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As the holidays approached, shoppers came out in full force bringing increased business to Fortunato’s. Eddie loved walking the floor, and schmoozing with customers, sending over rounds of drinks or complimentary appetizers. Word had spread that the owner was a charming force. Eddie loved the attention and his ego gushed.
He especially enjoyed Saturday nights. This particular Saturday night was no exception. Fortunato’s was bustling. He checked on customers, chatting with those he knew, and getting to know those he didn’t. He felt like the king he’d always known he’d become. He loved to see people waiting for tables, and he especially loved the attention—people calling out his name, pushing past others to shake his hand and introduce their families. Eddie never disappointed. He was charming, funny, and affectionate. The staff loved him, Micola loved him, and he loved his new life.
There was just one person who would make it all perfect.
Kate.
He looked at her from across the restaurant. She and Marco were having dinner. He’d sat down with them for a few minutes, drinking in her perfume and beauty. More and more, he’d found himself wanting to be near her. He wanted to share his happiness with her. He dreamed of it. He imagined Marco gone. Out of the picture. Kate coming to him. Being with him forever.
Eddie tried to shake Kate from his mind and refocus on the evening. From the size of the crowd, it appeared to be the restaurant’s best night yet. Things were running smoothly, and laughter and chatter filled the room, drowning out the piped-in Italian music.
After a couple of hours, Eddie took a break from his charismatic banter to get a drink at the bar—his usual scotch rocks. He took a sip as he scanned the dining room, smiling and laughing with staff and patrons, all while eying Kate and Marco. With empty dessert plates in front of them, he watched, as they spoke intimately to one another. He imagined it was him at the table, Kate slipping her fingers across his hand, instead of Marco’s, as she looked deeply into his eyes.
A dark figure appeared at the restaurant’s main entrance and pulled Eddie from his thoughts. He waited and watched, holding his drink near his lips but not sipping. The tall, thin Black man wore an impeccable gray suit, his short black hair neatly and stylishly trimmed. He stood in the lobby for a moment, scanning the place, as Eddie watched from the bar at the back of the room. The man leaned in to ask the hostess something, causing her to look around and then point at Eddie.
Shit. Who was this, now?
The man nodded and smiled at her before making his way through the crowded restaurant, heading for Eddie in the back. He caught Eddie looking at him and nodded.
When he reached Eddie, he put out his hand, and Eddie shook it.
“Mr. Bracchio?” he said, through the noise of the crowd.
“Who wants-ta know?” Eddie shouted back.
“Detective Matthew Lance.” He handed Eddie his card. “I’m here to discuss ...” He paused and looked around the busy restaurant, as he leaned in to whisper. “Other business.”
Detective?
Eddie looked at his card. “What other business?”
“Can we go somewhere private to talk?”
Eddie hesitated. “Yeah, sure. My office.” He put out his hand. “This way.”
Once seated in the quiet office, Eddie asked, “So. What’s this business you’re talkin’ about?”
Detective Lance’s manner was sophisticated. He was very well-spoken. Professional. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there’s a man from the neighborhood who’s missing. A Mr. O Jackson. Seems Mr. Jackson has disappeared, and his family is very concerned that something may have happened to him.”
Eddie shrugged his shoulder and leaned back in his chair, trying to appear casual. “Never heard-a him. Too bad, though. What’s that got-ta do with me?”
“Word on the street, is that you may have had some interaction with Mr. Jackson.”
Eddie laughed out loud. “Word on the street, ‘eh?” He shook his head. “Who’s sayin’ that?”
The detective paused for a second. “Mr. Jackson’s girlfriend, Ms. Tanya Steele. She claims he had a physical encounter with a man fitting your description.”
“My description? Meaning ... ?”
“Meaning: middle-aged, well-dressed Italian man, new to town.”
Eddie smiled and nodded. “Are you ... profiling me detective?”
Detective Lance laughed. “You must admit, you fit the description.”
Eddie blew on his pinkie ring and buffed it on his dress shirt before giving the detective a disinterested gaze. “Look, Detective. I don’t know nothin’ about this ah’—this Mr. Jackson—or his whereabouts.” He gave the detective a nonchalant raise of his brow. “Don’t know nothin’ about this woman, neither. For all you know, somebody told her to point the finger at me. This is ridiculous. I’m a businessman. I got a legitimate and successful restaurant here. And I don’t appreciate the implication, Detective Lance, that I had somethin’ to do with this guy’s disappearance. Maybe—” he pointed his finger at him—“you should ask some-a his associates. I’m gonna’ guess this ah’—Mr. Jackson—has some friends or even relatives you could talk to. There might be a gold mine of suspects for you. I’m just sayin’ ... Maybe one-a them knows somethin’.”
“I have every intention of doing just that, Mr. Bracchio. I’m covering all my bases. You understand.” He shrugged his shoulder. “There’s a process.”
“Yeah, sure.” Eddie leaned his elbows on the desk. “So, what? You think this guy’s dead or somethin’?” He tipped his head to the side. “Or maybe he skipped town? What are ya’ thinkin’?”
The detective shook his head. “Too early to tell. Anything’s possible.”
Eddie stood, indicating the meeting was over.
“Well ‘ah, thanks for stoppin’ by. I’d better get back upstairs.”
“Of course.”
Detective Lance stood too, giving his shoulders a barely-noticeable shrug to adjust his suit. He smiled and nodded.
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Bracchio. I’ll see my way out.”
Eddie said nothing in response and they did not shake hands.
The detective turned and left the office, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Eddie returned to his drink at the bar, an air of foreboding lingering over his mood.
