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I sent the more seductive picture followed by another message.
ME: Oops, I forgot the tape.
Then I called and booked the private room Evan and I had used that first night.
His return text came quickly.
MARTIN: Can’t wait to unwrap my present.
* * *
I mademy way inside DiMaggio’s with a large bag slung over my shoulder. This time, I fit in with the upscale crowd, and the only glances I got were admiring.
I gave my name to the hostess and pointed him out. The picture had done its trick and he was early, sitting at the bar with a half-empty drink in hand.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” Martin said. “I read that you left him. Good move. He’s a loser.” That was the refrain I’d heard right before I broke his foot.
“I booked the private room upstairs,” I explained. “It’s more intimate.” Nothing about this weasel made me want to smile, but I forced one anyway.
We followed the hostess upstairs, and they had the table set up as I’d requested—rectangular with place settings opposite each other on the long sides.
“Albert will be your server this evening. He will be right with you.” the hostess said before closing the door.
“I’m very glad you called,” Martin said again, lifting his eyebrows. “You look great, by the way.”
“Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon,” I answered with my best acting smile. Actually I’d been nervous as hell. Everything hinged on the next few minutes. I pulled the bottle from my bag. “Would you like a drink?”
His face scrunched up, and he lifted his glass. “I’m working on this.”
Twisting the bottle so he could see what it was, I poured some into his empty wine glass. “I hear this has a real kick.”
His eyes narrowed as he took in the label. “No thanks.”
“Go ahead. It’s a real man’s drink.”
“I said no. Maybe you’d like some.”
“I prefer tequila.” I pulled out the first piece of paper he wasn’t going to like and slid it across to him.
He started reading and quickly slid it away. “What is this?”
“My super is a retired NYPD detective. He’s been very helpful, by the way. Anyway, he knows people at the crime lab. That’s the report on this bottle. It contains GHB.”
He shrugged. “What?”
The door opened and Albert joined us, but instead of asking about drinks, he stood against the wall.
“It’s a date-rape drug,” I said. “And don’t pretend you don’t know what that is.”
Martin stood. “We’re done here.”
“Sit down, please.”
Instead of sitting, he walked toward the door.
Albert blocked the exit and crossed his arms. “The lady said sit.”
Martin froze in place.
