Downtown

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Michael was telling the blonde he’d never been in this part of the city. In fact, he’d been to New York only twice before in his entire life. Hadn’t strayed out of the midtown area either time.

“But here you are now,” the blonde said, and smiled. “All the way downtown.”

She was wearing a smart tailored suit, gray, a white silk blouse with a stock tie. Briefcase sitting on the empty stool to her right. He figured her for someone who worked on Wall Street. Late business meeting—it was now seven o’clock—she’d stopped off at the bar here before heading home. That’s what he figured. She was drinking Corona and lime. He was drinking scotch with a splash.

The place looked like an old saloon, but it probably wasn’t. Etched mirrors, polished mahogany and burnished brass, large green-shaded lamps over the bar, smaller versions on all the tables. There was a warm, cozy feel to the place. Nice buzz of conversation, too. Through the big plate-glass window facing the street, he could see gently falling snowflakes. This was Christmas Eve, a Tuesday night. It would be a white Christmas.

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