Chapter 3 Ember #2
“It’s doing great. Look, just wait until the summer. It’ll be fine.”
He takes a deep breath and stands up. I watch him slowly walk over to the trash can to throw away the crushed Dixie cup. He still looks like he’s lost his best friend.
“Is it your brother?” I ask him. “Because bankruptcy isn’t the end of the world. He can start something else up after his debts are cleared. And pretty soon, you’ll be able to help him out—”
“I don’t think so, Ember,” he says with a little smile on his face. “It’s… it’s over, you know?” He clears his throat and straightens up. “You’re right. He’ll be fine and we’ll be fine. I guess I just… I was just overreacting.”
I match his smile, though this whole thing still feels odd. Omar’s never struck me as the hysterical type. I can’t help wondering what’s set him off so badly.
“How are we doing so far tonight?” he asks me.
“Good,” I say. It seems like the wrong time to bring up the finances.
If his brother’s business sends him off the deep end like this, there’s no telling what this ‘security’ thing might do.
“Everybody’s raking it in down there. I was hoping to get us listed in Back Door by the end of the month.
And we should actually start talking about running some specials for the summer—”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I really want to have a sit down with all that.” He clears his throat, then, “Why don’t we plan some time before opening? Like tomorrow morning, maybe?”
I nod. He’s clearly still not okay, but at least he’s not crying anymore. “I’ll stop in around ten. How’s that?”
“That’s perfect. Thanks for checking up on me.”
“No problem.” I stand up and as I walk out, I grab the half-bottle of vodka on the floor. “I’ll just trade this in for some coffee.”
“Good idea. Thank you.”
I leave his office and start making a list in my head of things we need to talk about in this meeting tomorrow.
I hope this isn’t a sign that Omar’s unstable. He’s always come off as pretty sure of himself before tonight. Well, I suppose everyone has a bad day every now and then.
No matter how much time passes, I still get up around six in the morning every day.
I think it’s something that was drilled into me during my days working in the restaurant.
Ever since I changed our hours from five to seven, I typically don’t even show my face around there before sunset unless there’s something going on that I need to handle.
This morning, I woke up with Omar on my mind. I can’t seem to shake his weird behavior. The more I think about it, the more I realize that he wasn’t just in despair. He seemed like he was holding back from telling me something. I tried to ignore my wandering mind over breakfast, but…
What if he’s done something illegal? What if he’s caught up in some activity that might get him hurt?
My father used to tell me stories about the activities of criminal organizations.
On the drive to the club, I’m immediately reminded of a story he once told me about the owner of this deli whom they found in pieces all over town.
He’d said that the other businesses were giving ‘protection’ money from some Mob guys and that man refused to pay one day.
It makes me think about that weird ‘security’ thing in the ledgers. Is that what it’s for? Is Omar foolish enough to get caught up in something like that?
It sounds crazy to even think it. Omar’s a lot of things, but I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to get mixed up in something like that.
I try to remember if I’ve seen anyone who looked suspicious hanging around Omar, but to be honest, in a strip club everyone kind of looks a little suspicious.
Most of the men who come to the Kitten’s Paw to watch women dance naked tend to act suspicious just because they don’t want to be caught there.
I pull into my space and step out of my car. I don’t see Omar’s car yet. I guess he’s running a little late.
The night security man, Joey, sees me as I walk out of the lot and meets me at the door. “Morning, Ms. Lorenzo,” he says politely. “Got a meeting?”
I nod. “Yeah, Mr. Rodriguez should be pulling up in a minute. If you could let him know I’ll be in my office waiting for him?” His brow furrows and he looks confused. “What?”
“Um, Mr. Rodriguez stopped through already.”
I stare at him, then look around the lot. My car is the only one. “Did he drive here?”
“Yeah. He was here about an hour ago. Drove here, went in, and then left.”
An hour… ? “Well. Guess I’ll give him a call. Thanks.”
I let myself into the club and as I make my way to the back rooms, I dial his number on my cell. The line trills in my ear as I open the hallway door leading back to our offices…
That’s when I hear a phone ringing somewhere. I pause and listen. It’s definitely coming from his office.
I pick up the pace and walk down the hall and up the stairs.
There’s no one here. His desk is completely cleared off from the piles of paper that are usually there.
There’s nothing here now except the computer and his cellphone, which is buzzing and vibrating across the desk.
I hang up my phone and walk up to the desk.
The cellphone sits on a single piece of paper.
I move the phone over and read the words written.
Had to leave town. Sorry for everything.
—Omar