The Edge Of Justice

The Edge Of Justice Chapter 5

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Adopting a horrible British accent, she said, "Why thank you good sir," and slipped her arm through mine. We walked into the street laughing, arm in arm. The restaurant was six blocks away, and we had to dodge the rush of people on the sidewalk, unlinking our arms out of necessity, to wade through the throng. It was lunch time, and it seemed the streets were avenues of exodus from the offices and skyscrapers,  giant buildings that made it necessary to crane your head as far back as you could, just to see the tops. We walked and talked, my hand perpetually in my right pocket, fondling the edge of my knives dual handles. I had always been paranoid in crowds as a teenager and in my early teens, but in the last ten or so years, I was even more so.

Michael Neal hadn’t died that day, I knew that. I had failed in my mission, even though I’d run a Ninjato through his chest, directly into his heart. Because of his escape, I had grown even more wary of my surroundings, always watching the people around me for the flash of a blade, or movements of those nearest me, in case their body moved in a manner suggesting attack. Head lowered, looking through my eyelashes, I faded into the crowd, unseen even by those who looked directly at me. I had come to realize that the old saying was true; out of sight, out of mind. I’d learned that if people could not see your eyes, they would forget you almost immediately. I could still check the people surrounding me, but they would not even glance my way twice. Stare at a person too little; they realize your avoiding their eye. Gaze at them too long, they get wary of you in return. Katrina on the other hand, walked with her head high, capturing the stares of most of the men who passed us.

We arrived at the restaurant, a small place named ‘Athens in America’. I raised an eyebrow at Katrina, who laughed. “Trust me,” she giggled, and pushed through the door. The inside was vastly different from the outside, where the former was rustic, with deep shadows in the corners and barely burning ambient lighting. The latter was just like the rest of the city, with its tinted glass and hard steel exterior. A wonderful smell wound from the kitchen, teasing my nose and setting my stomach to rumbling. The hostess made her way to us, a pretty young girl no more than eighteen years old. A ponytail of her black hair rested on her shoulder, while a single bang fell onto her forehead, framing her almond shaped brown eyes.

 “Just two?” she asked, to which Katrina and I both nodded.

Follow me please,” the hostess said, pulling two menus from the podium by the door, and winding us around tables and booths, to a small table in the center of the large dining room. Tables for two and four were placed through the semi-dark room, with white tablecloths and the silverware rolled up in red linen napkins. Booths lined the walls, with red tablecloths, with white napkins. A nice effect, but nothing out of the ordinary. I glanced around quickly, and noticed another table near the back wall that would allow me to see both the entrance, and the entire dining room from one position. “Excuse me Miss,” I said, and the hostess turned to me. “I was wondering if we could have that booth back there?”

She glanced over to where I was pointing, and nodded. “Of course,” she replied with a smile. Katrina cocked her head at me, to which I winked and shook my own. “It has a better view.”

Katrina smiled and shrugged. “If you say so.”

We sat, and the hostess told us that the waiter would arrive in just a moment, and left. I picked up the menu and skimmed over it, recognizing nothing on it except the Alexandros Steak. “Well?” Katrina said, and my head jerked up.

“Huh?” I asked, totally confused.

Katrina laughed again, showing me a spot on her menu. “I asked if you’ve ever tried taramosalada.”