Chapter 6: Coffee

At six the next morning, the bell over the diner door rang.

A man in a gray hoodie and a Yankees cap came in and sat at the end of the counter.

I was refilling sugar jars because I couldn't sleep.

"We open at six-thirty," I said.

"It's six-oh-four."

"We open at six-thirty."

"Your sign says six."

"My sign is a liar. Maggie writes it on a Monday and never fixes it."

He took off the cap.

Declan Shaw sat at a counter in Queens with a scar through his eyebrow and shadows under both eyes.

"Hi," he said.

I put the sugar jar down very carefully.

"Do you know it's six in the morning?"

"I know. I don't sleep after a show. I walked until I found the diner from the article about the woman with the champagne."

"There's an article?"

"There are nine."

"Is the diner in it?"

"Her friend gave an interview on the sidewalk. She was very proud of the pancakes."

I poured him coffee.

He drank half of it, and made a face.

"It's terrible."

"It's the diner's coffee."

"It's the best thing I've had in a week."

He turned the mug in both hands.

"I wanted to say thank you," he said, "for not leaving last night."

"I didn't do it for you."

"Still. Section 112. The whole row was paying attention to you, and you stayed."

"He got served. I only sat there."

"I saw it. The jacket guy had great timing."

"My lawyer picked him. She hates men in watches."

Declan laughed, short and surprised.

It was the first time I'd heard him laugh without a microphone.

It was lower than I'd expected.

"I owe you an apology for something else," he said.

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