As he stepped out of the cap, the click of his shoe echoed against the silent warehouse walls. Even for early April the air off the rivers sent a deep chill through him. He knew he was in the heart of the Bronx. Hunts Point was what you thought of when you thought Bronx: hookers, dealers, the sound of sirens. He had the cabbie wait. If Sara didn’t show he would need him there.
I’m writing this letter to inform you…Coward
…a disturbing and hidden history of fish. SPY!
He has been known to have dozens of fish…it effects every part of his life. Ruined.
He read the letters again and again. They were full of stone cold facts and his blood boiled. He began to wonder why he even though Sara would show up. Their last meeting was less than a happy memory. But exactly fifteen minutes late she arrived, her car splashing through potholes, carelessly unaware.
Behind the wheel, however, Sara knew exactly what was going on. She knew as soon as she hung up the phone with Luke just hours earlier. The address Luke gave her was to the Fulton Fish Market, one of the largest and most important fish markets on the East Coast. She also knew that for years it was run by the mob, and with Luke’s background, she knew he was in trouble. No way Luke would be caught dead in Hunts Point after dark, in daylight for that matter, without a very good reason.
As she walked toward Luke, she tossed a cigarette causally onto the slick concrete. Luke admired her unperturbed demeanor—he didn’t know that was her sixth one on the drive over. As they greeted each other with an embrace, Sara felt Luke’s stomach tighten as he drew in a sharp breath. She could feel his shoulders tightening as he gently pulled away. He stared past her left shoulder with eyes as wide as the bottom of Coke bottles for a split second.
Luke could not believe it. He stared into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen and ever even glanced down at Sara’s cataleptic body.
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