Page 48 of What is Lost

“I think...” But then the counter-guy rapped something halfway between a growl and a bark. “This, this and this,” John said, pointing then held up three fingers. “And three coffees, all to go.” Holding out bills, he finger-walked over the counter. “To go.”

Pocketing the change, he motioned with a tilt of his head for Davila to follow. As they slid over to make room for the next customer, Davila remarked, “Big guy the kid was with just got up…okay, he’s heading for the toilet. What’s the deal? Why’s the kid got you bothered all of a sudden?”

“I’m almost positive,” he began then stopped. What was he doing? This was déjà vu all over again: listening to Driver explain why they were all there. “Nothing.”

“That, my friend,” Davila said, “is a lie. We can’t do this if you’re not straight?—”

He broke off as the counter-guy brought their food on a tray. “No, we asked for a to-go bag?” Davila did the finger-walk again then hooked a thumb over a shoulder. “We’re leaving?”

In reply, the counter-guy pulled both a paper bag and four-cup carry tray from beneath the counter then held out a hand.

“Ah,” John said, relieved the conversation had shifted. “The universal language.”

“Nickel and dimed,” Davila said.

“Thank goodness for walking-around money.” Dipping into his pocket again, John pulled out a fistful of coins, which he held out to the counter-guy, who used a stubby finger to start picking through change. The guy had two fairly large coins in hand when a voice, boyish and young, said something in Russian. He got two of the words:noandbad.Or was thatwrong?

“Well, well, looky here,” Davila said. “We got company.”

Yes, they did. The boy he’d spotted across the restaurant had sidled up without either of them being aware of him until that moment. How long had the kid been standing there? He was, John judged, about eleven or twelve and dark-skinned, with a flop of black hair spilling over his forehead. His clothing was almost extravagant: billowing dark-green trousers and an oatmeal-colored tunic with an embroidered vest of bright cobalt and iridescent emerald, a bit like a peacock’s feathers

“Ears burning, kid?” Davila said. “My friend here was just going to tell me all about you.”

“Not here.” John smiled down at the kid. “Hello.”

The boy replied in Russian, but John couldn’t make heads or tails of what the kid was saying. “Slow.” John made a slow-down motion. “What?Chto?”

The boy tried again, and this time, John caughtthe word formoney. “Yes, we do.Privet,” he said to the boy.

“What’d he say?” Davila asked.

“I think he’s telling us we’re being cheated.” To the boy:“Plokhoy?”Hooking a thumb at the counter-guy, he said, “Is he cheating me?”

“Plokhoy.” The boy nodded then opened his arms wide.“Slishkom. Plokhoy.”

“What’s that mean?” Davila asked.

“Bad and, I think, too much. But don’t quote me on that.” He watched as the boy snarled something at the counter-guy, who looked offended, but then slapped both coins on the counter and spat out something that sounded as if the man was chewing rocks. “What did he say?” John said to the boy and held up one of the coins. What washow muchin Russian? He settled formany.“Mnogo?”

Gesturing for John to hold out his palm, the boy picked through John’s coins then selected one which he put on the counter. The counter guy’s upper lip curled, but he covered the coin with a hand then jerked his head to the door.

“That’s our cue to leave,” Davila said.

“Yeah.” As Davila slotted coffees into the tray and squared their sack of food, John looked down at the boy. The Jiminy Cricket piece of his conscience nagged that he ought to help this kid somehow. But what could he do? Kidnap the boy? “John.” Patting his chest, he said his name again then hooked a thumb at Davila. “Taz.”

“Hey, kid.” Davila showed a rictus of a smile then said through gritted teeth, “Can we go now? We don’t need a mascot.”

John ignored him. Instead, he pointed at the boy. “Imya?”

The boy opened his mouth, but then another voice, much deeper and rougher, interrupted. The words weren’t Russian, but the tone was unmistakable:back off.

“Easy.” Turning, John held up both hands in ayou-win nothing-to-look-at-heregesture. “Easy, easy. We’re good,” he said, backing away from the same big man with the flashy, embroidered taqiyyahe’d noticed before. Where had he come from? The men’s room? “It’s okay. We were only talking.” Glancing over the guy’s left shoulder, he spotted Parviz scurrying around the corner. “Hey, Parviz, can you tell this guy to calm down?”

“Yeah,” Davila added. “Kid came up to us. We haven’t touched him.”

“No you worry.” Elbowing his way between John and the big guy, Parviz spat something rapid-fire. In response, the big guy’s expression turned thunderous, and he shouted something back.

Uh-oh.All that guy had to do was hammer Parviz on top of the head with a fist. A glance around the restaurant also confirmed thateveryone was watching this little side-show. A few patrons had their cellphones up, recording.So much for a low profile.“Parviz, tell him we’re leaving,” John said. “Nothing happened. The boy was only making sure we weren’t cheated.”

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