Assassin's Lullaby by Mark Rubinstein

Author:Mark Rubinstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thunder Lake Press
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

37

O’Malley’s Pub is more crowded than before.

The bar is so jam-packed that despite the cold weather, patrons are standing in the entranceway. With bottles of beer or drinks in hand, they don’t seem to mind the rush of icy air blasting over them each time the door opens.

Eli and Irina wend their way through the bar crowd and head toward the rear room.

Standing at the entrance to the dining area, the maître d’ nods at their approach. “Good evening. Table for two?”

“Yes, please, for dinner,” Eli says. He points to a booth in the far corner of the dining room. “How about that booth?”

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s reserved for four.”

Eli slips him a crisp twenty already folded in his palm.

The maître d’ slides the bill into his pocket, smiles obligingly, grabs two menus from his lectern, then leads them to the corner booth.

Two guys at a nearby table laser in on Irina as she and Eli are escorted across the room.

They stare so lustfully, Eli’s tempted to toss them a fuck-off look. But that’s ridiculous, even more than immature. Knowing he could demolish them with a few Krav Maga moves, he stares straight ahead as he and Irina are led to the booth.

Ordinarily, he’d sit with his back to the wall, but not tonight: he’ll let Irina have a view of the room. So he sits facing the brick wall behind her.

“I am glad we leave party,” Irina says as they settle into the booth.

“I am too. We can talk here.”

A wall sconce bathes Irina in buttery light. Even more than at Sasha Bortsov’s apartment, Eli’s mesmerized by her beauty.

An aproned waiter—a crew-cut thirtyish guy—introduces himself as Eric. “I’ll be your server tonight.” Eric strikes Eli as cloyingly officious as he jabbers smarmily about the place having “the best pub food in the city.”

Eli wonders if Irina has mastered enough English to negotiate a menu, even the relatively simple fare of an American pub.

“Would you care to start with a drink?” Eric asks.

“Maybe a glass of white wine?” Irina says, peering at Eli.

“We’ll have two glasses of the house white,” he tells the waiter.

“It’s an oaky Napa Valley chardonnay—an excellent choice,” Eric says.

After a few more unctuous statements, he disappears.

“What looks good to you?” Eli asks.

“Maybe the soup de jour,” she says with a French accent and a quick smile.

“Do you speak French?”

“Un petit peu.”

“We’ll find out what kind of soup it is.”

When Eric returns with their glasses of wine, Eli asks about the soup.

“It’s butternut squash. Delicious and very popular.”

Irina nods, obviously approving.

“We’ll each have a cup of that,” Eli says. He turns to Irina. “What else would you like?”

He’s aware he’s speaking slowly, using simple words, and hopes he doesn’t sound patronizing.

“Le hamburger.”

“How would you like it cooked?” Eric asks, bending close to her.

“With red inside, but not much red.”

“We’ll have two burgers, medium rare,” Eli says.

“Another good choice, sir,” Eric says. “They’re grilled on an open fire and come with the best french fries in the city.”

When Eric disappears, they clink their glasses together and sip the wine.

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