10. Kamaya
CHAPTER 10
Kamaya
I look up at the sound of the elevator chime. Bree breezes into the office, her blonde hair pulled back in a chignon. “Hey, Kam, the mail guy stopped me on the way in and said this was for you.”
Bree hands me a manila envelope, legal pad size with the FJ logo on the top left corner.
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I say, surprised to get a parcel from the Financial Journal . Bree walks off towards the kitchen where Max and Westin are gathered. Brandon hasn’t arrived yet for the day.
I’m the only one in the office area.
I shake the package, not hearing anything but what sounds like paper shuffling inside. Could Zach have sent me something? He was still being guarded about our date, but I doubted he would send me something when he could just deliver it himself.
My curiosity gets the better of me. I open the mysterious package and out slips a takeout menu for an Italian restaurant named Milano’s.
“That’s strange,” I mutter under my breath. “Who at FJ would send me a menu?”
My first instinct is to toss the menu, but I think better of it since the envelope is addressed to me. I definitely don’t recognize the swirling, looping handwriting. It’s practically in cursive, which is something rarely seen these days. A light-yellow piece of paper sticking out gets my attention. I open the menu and realize it’s a Post-it note with a message:
After weeks of not hearing from him, Franco texted me that he got a new number. He’s working at this restaurant on weeknights.
Finally a breakthrough!
After tirelessly searching through records, we finally have a way to track Franco down. Was this anonymous note from Jacob? Yesterday evening before going home for the night, Zach let us all know that he wasn’t able to acquire any new info about Franco or Harrison. It was the same address that we already had. Sadly, he didn’t include a number to reach Franco. I google the address for the restaurant, and it looks like it’s in the downtown area of Little Italy. A big career change from working at FJ .
What happened that Franco wasn’t able to secure another IT job?
Looks like Max and I will just have to go downtown to meet Franco. Assuming the information provided was correct.
“What’s that?” Maxwell asks over my shoulder, passing me on the way back to his desk.
I pass Maxwell a copy of the menu with the Post-it stuck inside.
Maxwell takes a few seconds to read it. He flips the menu around, presumably checking that there aren’t other messages hidden within the paper. “Wow, finally we might be getting somewhere. Who do you think sent this?”
“Not sure. We don’t have time to worry about that now,” I answer, sitting back in my seat. “I hope you’re in the mood for Italian for dinner.”
“Always,” Max replies. “Should we call the restaurant first to make sure he’ll be there?”
“I’d thought of that,” I say to Max. “Based on how the other employees have been acting, maybe the element of surprise might help us.”
Max shrugs. “Worth a shot.”
I push my seat back to my laptop, noting the time and how we’ll need to leave soon. According to the restaurant website, dinner time starts at five.
Maxwell and I have been mostly okay since the kiss. When we return to my apartment in the evenings, we talk about the assignment and watch movies as a way to try to relax, but the energy has felt off since Zach asked me out.
I was still on cloud nine and looking forward to the date, but I hoped that Max and I were okay.
No, I have to stop worrying about my friend’s feelings. Maxwell is a grown man. If he wanted to pursue anything beyond the kiss we shared, he should have said something then. I was going to enjoy my time with Zach and put Max and his too-perfect lips out of my mind.
Or at least I was damn sure going to try.
“Are you sure this is the place?”
I glance away from Maxwell and over at the display of tables. Several are lined up against the corner sidewalk, decked in red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Couples and families were out enjoying the balmy summer evening.
“This is the address on the menu,” I answer. The photos from when I googled the restaurant made it look a little different, but I was certain this was the right one. Though there were several restaurants on this block that looked identical. I just hoped we’d manage to track Franco down and have an opportunity to question him. According to Jacob’s note, he should be here tonight since it was a weekday.
“Alright, so what’s our plan?” Max asks. Initially, when we were tasked to work together, Brandon described Max acting as my mentor. Now, due to the nature of this assignment, I was calling the shots.
“I don’t know if he’s a server or working in the kitchen, so I say we go in like we’re just a couple having dinner and see if we recognize him,” I say.
Maxwell’s brows raise when I use the word couple , but he doesn’t comment on it. “Besides, I’m hoping Franco will be somewhere we can see him. We have to hope he still looks like the photo from his state ID and employee badge.”
“Unless he’s gotten facial tattoos and dyed his hair some wild color, we should be good,” I say.
Max nods, though he appears uncertain. “If you think this will work…”
I didn’t know for sure if any of this would go according to plan, but we had to try. We were close to figuring this thing out. I could feel it. Franco was our last hope. If he was guilty, I didn’t expect him to come right out with it, but presuming he was innocent, maybe he could point us in a different direction.
We both exit the car and begin heading towards the front of the restaurant when Max suddenly grabs my hand.
Maxwell is taking in our surroundings. I look too and don’t see anything that seems suspicious or out of the ordinary. No dark cars around. I hoped that we weren’t being followed again. Holding Max’s hand feels odd but also like something we should have done ages ago. There’s a sense of comfort in feeling his warm palm against mine.
Focus , Kamaya!
After making our way across the street with the coast seemingly clear, we approach the cherrywood paneled host’s stand. Maxwell reacts first when the host looks up and greets us.
“Just two? Table or booth?” the host questions.
“Booth,” Max answers while I scan the inside of the restaurant.
There were two pictures of Franco that I’d seen when I searched for him. So far, none of the male workers passing by resembled him. Again, I wondered if he’d made any significant changes to his person since those photos were taken.
We follow the host over to a booth small enough to seat only two. We’re surrounded by more of the same wooden tables with checkered tablecloths, matching the outside seating. The walls are covered in old Hollywood star headshots, some with signatures on them. When I researched the restaurant, the search results showed it had been family run since the early fifties after the end of World War II when the family immigrated to New York through Ellis Island.
