Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

“Do you want something to eat?”

He scanned the space around the diner. “No.”

Wet from the rain and tired from the plane trip, I went in alone, sat at the first booth with a large window, and ordered eggs sunny side up, buttered toast, and coffee with no cream.

The diner was small. A typical American space. Bright and clean. Long lunch counter on one side and a kitchen in the back. Booths lined the opposite wall.

Outside, rain drops pebbled the glass, blurring the image. Sirens sounded. I squinted through the soaked glass. A block away, blue and red lights blared.

Why can’t Americans drive in the rain? Always so many accidents with bad weather.

The cop cars came closer and then suddenly crunched to a stop right in front of the diner.

I put down my coffee.

More cops arrived and halted in front. All around the café, blue and red lights flashed and popped in the storm. The raindrops on my window took on the scattered light. Three more police cars pulled up at the diner and surrounded the limo.

And so we begin?

Several cops jumped out. Guns pointed and ready. One had a shotgun.

Someone is very eager to deal with me.

Giorgio stepped out of the back of the limo. Two cops came out and pointed their guns at him. He raised his hands.

Two more police cars showed up. I counted ten vehicles so far.

This person has the Russians and the local police in their pocket? Interesting.

I dipped the toast in the last bit of eggs.

One of the cops went to Giorgio and yelled something at him.

Don’t kill them, Giorgio. I want to see where this goes.

A neutral expression stayed on Giorgio’s face. He kept his hands in the air as the cop yelled again. And then, Giorgio gestured at the café.

Yes. Send them in here.

I finished my coffee and placed my hand into my pocket.

Five cops barreled toward the café. Seconds later, the door burst open. They stormed in. The cop in front held a shotgun. The rest had handguns.

“Raise your hands in the air!” one of the cops yelled. “Slowly.”

I did. My right hand held a hundred dollar bill.

Mr. Shotgun laughed. “You’ll need a lot more than that to bribe me, boy.”

“It’s for the waitress.” I gestured at my plate. “Can I leave it on the table?”

He frowned. “Go ahead.”

I placed it next to the plate.

Sliding out of the booth, I rose with my hands in the air. One cop stayed at the door. Another hurried behind me. I was sure he had his gun to my head.

Mr. Shotgun targeted my chest. “Be smart.”

I grinned. “No one thinks this is a bit excessive?”

Shotgun walked to my side. “Your reputation proceeds you, Le Boucher.”

“I’m impressed.”

“With me?” he asked.

“No. I’m impressed with myself. I had no idea my reputation had spread to Belladonna.”

“You think you’re funny?”

I noticed his trigger finger tremble. “I think that if you’d really heard about me, you would know that the shotgun wouldn’t help you.”

They weren’t ready for me. Already, I was too close to him. I could’ve lunged for the shotgun barrel, forced it up, and blasted a hole in his head.

No. Let’s see where this goes.

Glaring, he pointed the shotgun to my face. “Come on, Mr. Bad Ass French Boy.”

Hmmm. I think I like that nickname.

They escorted me outside. Cold rain hit my skin. It had been a long time since that happened. Usually, Giorgio would rush up with an umbrella.

A couple people stood by the door and watched the scene.

“Are we under arrest?” I pointed at Giorgio and the rest of my men now face-down on the rain-drenched pavement.

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

Good. Because I definitely want to talk to them.

“Keep your hands raised, until we get in the vehicle.” Without handcuffing me, he led me to the police car, opened the back, and gestured for me to get in. “Your men will be free after we leave.”

Giorgio yelled from the pavement in French, “Do you want me to kill them?”

I replied, “No, I’m intrigued.”

Mr. Shotgun hit my back. “That’s enough. Get inside.”

I did, and Shotgun slid in with me.

“Good.” I nodded at him. “I was hoping we’d have more time to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you, Frenchie.”

A thick glass partition divided the space. The front doors opened. The earlier two cops jumped in the front. Nobody else talked. I glanced over my shoulder. Three cop cars followed and flashed their lights.

We went off into traffic.

It was a smooth ride, if not for the fury bubbling in my chest.

I stared out of the window. Belladonna sparkled before me. Even through the fizzling rain, the city remained the elegant woman she’d been named after.

We passed Eden’s apartment.

Black vans were parked outside.

More Russians?

Giorgio had said that the Russian guards had lessened around Eden. Now that I’d returned, someone had brought them back and doubled up security.