bottle of Dom Perignon. “It’s an omen. For toasting your new restaurant.”
He shook his head. “No way, Deva, but at least this looks okay.” He ran his hands lovingly over the stainless steel surface of the espresso machine. “Should be, it’s a DeLonghi Gran from Italy. Built like a tank. I paid over three grand for it.”
“The water line’s severed, but otherwise it looks undamaged,” Rossi said. “The food locker’s on the other side of this wall. That must have protected it from the worst of the blast.”
Glumly, Chip nodded.
“You want me to carry it out to the car?” Rossi asked.
“Why? For a souvenir?” A touch of bitterness crept into Chip’s tone. Who could blame him? So far, he’d shown remarkable control, not even sending so much as a dirty look in Donny’s direction. How like the big guy to figure an accident’s an accident. No one to blame but fate. Caught in the same situation, I’m not sure I would be so objective. So sweet.
Finally, his hands still caressing the DeLonghi, Chip said, “I might as well take it. AudreyAnn likes lattes. Right, honey?”
She gave him a shrug, and with that to go on, Chip pulled the machine’s plug out of the paneling in back of the bar.
As he yanked on the connection, wood rubbed against wood, giving off an eerie creak, then with the plug still attached, a piece of the wall paneling fell away and clattered to the floor. The espresso maker nearly went with it, but I leaped forward, steadying it in the nick of time.
Peering over Chip’s shoulder, I stared into the opening he’d just created. Light pouring down from overhead shone on the cinder blocks of the inner wall and on something else. Something that gleamed dully.
“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, spotting the same gleam. He thrust a hand into the narrow cavity and lifted out a small steel box. A padlock hung from a flange on one side.
I didn’t know what the box contained, but my pulse revved up nonetheless. Clearly, someone had hidden it in that wall cavity with care. And people don’t usually hide useless trash in their walls.
Chip must have had the same thought. “We need a hammer,” he said, wheezing badly.
“No such luck,” Rossi said. “But there must be something around here we can use. Ah.” He stooped and picked up a piece of twisted metal. Pointing his chin at the padlock, he said, “You want that off?”
Struggling for breath, Chip just nodded. Rossi hit the flange a few times, pounding until the padlock fell away. He stepped aside, and Chip raised the lid on the box. No one said a word as he lifted out an inner steel container and placed it on the shelf next to the espresso maker. This one wasn’t locked, and slowly, as if afraid of what he might find, he opened the lid. We crowded in around him and, when that lid came off, the breath rushed out of us all in a collective aaaaah .
I thought Chip would faint. AudreyAnn held onto him on one side and Rossi moved in to take his other arm. “You need to sit down?”
“No, I’m all right.” Coughing, wheezing, his hand shaking, Chip reached into the inner liner, removed a yellowed oilskin packet and laid it on the shelf. The image of President Grover Cleveland showed through the oilskin in that unmistakable, instantly recognizable shade of green. The one shade of green everybody loves.
No one said a word. There for a while, I don’t think we were even inhaling, although we must have been. Donny’s hot breath fluttered on the back of my neck. Chip loosened the packet and removed a fistful of money. He flipped through the bills. Every one featured an etching of President Cleveland. Every single one was a thousand-dollar bill.
Chip went weak in the knees, but AudreyAnn grabbed him before he could slide to the floor. He rallied, stood erect and reached into the packet again. He withdrew another handful of bills.
“Every one’s a thousand,” he whispered.
“Count ’em. Count ’em all,” Francesco
He shook his head. “No way, Deva, but at least this looks okay.” He ran his hands lovingly over the stainless steel surface of the espresso machine. “Should be, it’s a DeLonghi Gran from Italy. Built like a tank. I paid over three grand for it.”
“The water line’s severed, but otherwise it looks undamaged,” Rossi said. “The food locker’s on the other side of this wall. That must have protected it from the worst of the blast.”
Glumly, Chip nodded.
“You want me to carry it out to the car?” Rossi asked.
“Why? For a souvenir?” A touch of bitterness crept into Chip’s tone. Who could blame him? So far, he’d shown remarkable control, not even sending so much as a dirty look in Donny’s direction. How like the big guy to figure an accident’s an accident. No one to blame but fate. Caught in the same situation, I’m not sure I would be so objective. So sweet.
Finally, his hands still caressing the DeLonghi, Chip said, “I might as well take it. AudreyAnn likes lattes. Right, honey?”
She gave him a shrug, and with that to go on, Chip pulled the machine’s plug out of the paneling in back of the bar.
As he yanked on the connection, wood rubbed against wood, giving off an eerie creak, then with the plug still attached, a piece of the wall paneling fell away and clattered to the floor. The espresso maker nearly went with it, but I leaped forward, steadying it in the nick of time.
Peering over Chip’s shoulder, I stared into the opening he’d just created. Light pouring down from overhead shone on the cinder blocks of the inner wall and on something else. Something that gleamed dully.
“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, spotting the same gleam. He thrust a hand into the narrow cavity and lifted out a small steel box. A padlock hung from a flange on one side.
I didn’t know what the box contained, but my pulse revved up nonetheless. Clearly, someone had hidden it in that wall cavity with care. And people don’t usually hide useless trash in their walls.
Chip must have had the same thought. “We need a hammer,” he said, wheezing badly.
“No such luck,” Rossi said. “But there must be something around here we can use. Ah.” He stooped and picked up a piece of twisted metal. Pointing his chin at the padlock, he said, “You want that off?”
Struggling for breath, Chip just nodded. Rossi hit the flange a few times, pounding until the padlock fell away. He stepped aside, and Chip raised the lid on the box. No one said a word as he lifted out an inner steel container and placed it on the shelf next to the espresso maker. This one wasn’t locked, and slowly, as if afraid of what he might find, he opened the lid. We crowded in around him and, when that lid came off, the breath rushed out of us all in a collective aaaaah .
I thought Chip would faint. AudreyAnn held onto him on one side and Rossi moved in to take his other arm. “You need to sit down?”
“No, I’m all right.” Coughing, wheezing, his hand shaking, Chip reached into the inner liner, removed a yellowed oilskin packet and laid it on the shelf. The image of President Grover Cleveland showed through the oilskin in that unmistakable, instantly recognizable shade of green. The one shade of green everybody loves.
No one said a word. There for a while, I don’t think we were even inhaling, although we must have been. Donny’s hot breath fluttered on the back of my neck. Chip loosened the packet and removed a fistful of money. He flipped through the bills. Every one featured an etching of President Cleveland. Every single one was a thousand-dollar bill.
Chip went weak in the knees, but AudreyAnn grabbed him before he could slide to the floor. He rallied, stood erect and reached into the packet again. He withdrew another handful of bills.
“Every one’s a thousand,” he whispered.
“Count ’em. Count ’em all,” Francesco
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