“Can I get you started with something to drink?” the host asks.
“A diet Coke for me,” Max responds. “A strawberry lemonade for you, Kam?”
I wasn’t sure if it was because I was a creature of habit or if Max just knew me so well, but he guessed exactly what I was planning to say.
“Yes, that’s fine,” I respond to Max and the server.
“I’ll give you some time to look over the menu,” the server advises before walking off.
Now that we were alone again, I use my seating position to my vantage point. With my back to the rear of the seating area, I am able to see who enters and exits from the kitchen.
Hopefully we didn’t have Franco’s days wrong, and we’d see him before our meal was complete. I didn’t doubt my skills, but I was beginning to feel anxious about the trajectory of this assignment so far.
As far as I was concerned, we could have turned in Harry as an accomplice to fraud, but I didn’t believe he was working alone.
“Have you seen him yet?” Maxwell asks.
“Not yet,” I say.
The server returns and takes our orders. I order cacio de pepe and Max decides on spicy bucatini. With our order placed, I use the time waiting for our meal to pay attention to the goings and comings of the restaurant staff.
After some time, the server returns and sets our steaming bowls down, and Max waits until they’re out of earshot before speaking again. “So what if he never shows? We can’t eat at every Italian restaurant in New York until we find him.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” I quip, twining a string of the sauce-covered pasta around my fork.
Maxwell levels a look at me.
“Okay, okay. You’re right,” I concede. “So far, this is the best lead we have for Franco. That apartment was a bust, and it’s not like any other employees at FJ are forthcoming.”
“You’re right,” he says, dipping bread into olive oil. “We may need to come up with a plan B.”
“I haven’t given up yet,” I say. “Besides, the trip down here to Little Italy hasn’t been a total waste. The food here is fantastic.”
“Take your time,” the server advises while putting the check down.
Maxwell slides the bill towards him before I can think to grab it. Max is distracted with pulling his TSS company card out of his wallet when I see Franco.
Finally!
“Omigod, that’s him,” I whisper.
“Yeah?” Max says.
“Yes, he just came through the doors. He’s heading towards the kitchen. Turn around slowly,” I say.
“We have to catch him,” Maxwell says as the server returns to take the credit card.
Thankfully, the server doesn’t take long to return with the card, and I see Franco heading back outside. Looks like there’s a lighter in his hands.
“C’mon, we have to move quick,” I say, standing up and shouldering my bag.
“Okay,” Max says, scrambling to return his wallet to his back pocket.
We head out to the side of the building, away from the front doors and the outdoor seating area at the front of the restaurant. We approach Franco, who’s dressed in a white button-down with a black tie, matching black pants, and an apron tied around his waist.
“Franco DiLaurentis?” Maxwell questions.
The other man slowly turns around. He lifts his cigarette to his mouth, taking a long drag and studying the two of us. A beat passes before he responds.
“Who exactly is asking?”
I speak up first since Maxwell and I are apparently playing good cop/bad cop in this moment.
“We’re from Tri-State Security. We just want to ask you some questions about your former employer, Financial Journal .”
He snorts at my response and begins shaking his head. “The last thing I want to do is talk about that place with two strangers.”
“Not exactly strangers. Maybe you’ve seen us around the building.”
Franco looks at Maxwell, and brief recognition comes over his features. Still, I don’t think it’s enough to change his mind about talking to us.
“I recognize your employer name. From what I remember, you’re not law enforcement, so I don’t have to talk to you.” With that, he begins moving past us and back towards the restaurant. Maxwell looks over at me with a “do something” look in his eyes.
“The reason we came here is because we suspect you were wrongly terminated…and we need your help.”
I hold my breath, not sure if that’s enough to get him to turn around. Franco is one of the best leads we have going with this assignment, and I’m hoping that speaking to him brings us one step closer to the truth.
Franco steps away from the back door leading into the kitchen and faces us again. “You’re right, I was wrongfully terminated. They set me up.”
“They who?” Maxwell asks.
“I can’t say for sure, but I have an idea of who is behind me getting fired,” Franco answers. “Jacob tell you I was here?”
“Yeah, he said we could find you here. He’s been trying to help us figure out what is going on,” Maxwell says. Not entirely true, but Franco didn’t have to know that.
“Well, if Jake trusts you…” Franco starts and sighs. “I was sent an email about creating bogus group subscriber accounts, and there was banking and routing information in those emails.”
“What did you do next?” I ask.
Franco takes a long drag on the cigarette. “I ignored it at first until I was approached about the messages.”
“Approached by who?” Max asks.
“I’d rather not say.”
“Franco, we could help you—” I begin to say.
“No!” the other man interjects. “I will not say. They threatened my family. Said they’d report me to immigration. I’m here on a work visa, waiting for my citizenship to be approved. Next thing, I was fired.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. If you can help us, we can report whoever threatened you. They would be facing serious charges,” I reply.
“No,” he says, no longer meeting our gazes. “I need to get back to work.”
“Take my card,” I say, pulling it out of my back jeans pocket. “In case you change your mind.”
Franco nods, pockets the card, and disappears back into the restaurant.
Once back in the car on our way home to my apartment, Max speaks firsts. “What did you think about what Franco was saying? You think he’s telling the truth or not?”
I wasn’t sure what to think. Up until Franco was fired, everything carried on without a glitch. His absence seemed to cause everything to go haywire.
“I believe him,” I say to Max. We’re stopped in the traffic heading back into New Jersey as everyone merges to head towards the Lincoln Tunnel.
“Kamaya,” he says, finally able to merge and shooting across the tunnel. “You’ve got that look on your face,” he says, unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin.
I smile at his laugh. “What are you talking about?”
He tries imitating me. “That’s your determined look.”