Blood Money (chapters twenty five and twenty six.) (standard:Suspense, 3677 words) [13/18] show all parts
Author: Hulsey	Added: Sep 28 2011	Views/Reads: 2008/1557	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Continued.

25 

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK. Embarking from the greyhound bus, Schofield wearily
trundled through the late afternoon drizzle towards the cafe, his 
meagre possessions contained in his holdall. It had been a long, 
tedious ride, but his recollection of the brochure on the dressing 
table of Peebles had prompted his journey. 

Having fled through a bathroom window of the British Embassy, Schofield
felt safe, having left the state of Florida. He doubted that De Vries 
would render him significant enough to divert his quest for the two 
Asians. 

On entering the near deserted café, he was greeted by a pretty, smiling
waitress. “Good afternoon, Sir. Take a seat and I'll be with you in a 
moment.” 

Schofield sat at the bar and watched the slim waitress, serving soft
drinks to the four pool-playing youths, accompanied by the music of 
Linkin Park. He could not but help gaze at her long, slender legs. 

Unanimous portraits of baseball stars adorned the cream walls, along
with several posters, depicting the sites of New York. 

The smiling waitress returned. “Sorry about that. Now what's it to be?” 

“You have bacon and eggs?” 

“Sure we do. Sunny side up?” 

Schofield nodded. “And coffee.” 

“Coming right up... Say, you're not from around here are you?” 

“I'm English.” 

“Wow! Well welcome to Brooklyn, Sir... Bacon and eggs coming up.” 

Schofield noticed that the pretty redhead's blue eyes were occasionally
locked on him in an amorous sort of way. Although he felt flattered 
that this girl, who couldn't have been more than eighteen was making 
eyes at him, he also suspected that she acted this way with the 
majority of the customers. 

She returned with the bacon, eggs and coffee and leant on the bar. “If
you don't mind me asking, why are you here? I mean, here in Brooklyn?” 

The hungry Englishman shovelled a mouthful of bacon into his mouth. “I'm
looking for friends.” 

The girl fluttered her eyelashes and giggled. “I'll be your friend.” 

Schofield returned the smile. 

“So where do your friends live?” quizzed the waitress. 

Schofield swallowed a mouthful of the coffee. “That's just it, I don't
know.” 

“You don't know where they live? Gee, maybe I could help.” 

“I doubt it,” said Schofield. 

“So what's your friend's names?” 

Schofield searched his mind, again, recalling the name used to hire the
car in Florida. “Singh.” 

“Singh? He's Indian?” 

“No, well not... Forget it,” sighed Schofield, resuming his assault on
his food. 

“Probably lives in Midwood,” offered the waitress.” 



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