Uptown Geneva at midnight felt like dangerous downtown with that casket black Cadillac stalled across the street. All the other shops closed hours ago, giving the plaza its graceful ghost town essence. Only five cars belonged on the street. Five cars for Keitaro’s five-man closing crew. Counting the Cadillac, there were six.
“How long’s it been there, Boss?” TJ said.
“About two hours,” Keitaro said.
Keitaro and TJ stood at the sides of the picture window concealed by darkness with an idealistic view of the street.
“Can’t see shit. The windows are too tinted, but through the windshield I see two guys and they’re moving around a lot,” TJ said.
“They’re getting antsy,” Keitaro said.
“Why not just come out already? It’s not like they’re afraid of getting caught. They’re parked backward in a handicapped spot,” TJ said.
“Maybe they’re outnumbered by us,” Keitaro said.
“Something silver keeps reflecting moonlight,” the cook said from a table out of the window’s line of sight. “You see it?”
“Probably a gun,” Keitaro said.
“Shit.” TJ lowered his head with his eyes closed.
“Who do you think they’re here for?” the waiter said.
“Ramirez, whose bitch did you not pay?” TJ said.
The cook recoiled in his chair. “Nobody, man. I ain’t been downtown lately.”
“Dylan, you owe someone money?” TJ said.
“Just student loans, I swear,” the waiter said.