Majoring in Murder

Chapter 29

I wish I could say that I slept well last night, but I didn't. The meeting that awaited me made resisting a drink impossible. Being weak when it comes to alcohol, I imbibed heavily. My stomach was queasy. The room felt stuffy. I tossed and turned. The meeting with Victor and Carlo kept plaguing my mind, primarily thoughts of everything that could go wrong. Murphy's Law. What if Carlo decided to be a no-show? If that happened, I couldn't very well drag Victor's two goons with me to Vini, Vedi, Vici and shoot Carlo. I might as well sign my own death warrant. The major part of my plan's success hinged on Carlo showing up as we agreed.

When I awoke in the morning, I wretched until I thought my shoes would come up. I tried to eat breakfast, something more substantial than one of those cardboard-flavored breakfast bars. I didn't want to show up hungry because I doubted I'd be able to eat much of anything that afternoon. It turned out, I didn't have much of an appetite at breakfast either, but I made myself eat a bowl of oatmeal and a banana. My mom cooked bacon and scrambled some eggs later. I'm usually a sucker for bacon, but by then, my appetite was gone.

At twelve, I drove to the Dunwoody MARTA station. I thought it was a good idea to show up on foot, prepared to flee the scene. Also, I didn't want my car to be seen in the area before or after what was about to go down. My license plate could be traced. Not a good idea. Luckily, there was still mud obscuring some of the numbers.

I boarded the train and rode it to Lindbergh where I switched to the Northeast/Doraville line. This time, fortunately, there was no transit cop aboard to give me the evil eye. That was good because I had enough to worry about without a nosy cop lingering nearby.

When I exited the train station, I crossed the street, walked down Stewart Road to Buford Highway, and made a right. I was ten minutes early when I arrived at Lucky Chen's. I went inside and was surprised and a little dismayed to see the same waitress I had yesterday.

"You like the fried rice," she said with a smile. It was more like a statement than a question, but she remembered me nonetheless. Not good.

I smiled back. "Yeah. It was good."

She took up a menu and silverware from beneath the podium and started to lead me to the opposite side of the restaurant from the restroom.

"Can I sit over there?" I asked, hitching my thumb over my shoulder.

She turned as though I had disrupted some important train of thought, looked at the empty tables across the room, and then headed in that direction.

"I'm meeting some people so a table's fine."

I pulled out a chair and sat down as she placed the menu and silverware in front of me.

"You want drink?"

"Yes," I said. "Water."

I looked at my watch, eight minutes before two.

The waitress came back with my drink. "You want chicken fried rice?"

I couldn't help but smile at that. Did I dare order the same thing? It probably didn't matter. She had remembered me, after all. I decided to stick to the routine. "Sure. I'll have the chicken fried rice."

She scribbled on her order pad and left. I knew it would be a few minutes before the food arrived so I sat there watching the traffic pass outside through the gaps in the curtains over the large front windows. I made it a point to take the seat with my back to the hall so I could watch the parking lot and front entrance. I took that move from the movie gangster's playbook who always sat with their backs to the wall. My nerves were on edge. I'd probably piss myself if Victor or Carlo were to surprise me from behind.