Page 9 of Captured

“A double cheeseburger with the works.” I rarely smiled, my scowl permanently locked onto my face, or so I’d heard from both my brothers.

“A double. Wow. You must have had a good day.” He backed away, immediately grabbing two hamburger patties and tossing them on the flattop grill.

“I did. I really did.” I’d finished a five-million-dollar job and had four more waiting in the wings. Including the one I’d yet to decide on taking. My family’s stock portfolio had improved dramatically over the last two months, which meant I’d almost tripled our bottom line in two years. It was something I took great pride in. One of many lessons my father had taught his children was to be independent in all things. Never rely on the government or large corporations to fund our wealth. We had to create it on our own. My brothers and I had done that in spades.

“Good for you. What kind of cheese for your juicy piece of meat on this fabulous night?”

Roger was an old timer with a bad haircut and shit for a life, but he always managed to have a smile on his face. I’d started whistling just because of him. “Let me think. How about Havarti and a slice of cheddar?”

“Wow. Going all out. I like it. You need to give me some of your mojo, my friend. I could use a little luck in this year.”

“Okay, Roger. I’ll give you a tip. Duft Pharmaceuticals.”

“What’s that?” he asked as he flipped the burgers, tugging a wrapper from one of the shelves onto the counter before reaching for the cheese in the fridge.

“A stock that you should invest in. It’s going to at minimum quadruple in value in the next week. I guarantee it.”

“How the hell do you know that? You some inside trader or something?”

I laughed but was caught in the crescendo of the music coming from across the street. It was a ‘wow’ moment. The skill and long fingers needed to play the piece were incredible and whoever was tickling the ivories was brilliant. “Hardly. Call me a soothsayer of stocks. I’m never wrong.”

Roger lifted both eyebrows as he studied me, shaking his head as he offered me a lopsided grin. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. S. I wish I could but I ain’t got no money to spare right now. Marla’s been having a tough time.”

His wife had more than her share of health problems. He wasn’t the kind of man to complain but I’d seen the circles under his eyes on several occasions, finally asking what the fuck was going on in his life. “I’m sorry to hear that, my man. I really am.”

“Hey,” he said as he grabbed a spatula, placing two slices of cheese on the bottom before placing one of the patties on top. “We all have our crosses to bear. Don’t we?”

“Yes, we do, my friend. We certainly do.” Some of us more than others. As the concerto was nearing the end, I took a deep breath and turned toward the building across the street. “What is that place?”

“That’s a music studio used by the university.”

I don’t know why I hadn’t known that before. Maybe because the location reminded me of an old gothic Catholic Church. There were dozens of buildings in the city that had been repurposed over the years, but to use an old church as a music studio? Ah, the acoustics. Of course. No wonder I could hear the melodic strains of the concert piano from across the street.

A single streetlight cut through the darkness, the dim glow creating an almost eerie appearance against the chiseled stone and ornate building details.

“Fascinating,” I said, not realizing I’d whispered the word.

“Some child prodigy is their star, I’ve heard. She plays pretty good. Don’t you think?”

I didn’t answer him, enjoying the final chords before the song ended. A smile crossed my face before I turned around.

“Here you go, Mr. S. I used Japanese mayonnaise this time. I heard it’s all the rage.”

“Why, thank you, Roger. You always kick things up a notch.”

“I do try.” He pushed the bag across the counter. “That’ll be eight fifty.”

“Ouch.”

“Hey, I gotta earn a living.”

The grin remained as I pulled out my wallet. “Yes, you do.” I tugged out a twenty at first, tossing it across the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Mr. S. I really do appreciate it.”

Before I slipped my wallet back into my trousers, I pulled out the thousand or so dollars I had in the leather billfold. When I eased it across the counter, he seemed shocked.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

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