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Without waiting for an answer, he took Jason’s beignets out to where his friend finished up his call.
Jason nodded his head toward the woman through the large, plate glass window dividing the inside of the café from the sidewalk seating. “What’s going on? Here I finally get you an order and you give it away.”
“I can wait longer. Besides, you could always share.”
“I don’t share the good things in life.”
“Should’ve known.” Mel chuckled and tossed another quick peek at the woman.
“Should I let Judy know something?” Jason teased and pushed at his friend’s arm, Mel’s eyes now torn from the young woman. “Your eyes straying after becoming steady with the beauty?”
“Nah, man. Some people just need a pick-me-up. You never really know what they’re going through.”
“Well, can we talk about business now?” Jason took a big bite out of his first beignet. He pointed a sugar-covered digit in Mel’s direction. “Remind me to stop by my place on the way back. I have a few more things for you to sign before the meeting tonight.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember this time,” Mel promised. One last look at the woman in the café caught her licking the powdered sugar from her fingertip, a faint hint of a smile on her lips.
Melpluckedathisleather jacket, trying his hardest to cool down. If he hadn’t stuffed his good suit jacket in a yet-to-be-unpacked box he wouldn’t be on the edge of becoming a puddle. It looked good with his best button-up shirt, the deep red one Jason dubbed "the power color."
Clicks from the heels of his shoes echoed down the alleyways as he followed his phone’s GPS toward the address Jason sent him. Wishing Jason told him about the change of location earlier instead of texting him hours after they signed the last of the paperwork together, Mel texted Jason at least half a dozen times to make sure it was correct. Despite being on the border of the Central Business District, this area was not known for office spaces. Maybe they were meeting the investor in the same area as another of their properties. There had been countless times when Jason set up a meeting to plead their case with investors on the go. According to Jason, this one was different, a done deal, but the investor wanted to see both of them first so they could get the check for the last of the kitchen equipment.
Mel could always bust into his savings if they needed to; he'd certainly saved more than enough money to cover it from working under his father. Jason was sure they would only need this last person on board. Mel needed to do this without the help of his father's money. For once.
Shadows crawled along the walls around him as if they had minds of their own, but Mel couldn’t find what they connected to. Being the middle of the week, there weren’t many partygoers and most of what there was stuck to Bourbon Street. The air felt closer, heavier, bordering on claustrophobic. Gripping his phone in his hand, he was ready to call for help or throw it or… whatever it took to get away from the pressing darkness.
As he was rounding one of the last turns, a message from Judy popped up on his phone. Another text about another party she wanted to drag him to later tonight. The idea of more parties exhausted him. For once he longed to walk the French Quarter with Judy without bar hopping, or take her people-watching near Jackson Square. Frowning at the message, he swiped to bring the map back up.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he tried to call Jason again. The phone rang twice before being transferred to voice mail.
“Hey, Jay. You sure about this address, man? I know we already went over it a hundred times, but I’m not feeling this area. Answer your fucking phone."
Mel hung up and studied the map.
He was there.
It was a tight alley with a brick wall on one side, a sheer-faced building on the other side with a long row of doors set ten feet apart. Mel pushed his phone into his pocket and reached for the first door. Locked, of course.
The second door swung open easily, revealing only darkness inside.
It was odd that he would be the first one here.
He dug back into his pants pocket for his phone. Shuffling came from inside, past the door he was holding open with his foot. His breath caught tight in his throat, eyes frantically scoured the darkness, unable to see anything beyond the small amount of light from the alleyway. He swallowed past the tightness in his throat to knock the breath loose. Inhaling deeply, the thick scent of cigars wafted into the air from inside.
“I said I’d never do this,” Mel whispered as he mentally chastised himself for his impending stupidity as he shifted slightly into the doorway, refusing to enter the room fully. “Hello? Jay, you here?”
Fire erupted in his gut, sending him tripping backward over the threshold and landing in the middle of the alley. Pressing his hand to his stomach, warmth flowed through his fingers. He tried to get back on his feet, but searing pain wrenched his abdomen, making it impossible to do anything other than flop to one side in agony. Lifting his trembling fingers into the light revealed they were covered in crimson— the same power color as his shirt.
He had been shot. Someone was trying to kill him.
Sharp bits of gravel dug into his face as he flipped onto the cobblestone. A groan broke through his panting as he struggled to draw in a full lungful of air but couldn’t. He willed his limbs to move, to crawl toward the sound of people at the end of the alley, but they turned to cement and anchored him where he lay.
The edges of his vision blurred, closing into a hazy tunnel. Even as he tried again to inch toward the commotion of bar hoppers their voices became muffled and distant. His heartbeat thrummed over it all, each beat slower than the last. The hot taste of copper flowed over his tongue as his voice caught in his throat.
A foot pressed on his back, the low chuckle of someone behind him filling the spaces between each heartbeat. The sound covered his cooling flesh in goosebumps. If he could shiver, he would have. Cigar ash fell next to his head, the potent smell invading the last of his senses.
Time froze when he heard the faintly familiar sound of a hammer clicking back into place. Lungs strained to take one more breath to scream. Adrenaline filled his hands as they flexed and tried to grasp anything to give him leverage against the pressure at his back.
If only he could get enough air he could explain they had the wrong guy. Or apologize. He had a smart mouth, but he didn’t know what he could have done to earn him this punishment. Gunmen liked begging and he wasn’t beyond doing it, if that’s what it would take. The desperate futile longing to stay alive fueled him on. He hadn’t even tasted a beignet yet.
