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After half a day of following Maurice Lester, we'd been at BJ's BBQ for an hour now. Lester and his party had only just ordered dinner. We'd almost finished eating in a side room, where we were out of sight, but Elena and Clay could follow the conversation at Lester's table.
"I'm sure the discussion is fascinating," Clay said, "if you give a shit about oil."
"Antonio appreciates it," Elena said as she tapped her phone. "I'm texting him stock tips. Get a few pitchers of beer in these guys and they forget they aren't alone in the place."
"No," Adam said. "They just don't care. Only people they can see are minimum-wage servers and a table of college kids. Their stock tips are safe."
"Can you pass those to me?" I said to Elena. "I wouldn't know a stock tip if someone wrote it on the table, but my investment guy can use them."
"Speaking of writing on the table," Elena said, gesturing at the art unfolding beneath me, "you're going to have to cut that out before you go."
Adam nodded. "It's the best crayon-on-tablecloth work you've ever done."
I laughed and kept sketching. It was nothing really, just a shot of the restaurant interior, more doodling than drawing.
"I haven't seen you draw in a while," Elena said.
I shrugged. "I do. Just . . . not as much these days. But as long as I'm sitting here with a brown paper tablecloth and crayons . . ."
She leaned over to look more closely. "There's a lot more color than your usual stuff."
"Because there aren't any grays and blacks in the crayon cup," I said.
"Ah."
Clay rocked back in his chair, casting bored glances at Lester's table. At first we'd jumped every time someone walked past him and nearly raced in when a colleague thumped him on the shoulder. By now, even when the server leaned over to ask something, we didn't twitch. Asmondai had said the group would strike tonight. While that wasn't set in stone, it was unlikely they would inject Lester in a restaurant, surrounded by his friends and associates.
"Go scout outside," Elena said as Clay thumped his chair back down.
"That an order?"
She smiled. "It is."
"Thank you."
As he got up to go, his fingers brushed her back. Just a light touch. Making contact. I'm sure that as we'd been sitting there, Clay had his leg against hers under the table.
When Clay zipped back a few minutes later, Elena got up.
"Are they leaving?" she asked him.
"Nope. And they won't be for a while. A car full of Saudis just drove up. I'm guessing they're here for Lester."
They were. Seemed they were supposed to be here an hour ago, but were delayed. Dinner was about to begin in earnest.
"I say we give the kids a break." She looked at us. "I know you've had a rough couple of days, and I already reserved the hotel rooms, so--"
"Great," Adam said. Then quickly added, "I mean, great that you reserved them already. But we'd hate to cut out on you guys like that."
"Cut," Clay said. "While you have the chance."
"The Omni up the road," Elena said. "The room is under Vasic. You guys usually share when you're on a case, right? So you can watch each other's backs?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Good," Elena said. "Go on then. Rest. The hotel is a couple blocks from here. We'll call if anything happens."
As we headed out, I whispered to Adam, "Do you think they know?"
