Counterfeit Lies

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jake had been looking forward to this meeting all morning. He hopped out of the car and handed the keys to the parking valet. He was immediately struck by the warm breeze blowing in from the ocean. He loved the Malibu heat. Two hours earlier, when he met with Henry Yeong and Tommy to discuss an exclusive use of his services, there was a chill in the air. Now as it was nearing noon, the famous California sunshine had turned it into a beautiful day.

Jake pocketed the claim check, questioning whether anyone ever read the fine print, and headed into Gladstone’s, a beachfront restaurant favorite.

Two couples were ahead of him as he made his way to the hostess stand. He waited patiently to give his name but as he scanned the outdoor patio he spotted her. He jumped out of line and strode toward the wooden plank table near the back of the patio. She stood and the two embraced. At eight months pregnant it wasn’t quite as easy to get his arms around her.

“I’m glad you were able to make it. I can never count on your schedule — too many criminal variables,” she said.

Using a very poor French accent, Jake said, “Quiet, don’t blow my cover. The Bureau thinks I’m meeting some hooker named Natasha working for a Mob-run escort service.”

“Jake!”

“No, my name is Pierre and I am businessman from Paris garment district. You are Natasha. I told madam running operation I like big Russian women.”

“You are impossible,” she said, hitting him playfully as they both took a seat.

As the two began to peruse the menu, Jake said, “I know you have this craving for seafood but wouldn’t you be satisfied with Long John Silver’s? I think I have a coupon in the car.”

“You don’t think I’m Gladstone’s worthy?”

“Oh, you are worth the French Riviera. It’s just that I can afford fast-food fish and chips, not the market price for the Iced Seafood Tower.”

“You don’t even know what the market price is. Maybe you can afford it.”

“Trust me. I’ve eaten here before. I can’t afford their market price anything.”

A bleached-blond college-age server, who was probably wasting his daddy’s savings on a higher education at UCLA or Pepperdine, came to the table dressed in a blue logo T-shirt, white trousers, and the Gladstone’s blue apron. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“We’ll both take iced tea,” said Jake.

“I better not have caffeine,” she said. “Do you have any decaf tea?”

The server shook his head.

“Then just bring her water with lemon,” said Jake.

“You got it, dude.”

When the server left, Jake, shaking his head in disgust and employing his weak French accent, asked, “So, Natasha, dude, how are you feeling?”

She smiled. “I’m great. A little tired. I slept until almost nine this morning. I had to hustle to make the doctor’s appointment, but she said everything looks fine and I’m right on schedule, maybe even a little ahead.”

“You think junior might punch out early?”

Offering a smile, she said, “I’m ready if he is. He’s got to be a lot like his dad.”

There was an awkward silence, neither quite knowing what to say, as they both looked out toward the ocean pretending to breathe in the salt air.

“How’s your week been going?” she asked.

“You know, same ole, same ole. Set up a contract killing, scored some meth from members of an ethnic minority group, and wasted a breakfast meeting this morning on two mopes who will be eating prison food soon. Just risking it all to keep the world safe from democracy,” said Jake with a mischievous grin.

“For democracy, not from democracy,” she said, shaking her head.

“Whatever. Have you decided what you want?”

“I’ll take a cup of clam chowder…”

“I can afford soup, good choice…”

“And the Niçoise blue crab salad.”

Jake gave her a look.

“Pierre, I’m eating for two.”

Just then the surfer dude brought the iced tea and water with lemon. Jake ordered… the crab salad and soup for her, just the soup for him. He didn’t have a coupon!