Here is the third chapter in my upcoming new novel in the Finder series. Enjoy!
Chapter 3
For a long moment, Corwin stared back at him, silent and unmoving. His eyes, however… In his dark eyes, Vince saw the battle raging within. Whatever Dent’s sins, Corwin loved his brother. He also loved their mother.
All at once, something broke inside Corwin. The stiffness in his shoulders collapsed as he slumped forward and put his hands on his head. His elbows thumped on the table’s black lacquered surface. In that moment, he looked like what he was—a scared, grieved young man who’d been carrying the weight of the galaxy around on his shoulders for far too long.
“What do I do?” His voice emerged from his throat in a choked whisper. “He can’t—I can’t—”
Vince pushed his half-finished plate aside and leaned forward to rest a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Corwin, you’re a good son. And a good brother.” He paused to let that sink in. “I know how hurt and angry you are. I see it all the time.”
He paused again, a wry smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “And believe it or not, you’re not the first prospective client who’s wanted me to find someone so they could take them out.”
A weak chuckle escaped Corwin. He raised his head, and Vince saw that his dark eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I don’t know what to do, Finder.” He sat up, clearly trying to pull himself back together. “Are you saying you won’t help me? You won’t find him?”
“No.” Vince shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He waited until the young man looked at him again. “What I’m saying is that there’s another way.” He allowed himself another wry smile. “A way that won’t end up with him dead, you in prison for murder, and your momma losing both her sons.”
A spark of hope flared to life in Corwin’s eyes, though he immediately buried it, as though afraid to let it show lest he be disappointed. “Like what?”
“Like—”
“Corwin,” said a stern voice.
Vince and Corwin both glanced to the side, where a short, slight figure had materialized just outside the circle of soft, golden light cast by the lamp hanging over the table. The man moved a little closer, revealing himself to be none other than Mr. Pho himself, the restaurant’s owner.
He gave Corwin a sharp look before fixing his black, steely gaze on Vince. “Is everything all right here, Finder?” He gestured to Corwin. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”
So Mr. Pho knew who he was as well, beyond the casual recognition of an occasional customer. Vince filed that tidbit of information away for future reference, even as he shook his head. “Not at all. Mr. Antwerp here said he was on break and we were just having a conversation.”
“I see.” Mr. Pho’s gaze traveled back to Corwin and lingered, as though he had the vague notion that something was going on and he wasn’t quite sure whether Vince was covering for his employee or not.
Corwin glanced at his wrist before looking up at his boss. “Two minutes, Mr. Pho, and I’ll be back at work.”
Mr. Pho seemed to make his mind up all at once. Nodding once to Corwin, he then addressed Vince. “Please enjoy.”
“I am, thank you.” Vince motioned to his plate. “I always enjoy my meals here.”
Mr. Pho bowed slightly and then vanished into the dim shadows between tables.
“I’ve gotta get back to work.” Disappointment clung to Corwin’s voice. He shook his head slightly. “Don’t know why the old man got antsy. Been one of his best workers for three years.” He slid out of the booth, looking unhappy.
Vince understood. They hadn’t gotten to finish their conversation. He picked up his comlink, held it up for the young man to see. “I’ll give you my comm frequency. Call me this evening and tell me the rest of your story. I meant it when I said there’s another way. Or you’re welcome to come by the office if you want.” He shrugged. “Just thought I’d save you the trip.”
Corwin produced his comlink from his pocket and they exchanged comm frequencies. “I’ll call you.” The young man glanced over his shoulder, as though checking on Mr. Pho’s whereabouts. “I get off at nine.”
“That’ll be fine.” Vince motioned to his table. “When you get a chance, I’d like a pot of tea, please.”
“Sure thing.”
Snapping back into work mode, Corwin strode away from the table into the restaurant’s interior, leaving Vince to consume the rest of his meal in peace. A few minutes later, the young man returned with a tray bearing a teapot, tea cup, and an assortment of sweeteners, which he placed in the center of the table before vanishing again.
Vince poured himself a cup of green tea and then polished off the rest of his dinner in thoughtful silence, letting the gentle ambient music and the buzz of dozens of different conversations eddy around him. He did want to hear the rest of Corwin’s story, though he knew he could probably fill in the missing blanks himself.
As he’d told the young man, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard a story like this. It happened all the time on Zyga Station. All the time. Way more often than the media ever bothered to report.
People tried to escape their drab, dismal lives…and wound up trapped in addictions that dragged them to even lower depths than they’d been when they started. Ruined lives and shattered families abounded.
Vince had seen that same pain and grief in Corwin reflected in dozens of clients over the years. And, just like his other clients, he didn’t want to see Corwin make a mistake that would haunt him the rest of his life—in more ways than one.
Idly, he wondered exactly who Dent owed. That would have an impact on how he, Vince, handled this particular case.
A faint flicker of amusement curled through him. Look at you, he thought. Not even officially on the case and you’re already thinking about the best angle of approach.
Shaking his head at himself, Vince used his last dumpling to soak up the last delightful bit of sauce on his plate. He chewed slowly, savoring the dumpling, and then reached for his tea. When his cup was empty, he tapped the narrow blue rectangle in the center of the table. It was glowing slightly, but brightened at his touch.
A holographic checkout panel sprang to life above his empty dishes, showing him the balance owed for his meal. Vince pulled a credit chip from his wallet, which he kept inside the breast pocket of his favorite brown leather jacket, and inserted it into the holograph. He paid, adding a tip for Corwin, and then rose from the table.
As he wound his way through the restaurant, which was still as full as it had been when he’d first arrived, the Finder reflected that it was still early enough that he had time to drop by the Docking Bay and visit a friend who worked there. He had plenty of time to get back to his office before Corwin’s shift ended.
He wasn’t expecting to be waylaid just before he reached the noodle shop’s exit.