Page 64 of Thief of Night
“I was a killer. A monster. It didn’t matter.”
“Once, when we were up late, Vince and I compared first times,” Charlie said, deciding not to argue about whether being forced to be a killer made it okay to be forced into all kinds of other things. “You told me you were fourteen and it was with a girl you’d known for a while. That you both were experimenting. Was any of that true?”
“None of it was alie,” he told her. “What happened was an experiment. It just wasn’t my experiment. There was a lot of blood.”
And on that horrifying note, he pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant called the Federal.
“The blood made you more physically present,” Charlie said, puzzling through the mechanics of what had likely happened. Red led with his monstrousness when he was afraid of judgment. A familiar impulse, to make things worse when you were afraid you couldn’t make them better. “They should never have done that. Not to anyone and not to you.”
He flinched. “I didn’t want you to know any of this.”
“She should be ashamed,” Charlie said, with vehemence. “Never you.”
He shrugged, obviously not believing her.
Fiona got out of her car. She looked over at them, waved, and then headed inside the restaurant.
Red reached for the door handle.
“Wait.” Charlie put a hand on his arm. “Tell me about your grandmother.”
“She’s a good person,” he said, forgetting to correct her. “Like I said, don’t hurt her.”
“Trust me,” Charlie said with a grin.
He gave her the look that line deserved. “Fiona Carver. Just turned seventy. She’s on the board of several foundations in New York—that’s how shespent Salt’s money after their divorce—the Robin Hood foundation, which focuses on poverty; the Drug Policy Alliance; Children’s Aid; to name just a few, covering everything from leukemia research to endangered tigers. She had one child, Kiara, and one grandchild, Remy. She doesn’t come from money, but Kiara always said she took to it like a duck to water.”
Lionel had donated plenty to charities. That alone didn’t make Fiona a good person. Red had vouched for her, but his standards were low.
Past its white columned entrance, the Federal turned out to be the sort of place with starched tablecloths and hushed voices. They passed a small bar area where a few couples that Charlie would have pegged as retirees fresh from a game of golf had gathered. A diamond tennis bracelet gleamed on one of the wives’ wrists, just begging to be pocketed.
Fiona was already at a table, a dirty martini in front of her, three cheese-stuffed olives, two cornichons, and a pickled onion floating in the gin. In her starched white shirt and black trousers, paired with comfortable-looking, faux-fur-lined mules, she managed to be elegant without seeming at all overdressed. Her hair was pulled back in a tortoiseshell clip, revealing a pair of thick, heavy-looking gold hoops. Charlie couldn’t guess a single brand, except for the understated gray Polène bag sitting beside her on an otherwise empty chair. Fiona wore her wealth lightly.
“You know, you’ve got a whole salad in your drink,” Charlie said as she took a seat.
Fiona laughed. “This place! I can’t decide if they’re delightful or insane.” She pushed a menu in Red’s direction. “You can add a lobster tail to anything.Anything.”
Red sat on the other side of the table, looking around the room like he was counting the exits.
“So,” Charlie said. “You know Odette, right? She’s my boss. She talks about you sometimes.”
Fiona’s eyebrows rose. “She could tell you some stories about me that would make your hair stand on end. Are you one of her protégées?”
“Am I… Oh! No.” Charlie could feel her face heat. “I’m just a bartender.”
“Ahh.” Fiona took a sip of her martini and made a motion toward the waiter. “That’s why you’re offended by my drink.”
“I’m notoffended,” Charlie said as the waiter descended on them. “I just think that if you added a tomato, you might be able to convince me it was a Bloody Mary.”
Fiona turned to Red. “And what will you be having, dear?”
He frowned at the menu. “A steak?”
“The strip,” Fiona clarified to the waiter. “I’ll have your onion soup and a dozen Coffin Bay oysters.”
Charlie decided fast on something that seemed safe. “The turkey burger.”
“Would any of you like a lobster tail with that?” the waiter asked. Charlie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
