I always walked past the Bistro on my way to work, every day, at about 2:30. Olivia & Bruno’s Bistro was a formal place, white linens draped over the tables as well as the waiter’s arms when they offered wine to patrons. Candlelit tables graced three of the windows along the street and were usually vacant this time of day, but for some reason I noticed that today one was not.

Why I glanced up at the man sitting there, I’ll never know, but why I stopped and stared at him, I will never forget.

He had a face I’d seen before. My mind raced through memories, trying to locate his visage. A scar started above his eyebrow, parted the hair there and continued down his face, splitting his cheek into two halves. Where had I seen it before?

The man saw me staring at him and his eyes locked onto mine, ice cold, sending shivers down my spine. I forced myself to break eye contact and walk, losing myself in the crowd crossing the street.

When I entered the pawn shop where I worked, I saw him, on the wanted poster.

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