Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [93]
“It should be under Holcomb,” Barry interrupted with perfect charm. “Party of two . . .”
“Holcomb . . . Holcomb . . .” the maître d’ repeated, his glance lingering a second too long on Barry’s glass eye. “Of course, sir. The window table. Right this way.” Extending his arm to the left, he pointed Barry toward a meticulously set table that sat in a small, private nook at the front of the restaurant. Barry turned his head but didn’t take a step.
“Sir, shall I—?”
“We’ll be fine,” Dinah said, holding Barry’s elbow and walking him toward the table. “Thank you for offering.”
As Barry tapped his cane, Dinah glanced around the restaurant, which was decorated to evoke the feeling of an eclectic but wealthy family home. Unmatched silverware and antique furniture gave it plenty of charm; its location within walking distance of the Capitol gave it plenty of lobbyist clients.
With a quick pat-down of the table and its two ultrahip chairs—one wing-back, one art deco—Barry motioned for Dinah to sit, then took the seat opposite her.
“The waiter will be with you shortly,” the maître d’ added. “And if you need additional privacy . . .” With a sharp pull, he tugged a cord by the wall, and a burgundy velvet curtain slid into place, separating the nook from every other table in the restaurant. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“So what do you think?” Barry asked.
Dinah craned her neck, staring through a thin opening in the curtain. She didn’t usually eat in places like this. Not on a government salary. “How’d you find this place?” she said.
“I actually read about it in a book.”
Dinah was silent.
“Why, you don’t like it?” Barry added.
“No . . . it’s fine . . . it’s great . . . I just . . . after Matthew . . .”
“Dinah . . .”
“He should be the one sitting here.”
“Dinah . . .”
“I can’t help it . . . our desks are so close they’re almost on top of each other—every time I look over at his stuff, I just keep . . . I keep seeing him. I close my eyes and . . .”
“. . . and he’s standing right there, hunched over and scratching at that bird’s nest of blond hair. You think I don’t feel the exact same thing? I spoke to his mom the day it happened. And then Pasternak. That alone . . . I haven’t slept in three nights, Dinah. They’ve been my friends for years—ever since—” Barry’s voice cracked, and he stopped himself.
“Barry . . .”
“Maybe we should just get out of here,” he said, standing to leave.
“No, don’t . . .” She reached for his sleeve and held tight.
“You said it yourself.”
“Just sit,” she begged. “Please . . . just sit.”
Slowly, cautiously, Barry made his way back to his seat.
“It’s hard,” she said. “We both know that. Let’s just take some time and . . . Let’s just try to have a nice lunch.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely,” she said as she picked up her water glass. “Let’s not forget—even with all this, we’ve still got a big day ahead.”
44
AS THE DARKNESS HITS, I keep my arm outstretched in front of me to stop myself from ramming into the wall. I never get there. My foot sinks into a divot, and I lurch off balance. Crashing into the ground, my knees tear across the rocky floor, making me feel every stray, pointy pebble. From the loud rip and the sudden pain across my kneecaps, I feel another fresh hole slice through my pants. I again put my hands out to break my fall, but the momentum’s too much. Sliding headfirst into home plate, I face-plant across the gravel as the rocks roll against my chest. By the time I open my eyes, I taste my ever-present mouthful of dust and dirt, but this time, I can’t see it. I can’t see anything. Anything.
Coughing violently and still fighting to catch my breath, I feel a final hunk of yesterday’s grilled cheese hurl up my esophagus and slam into the back of my teeth. I spit it out and hear the wet splat against the floor. Lying on the ground until my breathing settles, I keep my eyes shut, trying to take a small victory in the fact that I at least was smart enough to leave bread crumbs. It doesn’t do any good. The darkness is already overwhelming. I hold my hand to my face, but nothing