Now or Never by Elizabeth Adler Page A

Ruby’s. It plastered his dark hair against his skull, dripping inside the collar of his old black leather bomber jacket.
    The dog trotted at his heels, shooting wary glances at the flashing sky, skittering nervously at the quick rumble of thunder. Harry hoped Mallory Malone would make it through the thunderstorms that had plagued the area all day, but he wouldn’t blame her if she canceled. It was a bitch of a night.
    The bell on Ruby’s glass-paneled door jangled as he pushed inside. The small café was jammed, every booth and Formica-topped table taken. There were a couple of cops and some regular locals he recognized, plus a few strays. The plate-glass windows above the red-checkered curtains were steamed, shutting out the miserable night; and the smell of hot coffee and fried food and chicken gravy hovered permanently over the room, like smog over L.A. A couple of matronly waitresses in red and white aprons and wilting caps maneuvered laden trays skillfully between the scarred red vinyl banquettes, and blue cigarette smoke wreathed to the nicotine-yellow ceiling.
    Squeeze shook himself, scattering a waterfall of raindrops over Harry’s fraying Levi’s, then sat on his haunches, sniffing the air eagerly.
    Grabbing a paper napkin, Harry mopped the waterfrom his face and the inside of his collar, then tried to catch the waitress’s eye.
    “Hey, Doris,” he called as she hurried back behind the counter. “How long for a booth?”
    She shrugged. “Ten, fifteen maybe.”
    He grabbed her arm. “I need a guarantee on that, sweetheart.” He smiled at her. She was plump and fiftyish and harassed, and he had known her since she was plump and forty and had time to flirt. Time had taken its toll, but they were still good friends.
    “You bringing a hot date to Ruby’s tonight, cheapskate?” she asked, raising a painted eyebrow.
    “It’s business, Doris. Just business. But it’s a woman and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
    She grinned. “I always did like a guy with manners. I’ll make sure you have the booth in the far corner, even if I have to kick those guys outta there.” She sniffed, glancing at the wet dog. “Smells like a farmyard in here,” she added as she walked away.
    She returned a couple of minutes later carrying a dish of meat. Squeeze did an eager little dance on his hind legs.
    “Every dog deserves steak once in a while,” she said, setting the dish down in the corner. “Even a smelly hound like you.”
    “You spoil him, Doris. Besides, he just had his dinner. He’s going to get fat.”
    “Yeah. I always liked fat men and fat dogs. And that leaves you out, detective. All muscle and no squeeze.” Laughing at her own joke, she shouldered her tray and marched determinedly toward the corner booth.
    “Hey, you guys,” Harry heard her say loudly, “you gonna sit here all night or what? There’s paying customers waiting for this table.”
    He laughed, and then his cellular phone beeped. Turningaway from the noisy room, he pressed it to his ear. “Jordan.”
    “Detective, where the hell is this Ruby’s?” Mallory Malone sounded irate. “The limo driver has never heard of it.”
    He grinned. “Everybody who’s anybody in Boston knows exactly where Ruby’s is, Ms. Malone. Put him on the phone, I’ll give him directions.”
    She did not laugh or even say good-bye, or see you in a little while, or anything remotely sociable. Instead the driver came on the line and Harry gave him the directions. By the time he’d finished, Doris had the guys in the booth counting out their money while she stood, arms folded, watching them. Two minutes later they were shouldering past him to the door and Doris was clearing the table.
    Harry hated to think of what might have happened if he had kept Ms. “Star” Malone waiting. He edged into the booth, his back to the wall so he could see her come in. Squeeze slid under the table out of the way—and his big head sank onto his paws as he prepared for