Frankly, I was lucky the waiter’s jacket fit, and over my holster even. Against all odds, fate favored me to intercept a delivery. Thus, I had politely delivered a phone to the VIP table and gotten quite an earful.

Karma, fickle lady that she is, had the owner so distraught he failed to fail to recognize me. Failure seemed plastered on his mug like bad stage make-up under hot lights.

I made an assumption and fled the scene. I was out one crummy jacket, but I did have a souvenir jacket for my trouble.

Thus, having figured I couldn’t help the lovely Ms. Stone if I tried, I found myself outside the humble abode of my employer. The goon sitting watch in a heavy black sedan was not hard to spot.

He didn’t seem to care when I slipped into the building. Nick didn’t hear me enter. The goon did seem to care when I slipped back out, probably because I was wearing Nick’s extra trenchcoat and hat.

I felt a bit like a goose, but I took off at a wild sprint all the same when that sedan started up with a growl.