The Prospect

THE PROSPECT: CHAPTER EIGHT

Tricia

After I delivered Kiddo his Americano, Thursday morning at the cafe was busy as all hell. Priya had the day off, so I put Meredith on latte duty while I managed the register, and our other employee was on their break. Across the parking lot, I kept catching glimpses of Kiddo out the window. His jeans were discolored and torn at the knees and his black t-shirt hid what I imagined to be grease stains.

A man in a business suit walked up to the counter and I smiled warmly at him. Men in suits weren't our usual clients here. And while it didn't bother me in the least, I could see some of the other customers side-eying him like crazy.

"What can we get you today?" I asked.

"What would you recommend?"

I freaking hated questions like this.

I don't know who you are or what you like... what makes you think I can give you a recommendation? And then, what if I'm wrong? I'll just need to make you another dang drink.

I took a deep breath and proceeded with my script that I had perfected the year I'd been working here. "Do you like sweet? Or a dark, robust brew?"

"Robust," he answered.

"How about milk? Do you like a frothy, creamy finish or do you take your coffee black?"

"I like mine black," he said.

I pointed to the chalkboard behind me, thankful that the crowd had died down and there weren't any other customers waiting behind him. "Well, I'd recommend a triple shot espresso over ice. It's refreshing and strong and we have a wicked good brew that's roasted locally here in Southie."

He grinned, pulling out his credit card. "Sounds great."

I called the order out to Meredith and as he handed me his credit card, he also slid his business card over to me.

I swallowed my groan as I saw the business card resting beneath his large palm. Was this dude seriously hitting on me? He had to be in his late thirties.

"My name is David Steinman," he said and though the name sounded familiar, it didn't register as one I should know.

I swiped his credit card on the iPad and turned the screen toward him to sign. "Nice to meet you Mr. Steinman."

"I'm helping Jeremy Chiccarini in the charges filed against him and I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions about the actions of Carrig Malley and the Harrison Street Crew.

I froze, my hand outstretched as I'd been returning him his credit card.

A chill surged through my body as I slowly raised my eyes to meet his once more.

Crap. Of course. That was how I recognized him. He was Chiccarini's campaign manager. I didn't know a lot about the guy's arrest other than he had it out for HSC and his sister, the assistant district attorney, who was also the girlfriend of Patrick... the HSC member who had interviewed me for this job a year ago. In her investigation, she had discovered a whole lot of skeletons in her brother's closet. And even more impressive, she moved to prosecute him.

She was my freaking hero. A woman standing up for justice and righteousness, no matter who the criminal was... even her own family.

I swallowed and released the Amex Black card into his pinched fingers. "I don't know what I could possibly answer," I said, my voice sounding raspy and quiet. "I don't have a lot of interaction with them over here unless you're curious about how you take their coffees."

"Really?" he answered, tucking the credit card back into his wallet. Peeking over his shoulder, he looked out the window. "It looks like you have a clear view of all activity going in and out of that garage. And you've worked here for fourteen months, right?"