Page 103 of The Women of Wild Hill
It was September now, the month when New York City usually bids farewell to the summer and gets back to business, but no one was quite certain when the work would begin. The season was off to a rocky start, given the number of tycoons, tech leaders, and CEOs who were dead or missing. The entire C-suite at the world’s most famous consulting firm was presumed dead. Congress would be holding at least a dozen emergency elections. If the chef at the Green Lady needed another week or two, no one was going to hold it against her. But on this particular day, neighbors had been noticing promising signs of life in and around the restaurant. The lights had come on before the sun rose. Several deliveries had arrived later that morning. Then, at noon, a black Escalade with tinted windows had dropped two pasty men at the door.
A passerby who recognized the men was certain she’d made a mistake. One looked a great deal like a young politician from the Midwest. The other resembled one of the world’s richest men—a billionaire with a bad haircut and a permanent scowl. Neither of them seemed terribly comfortable in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. The billionaire paused briefly to check the sanitation grade in the restaurant’s window.
“My secretary says this is the hottest place in the city.” The politician, clearly eager to please, held the door open for his companion. “She called and got them to open up just for us.”
The billionaire took a few steps inside and paused. “This is what open looks like? There’s one girl here.”
The restaurant’s setup was simple: one long wooden counter with stools on one side, facing the kitchen. The decor consisted mainly of plants. There didn’t appear to be waitstaff or a cooking crew. A young woman stood at the stove with her back to them as she muddled herbs with a mortar and pestle.
“You said you wanted to speak privately,” the politician whispered. “Doesn’t get more private than this.”
The young woman turned to greet them. She was pretty, with wild red hair and a wide smile that must have set most people at ease. “Come on in,” she called out to them. “Have a seat at the counter. I’ll be right with you.”
The billionaire didn’t budge. There was a current in the air that set him on edge. His skin tingled as though lightning might strike.
The politician sensed his discomfort. “Would you like to go somewhere else?” Everyone was a nervous wreck these days.
A crack of thunder answered before his companion had a chance to respond. Outside, the heavens opened up, and water poured down. The rain didn’t bother with drops.
“Was it supposed to storm today?” asked the tycoon.
“Who knows what it’s supposed to do anymore,” said the politician. “I can call the driver back. He’ll have umbrellas, I’m sure.”
The billionaire shook off his jitters. He was one of the most powerful men left in the world. He wasn’t going to let a few freak occurrences turn him into a basket case. “It’s fine,” he said. “Let’s enjoy our meal.”
As they took their seats at the counter, the young womanturned back with two glasses in her hands. The liquid inside was a brilliant red, while the ice cubes floating inside were black. The beautiful offering was garnished with a slice of a bright green fruit.
“What’s this?” the politician asked as she set the drinks down in front of them. He found it hard to pull his eyes away from the young woman. She was one of those ethnically ambiguous types that one encountered in New York.
“That’s our signature drink,” the young woman told him. “It’s a new spin on a recipe that was passed down from my Haitian great-grandmother.”
“Haitian?” The politician concealed a cringe with a smile. He’d recently made a few comments about Haitians that probably wouldn’t go over well with the girl or her grandmother.
“Try it,” the billionaire ordered the politician. If it sounded like an order, that’s because it was.
The politician didn’t balk. Most of the time, he was in charge. In the tycoon’s company, he was demoted to food taster. But that was the deal he’d made. He sipped the drink and nodded. “Delicious,” he said. The flavor combination was one he’d never encountered. It tasted bright, yet earthy. “What’s in it?”
The young woman smiled. “Family secret,” she told him. “I’ll be back for your order in a few minutes.”
Once she was out of earshot, the politician turned his attention to his guest, who had already drained half his glass.
“So. The Island. That was some weird shit, wasn’t it?”
“What’s the count up to now?” the tycoon inquired.
“As of this morning, fifty-five dead and fifty-plus still missing. They only found pieces of some of them. Lotta great whites off the coast this year.”
“Did you bring the list?”
The official list of the dead and missing was still not public. Butthe politician had no trouble accessing a copy from law enforcement. He handed the spreadsheet to the billionaire, whose eyes immediately scanned down the list.
“Seems you’re the only one of my protégés left.” He balled up the paper and set it on the counter for the girl to take away. “Lucky you.”
The politician pulled in a deep breath. “You’re sure there’s an upside?”
The billionaire tilted his head and offered his companion a reptilian blink.
“Sorry,” the politician rushed to say. “It’s just that people have been talking—”
