Page 42 of The Evening Wolves

“Sit.”

Without waiting for a reply, she stepped into the kitchen, and she called out something John-Henry couldn’t make out, the words distorted by the curtain wall.

“Maybe she’s getting her concealed carry,” Emery said.

“Be nice.”

John-Henry sat, and Emery slid into the booth next to him. They’d barely gotten settled when Masouda returned. She was carrying two plates heaped with couscous and…balls. At first, John-Henry took them for meatballs because of the thick, red sauce covering them, but when she got closer, he could see that the shape wasn’t quite right, and the smell of cumin and coriander was even stronger. She set the food in front of them, brought two bottles of Mexican Coke back from the cooler, and drew a bottle opener from her apron. The Cokes hissed as she popped the caps, and in the warm, humid air, vapor drifted above the cold bottles.

“Eat.”

“What is it?” Emery asked.

John-Henry picked up a fork and used the side to cut open one of the balls. Ground meat, like he’d expected. But it was sandwiched between slices of creamy potato. He made sure to get a little of everything—meat, potatoes, couscous, tomato sauce. The flavors exploded in his mouth, savory and rich, acidic and smoky. He made a noise that, to judge by Emery’s expression, might not have been appropriate and went for a second bite. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was—couldn’t remember, in fact, when he’d eaten. Before jail? That seemed impossible, but since then, all he remembered was coffee.

“This is a public restaurant,” Emery said as he forked up his first bite. “Could you try not to sound like you’re in a bordello—” Through a mouthful of food, he said, “Jesus Christ, that’s amazing.”

Masouda’s tiny smile came and went again. “Mafrum.”

“Why have we not eaten this before?” Emery went for more of the mafrum. “When did you open this restaurant? And what kind of advertising have you done?”

“A few months ago. And not much.” The brown of her eyes was smooth and deep. “You looked like you needed to eat.”

John-Henry managed to pull himself back from the food long enough to wipe his mouth. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

“Eat,” Masouda said with a laugh. “I’ll talk, and then you can ask your police questions after you’ve finished.”

“You’ve seen that man? The one from the photo?”

Masouda nodded. “He was in here yesterday. But I think you knew that.”

“You remember him?” Emery asked.

“It’s so hard. I have so many customers.”

To John-Henry’s disbelief, a tiny, Emery Hazard smile curled the corner of his mouth.

“I asked you about a warrant because I want to know if I’m breaking the law by telling you this.”

“The information isn’t privileged.” Emery paused, his fork poised above the plate. “Why would it be illegal?”

“I didn’t say it was. Is it?”

“Of course not—”

“Ree,” John-Henry said. He set his fork down—ignoring his stomach’s outraged grumble—and took the Coke. He traced his thumb down the side of the glass, gathering the condensation and leaving a clear line down the bottle. “You’re not breaking the law. And I’m not planning anything illegal, so you’re not going to be an accomplice, even unknowingly.”

“That’s what someone would say,” Masouda said, “if they were going to break the law.”

“I suppose it is.” John-Henry took a swallow of Coke. “And I’m not sure it helps if I say that I’m not acting as a police officer, just to be clear, and you’re under no obligation to answer my questions. But it’s a standard part of a criminal defense to investigate witnesses. Any good defense team would want to know as much as they could before a trial.”

“To figure out if a witness is lying, in the first place,” Emery said. “And, even if they’re telling the truth, to look for evidence of bias, to determine how credible they might appear to the judge and jurors, to shake loose details or inconsistencies, and, of course, to uncover new evidence. The last thing anyone wants in a trial is a surprise.”

Masouda brushed a hand down the front of her apron, straightening it.

“But,” John-Henry said, “that’s what somebody would say if they were going to break the law.”

“Chief Somerset—”

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