Chapter 3 - The King’s Table
The SUV didn't drive to a police station. It didn't drive to my apartment building either.
It swept through the iron gates of a massive brick building surrounded by high concrete walls on the edge of the industrial district. There were no signs outside. Just three men standing near the gate holding short black rifles under their heavy coats.
Dominic walked me inside through a side door.
The hallway was quiet, lined with dark wood panels and carpet so soft my taped shoe didn't make a sound. We walked into a large room with a long oak table in the center.
A woman with silver hair and a sharp navy blue dress stood up from behind a desk in the corner. She looked at me, taking in my dirty face, my torn shirt, and the black tape on my shoe in three seconds flat.
"Who's the stray, Dominic?" she asked, her voice clean and sharp like a newly opened envelope.
"My new business partner," Dominic said, walking behind the long table and pulling out a leather armchair. He pointed at it. "Sit, Leo."
I climbed onto the chair. It was so big my feet hung six inches off the floor.
"Get him three slices of the roast beef from the kitchen," Dominic told the silver-haired woman. "And a glass of milk. Cold."
"Dominic—" she started.
"Now, Helen," he said calmly.
She bit her lip, looked at me again, and turned around, walking briskly through a set of double doors.
Dominic sat down at the head of the table. He laid my crumpled five-dollar bill on the polished wood between us, placing a heavy silver lighter on top of it so the draft from the air vent wouldn't blow it away.
"We have thirty minutes before Cruz Valenti realizes his father isn't coming to the docks," Dominic said, leaning forward resting his elbows on the table. "I need you to tell me everything about your apartment. Where was your mom standing when they took her?"
"By the sink," I said, clutching the leather armrests. "She was making red sauce. The pot dropped when Cruz grabbed her arm. It splashed on the linoleum."
"Did they bring bags?"
"No. Just guns."
"Did Cruz say where they were going?"
I closed my eyes, trying to hear the loud voices over the sound of my own heart beating inside my ears three nights ago.
"He said... 'Take her to the meatpacker's on 9th.' Then he told the other guy to make sure the freezer door was locked from the outside so she wouldn't scream loud enough for the street to hear."
Dominic’s jaw twitched. A single vein on the side of his forehead pulsed once, twice.
Helen returned carrying a heavy porcelain plate loaded with hot roast beef, thick gravy, and two slices of warm bread, along with a tall glass of milk. She set it down in front of me.
My stomach let out a loud, wet growl that made Helen flinch.
"Eat," Dominic said gently.
I picked up a piece of bread with both hands and stuffed it into my mouth before he could finish the word. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning when I swallowed the last spoonful of peanut butter straight from the jar.
"Slow down," Helen murmured, her voice losing its sharp edge as she watched me chew like a starving dog. "Nobody’s taking it from you, sweetie."
The double doors opened again. Big Leo walked in, holding a black leather folder. He didn't look at me this time. He looked at Dominic, his face pale under the bright overhead lights.
"We ran the plates on the white van," Big Leo said, dropping the folder on the table. "It's registered to an auto shop owned by Cruz Valenti. The shop backs up to the old meatpacking plant on 9th Street."
Dominic picked up the silver lighter, flicked it open, and lit a heavy cigar sitting in an crystal tray.
"Is the mother still there?" Dominic asked, blowing a thick cloud of grey smoke toward the ceiling.
"Our guy on 9th says the van hasn't moved since Monday," Big Leo replied low. "There’s two guards at the back loading dock. Cruz comes by twice a day."
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Dominic looked at me. My face was covered in gravy, my glass of milk half-empty.
"Finish your food, Little Leo," Dominic said quietly, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "We're going to collect your mom."
