Nothing to Lose by Norah McClintock Page A

Robyn. I invited you.”
    I’d been going to argue, but he was already shaking his head. He put some money down on top of the bill and slipped his hoodie on. “Why don’t you think about what you want to do next?” he said, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”
    â€œWhere are you. . .”
    He nodded to a sign for the restrooms. As he left the main dining room, I decided I should also probably go. I’d had a lot of tea. I got up and walked toward the signs. The restrooms were down a long corridor off the dining room. But as I turned into that corridor, I saw Nick leaving the restaurant through the emergency exit at the far end.
    â€œHey!” I said. But the door had already clanged shut behind him. I ran after him—but stopped when I heard someone shouting behind me. A man ran toward me. “Do not use,” he said, pushing past me and blocking my exit. “Fire door only.”
    â€œBut—”
    He shook his head no.
    I hurried back to the main room, pulled on my jacket, and dashed outside. A narrow alley ran along the side of the restaurant. I followed it to the rear of the building where Nick had exited. I didn’t see him anywhere. I went to the door that I was pretty sure he had come out of and tried it, but it wouldn’t open from the outside— he couldn’t have gone back that way.
    I glanced around. The alley continued for a couple of blocks between the backs of stores on one side and the backs of houses on the other. But where was Nick? Why had he ducked out on me like that?
    Then I heard a voice. It was low, but I was pretty sure it was Nick’s. It sounded like he was just up the alley somewhere. I headed toward the sound. It was coming from the other side of a high, gated fence. I crept toward it. No way to peek through—it was a privacy fence—but the gate was partially open. I squinted through the small crack and saw Nick. He was in a tiny yard that was laid out as a garden—a vegetable garden, I guessed, from the stakes that stood in rows in the cold early November soil. Nick was standing on the path, taking something—a white envelope—from the old man I had seen in the restaurant. He tucked the envelope into a hoodie pocket. The old man said something to him. Nick nodded. He began to turn, probably to make his way back to the restaurant.
    I darted away from the gate, suddenly ashamed that I had been spying on him, and ran back toward the restaurant. Just as I got there, two men stepped out of the kitchen and into the alley. They were both wearing sunglasses and dark suit jackets. They stared at me and then started up the alley toward me. I slowed my pace and told myself not to be nervous. It was broad daylight. What could possibly happen?
    The two men blocked my way. Neither stepped aside to let me pass.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said.
    They looked around, as if they were expecting to see someone else in the alley with me.
    â€œWhat are you doing back here?” one of them said.
    â€œI’m meeting someone,” I said. Not that it was any of their business.
    The man who had spoken glanced around. “I don’t see anyone,” he said. He took a long, hard look at me. “What were you doing up there?” he said, stepping closer, crowding me the way bullies do. I felt like jelly inside. Whoever these guys were, they were scary.
    â€œI really have to go,” I said. I hoped they didn’t hear the tremor in my voice. What were
they
doing back here? I was getting ready to run—maybe even scream if I had to—when someone behind them said something in Chinese. It was the same old man who had been in the yard with Nick just a few minutes before. He had somehow managed to get back into the restaurant without passing me. He must have gone out through the front of the yard and circled the block. But why?
    The two men turned to look at the old man. The guy who had been doing all the talking