering with the police cars and ambulance.

The flashing lights bothered Seroje. A medic must have been alerted and he ran up to check the wound on her shoulder.

“Superficial,” she said, watching the ground.

The medic cleaned the wound and put a small bandage on it.

“All good,” the medic said.

“Thank you,” Craig said to the man as they headed back to the art gallery.

The walk back was neither quiet nor enjoyable. Amy couldn’t stop talking, showing how shaken she was, repeating over and over again what happened.

Seroje felt relief as they said their good nights and Craig shut the car door on her side, then jogged over to the driver’s side. He drove for ten minutes in silence.

“Where the hell did you hide a gun in that dress? You don’t have a purse,” he said as he stopped at a traffic light.

“I don’t have a gun on me,” she said in a quiet voice.

“You fired three shots over my shoulder,” he said in a shocked voice, driving on as the light changed.

“Amy had a small revolver in her purse,” Seroje said in monotone.

“My hearing is shot in that ear for the night, thank you,” Craig said, brushing against his ear with his hand. “And you didn’t lose that ring.”

He didn’t sound serious or mad, just shocked.

“Where are we going?” she said.

“My house. Get you cleaned up,” he said, sounding less shocked. “What happened back there?”

“In the restaurant?”

“Of course in the restaurant,” he said, now sounding irritated.

“I don’t know,” she said, not liking his tone of voice.

“You don’t know?” The irritation in his voice was gone.

“No,” she said.

There was more silence while he drove over one of the harbor bridges.

“Any...any ideas or guesses?” he said.

“It could have been a failed hit or a scare. The target was one of us or some combination,” she said in a monotone voice. “I did not recognize the shooters.” She didn’t tell him those bullets were aimed at him.

“Should you have? Recognized the shooters? Why would you?” he said, sounding confused.

“My work involves security. I see lots of pictures of perps. Good at remembering them,” she said.

Craig seemed to be thinking, remaining quiet for the next thirty minutes. He pulled up to a house and into the garage whose door had just finished opening. The garage door closed behind him as he turned the car off.

“I’ll get your clothes from the back,” he said, grabbing her bag and the food bag.

She got out of the car and shut the door.

“Feel any more glass?” he said, leading her inside the house.

“No,” she said as she followed him into a bathroom and into a walk-in shower.

“Take the dress off in there. That way I’ll catch any more glass,” he said.

Seroje stepped out of the dress.

“You’re naked,” he said with surprise.

“Yes,” she said.

“Glad I didn’t know that. I’d never have been able to keep my eyes off you,” he said with a smile.

She could tell he was trying to ease the tension he felt from the ordeal.

He produced a soft bristle brush, and he brushed around her shoulders to remove any fine pieces of glass.

“Fluff your hair out in the shower,” he said.

A few slender shards of glass fell out.

“There. One minute,” he said, leaving and returning with a silk robe.

“Thank you,” she said, putting on the robe. “You have a nice house.”

“I keep it pretty uncluttered,” he said. “I loan it out sometimes, so don’t keep a lot of personal stuff around. I live more on my jet than anywhere else.”

He took off his suit coat and removed his tie.

The house was staged as if presented for sale. The only signs of him were the closet door slightly ajar, showing clothes. He led her to the kitchen where the food bag sat on a counter.

“Hungry?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, feeling better that she’d get to eat. She removed the jewelry while Craig fetched silverware and poured her a glass of water. He took a beer out of the fridge, which contained only beer.

The single light on in the house was under the counter. The house was silent. The food was good.

She turned to look out a patio door. A cat sat there.

“Not mine. Little beggar,” Craig said, ignoring the cat.

“Nice house,” Seroje said again. “Peaceful.”

He watched her.

The meal was large, and she only ate a quarter of the box. He’d hardly touched his, but finished his beer.

“You finished?” he said.

She nodded and drained her water glass. He put the boxes in the fridge and took out another beer.

“Sit on the sofa,” she said in a quiet voice. She didn’t like how he was acting; uptight and shocked. Her whole day seemed to be full of irritation and she needed it to stop.

He opened his beer, drank, then put it on the end table and sat at the end of the sofa. She waved a hand at him to move him over and then straddled him, kneeling on the sofa, facing him.

She ran her hands over his face and hair. He closed his eyes. She kept her touches gentle and kissed his face.

“You are amazing,” he said.

“No, I am Seroje,” she said. “And you smell like beer.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she said, opening her robe.

He buried his face into her.

“I think I love you,” he said.

She ignored his words while her mind combined the smell of beer and his cologne and his touch into a pleasurable experience as he took off her robe and carried her into the bedroom. He seemed more intense, more needy after the ordeal. She let him have his way while she enjoyed the experience through different combinations of smell and touch.