Free The Council of Shadows by S. M. Stirling

“You loco ?”
    â€œI had dinner here once. An anniversary, the last one before Julia divorced me and went off to Bali to Find Herself.”
    Cesar snorted. “You can’t find yourself in New Mexico, you aren’t going to find anything different in Cincinnati or damn Bali.”
    â€œYeah. But the food was actually pretty damn good.”
    â€œJesus, if lunch is like this, what’s dinner for two cost?”
    â€œAbout the price of a trip to Paris.” Salvador grinned and read the small print: “And the ham sandwich has green chile aoili, ciabatta, aged Wisconsin Gouda—”
    â€œIt’s still twenty-five dollars for a fucking ham sandwich. Okay, a ham and cheese. I don’t care if the butter was made from the Virgin’s milk.”
    â€œCan I help you?” a young woman in a bow-tie outfit said, opening the door. “Lunch doesn’t start seating until—”
    They flashed their badges. “The manager, please.”
    That brought the manager out quickly. “I’m Mr. Tortensen—”
    After the introductions the manager showed them through to his office, though Salvador felt as if half the contents of his wallet had vanished just stepping over the threshold of the front door into the pale Taos-style interior. Even the office was stylish. The man was worried, brown-haired, in his thirties, lean to the point of emaciation, and licking his lips.
    What sort of restaurant manager is skinny ? Salvador thought. Well, probably this far up the scale the customers don’t like to think eating can make you fat.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Officers?” he said.
    Salvador leaned back in the chair. He knew he could be intimidating to some. People who’d led sheltered lives particularly. He didn’t have to do anything, even if they were people who’d consciously think of him as something they’d scrape off their shoe on a hot day.
    â€œYou had two guests at dinner yesterday,” he said. “From a little after five thirty to seven thirty. Ellen Tarnowski and Adrienne Brézé. I’d like some details.”
    The man started very slightly; then his mouth firmed. “I’m afraid our clients’ confidentiality is—”
    Cesar cut in smoothly: “Ms. Tarnowski’s house burned down last night, and there’s suspicion of arson. Her car was found and towed from a parking spot not too far from here. We have independent confirmation that she was here last night, and she’s a missing person with this as her last-known location.”
    Salvador nodded. “So we’d really appreciate your cooperation in this arson and possibly kidnapping investigation.”
    The manager started; short of shouting terrorism it was about the best possible way of getting his attention.
    â€œLet me make a few calls,” he said, pulling out his phone.
    Cesar worked on his notepad. Salvador crossed his arms on his chest and enjoyed watching the manager sweat as he tried to get back to his routine. People came in to talk to Mr. Tortensen about purchasing and things that probably made perfect sense. At last a harassed-looking man in his early twenties came in; he was slimly handsome, but looked as if he really wasn’t used to waking up this early. Which, with a night-shift job like waiting tables, he might not be.
    â€œAh, this is Joseph Morales, Officer,” Tortensen said. “He had A-seventeen . . . their table . . . last night.”
    Maricón , Salvador thought; clinically, he wasn’t bothered by them.
    There had been one he knew who was an artist with a Javelin launcher. He could put a rocket right through a firing slit, which has a good dirty joke in it somewhere.
    â€œPleased to meet you,” Morales said to the policemen with transparent dishonesty, but he was at least trying to hide it. “How can I help you?”
    The restaurant manager started to speak, and Salvador held up a hand.