In the Driver's Seat

Chapter 5

Aloha Emporium, Manhattan, NY. December 20, 2003. Saturday morning.

Clinton Jones stepped into the shop, expecting to be assailed by bland Christmas music and the scents of pine and cinnamon. It was a shock and a relief to hear Hawaiian music, muted by the sound of waves, and to smell exotic flowers.

"Over here!" Neal waved from a table in a small cafe space.

Jones walked by racks of brightly patterned shirts and couldn't help smiling at the cheerful chaos. He preferred order, and recognized that the chaos here was actually carefully organized to give a sense of abundance without overwhelming the senses.

"Got time for a cup of Hawaiian coffee?" Neal asked.

Jones glanced at the wall of baked goods and other foods, and the sight of the pineapple syrup had him wincing.

Neal followed his gaze. "Don't worry. That's for the shaved ice. The coffee's pure Kona."

Jones sat down. "You're not conning me, are you? Kona in New York?"

A woman placed a mug in front of him. "We have family in Hawaii, and I went to college there. We wouldn't dream of serving anything else."

The taste brought to mind blissful memories of shore leave in Honolulu. Jones didn't groan with pleasure, but it was tempting. "Do you sell this? I mean, to make at home?"

"We have one-pound bags. Do you want it gift-wrapped?"

"Yes, please. I've been telling my brother and his wife about Kona coffee for years. They're going to love it."

The woman grinned at Neal. "I like your friend."

He stage-whispered, "He told me he isn't dating anyone." Then in his normal voice he said, "Jones, this is Maggie Feng. She's single."

Maggie swatted Neal gently on the shoulder. "Stop that."

Neal shrugged. "I wonder if I should get a bag of the Kona for Henry."

Jones tried not to react. Right before the party yesterday, Peter had asked him to look into the Henry Winslow that Neal kept mentioning.

"We have plenty in stock," Maggie said.

Neal shook his head. "Nah, he'd ruin it with a mound of sugar."

"Give him some of the cookies," she suggested. "You can pick up a fresh batch right before Christmas."

"That could work." Neal stood up. "I'll be right back. I just need to grab my stuff from upstairs."

Maggie returned with the gift-wrapped Kona while Neal was gone, and Jones had to ask, "Do you know Henry?"

"Only through the stories Neal tells about him."

Before Jones could ask more, Neal walked up with a duffel bag. "Ready to get started?"

"That's all?" Jones asked. He'd expected several boxes of belongings.

"I've only been staying here a couple of weeks. Everything else is stashed with other friends."

"Thus the need for a car. Got it." But a few hours later, Jones realized he hadn't gotten it. Not at first. Being on the run from the law meant traveling light. First they stopped at the Chelsea Fencing Club for a box Neal had stashed in a locker under the alias Gary Rydell. From there they drove to a bistro for art supplies. Next they visited a building where Neal had lived under the alias Nick Halden; the superintendent there had kept a box of kitchen supplies for Neal in her own apartment. Last they headed to a place Neal called "the Temple of Thought."