Maddy

The Last Drop was busy as hell today, but I was keeping up. I was making lots of espresso drinks, which I didn’t mind since I handled the espresso machine like a pro. It was calming, tamping the coffee grinds, watching the stream of espresso whooshing from the spout and filling cup, frothing the milk, clouds of heat and steam rising to meet me. I even made designs in some of the lattes with the steamed milk if the mood struck.

It also helped that I could take orders and make complicated beverages at the same time, a skill that came in handy during our busiest hours. It came naturally to me, multitasking, and it was rare that I made a mistake. In fact, I didn’t think I’d screwed up a drink since my first week on the job.

We were right smack in the middle of the noon rush that meant customer after customer—a mix of office workers, cops, finance bros, and assorted government workers—all on their way to or from the courthouse, each one with some special request that I fulfilled with a pasted-on smile and a stiff, “Hope to see you again!”

And they always came back.

The place was a staple for people in the neighborhood—a sweet, small hole-in-the wall in downtown Manhattan with pristine bathrooms and killer pastries. The prices were decent, and the staff were—mostly—nice. I figured that was what kept people coming back even though there were plenty of other coffee shops in the area. I liked to think I had something to do with it, too. But that was bullshit.

Being a barista wasn’t a dream job for most, but I liked it and it suited me fine. It passed the time and took my mind off of my other, more stressful, jobs. And I didn’t feel too bad about slinging coffee since I was freshly twenty-five—I figured there were worse ways to spend my days. It wasn’t like I’d been one of those kids who grew up dreaming about being a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. Not like that would have ever been a possibility for me. The idea was enough to make me laugh.

And with a boss like Georgia Tompkins, I couldn’t complain at all. Even now she was right beside me taking orders even though she owned the place, both of us moving around so fast behind the counter it was a wonder we didn’t crash into each other, but that never happened. We were good at coexisting in the small space and had long ago established patterns of movement that the other understood and had quickly adapted to.

I suspected that Georgia was the real reason the customers loved this place. She was as warm and friendly as ever today, greeting customers with a smile, throwing out interesting comments about the weather, making idle conversation with our regulars. She asked about their kids and the promotions they were up for and chatted with them about weekend plans. She was even a sympathetic ear when something went bad for them at home or at work.

I wasn’t nearly as chatty as Georgia.

The most I did was tack on the “hope to see you again” at the end because Georgia made me—said it softened my interactions with the customers so that they left on a good note even if I was a little dry while I waited on them. I made sure to say it to each and every customer without fail because Georgia was always right, and it worked. No one ever complained about me even though I barely made eye contact and sometimes rushed people out the door.

I wasn’t much of a people person. I never had it in me to be the overly warm and friendly type. Most people that knew me—and there weren’t that many—said I had a terminal case of resting bitch face on my best days.

“So, when are you going to let me take you out?” a finance bro asked just as I handed him his coffee. He was a regular who only ever ordered Americanos, which were so quick and easy to make that I almost appreciated him for it. I appreciated his fawning over me every time he came in a lot less.

I pretended I was thinking it over. “How about never?” I smiled, making sure he could see my canines, and batted my eyelashes.

He clutched at this chest as if I’d struck a blow at his heart, smiled at me, and then backed toward the door. “Thanks for the coffee, Maddy!”

“Hope to see you again!” Jackass.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to say yes once in a while,” Georgia said as she sailed by me with a mug of hot chocolate steaming in her hands. “The guy’s obviously got money. It could mean a whole new life. You could quit this place and do something—anything—else.”

I shook my head at the older woman. “What, you trying to get rid of me? Because I like my job.”

Georgia scoffed. “What? Not at all. You’re the best barista I’ve ever had. You’re young and smart and beautiful. And someone like you shouldn’t have to be making coffee forever.”

I shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a buzzing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone, glanced at it, then slid it back where I got it from before Georgia could take a peek over my shoulder to see the message. My meager smile vanished from my face. Shame. I was having a pretty okay morning so far. “I need to take a bathroom break.”

Georgia nodded distractedly, already busy making another order. “Okay, take your time.”

I locked myself in the restroom and took my phone out again to make a call. I kept it cryptic as the voice on the other end asked me to “handle” something for him. The usual gig.

“Consider it taken care of. But I’m at my day job, and my shift isn’t over until later.”

The reply was emotionless. “There is no later. The senator is on his way to some covert meeting, and we know where it is. This is our one chance to get him. This little coffee front isn’t your real job, Maddy. This is.”

I sighed. “I said I’ll handle it.”

I hung up and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I went for the door. My dark auburn pixie cut was already starting to get a little disheveled, but even with the quickest glance, the turmoil in my sharp green eyes was obvious. I didn’t want to let Georgia down, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. She may be one of the few people in this damn city I genuinely liked.

I washed my hands and left the bathroom and then went back behind the counter where Georgia was ringing up a guy I’d served a few times before—a judge who didn’t talk much and ordered the same thing every day—a vanilla latte and plain croissant.

Once Georgia was finished, I took a deep breath and did what I had to do. “Georgia, I’m sorry, but that was my doctor, been trying to get an appointment with her for months and she says she’s got an opening right now. I hate to do this to you, but…”

Georgia winced. “Oh no, honey! I know how it goes. You go get yourself taken care of. Can’t have my best barista fallen down on the job.”

Lying came so easy to me, but when it came to Georgia, there was always the smallest amount of guilt associated with it. “Yeah, I should be back before my shift is over.”

“Well, then get out of here and go! It’s still busy, but I can manage without you for a couple of hours. Your health comes first, Maddy.”

“Thanks, Georgia! You’re the best.”

And I’m the worst.

I grabbed my backpack and slipped out. The sun was shining, but I barely noticed, too busy trying to get my head in the game. I walked a few blocks and then stopped on a side street near the South Street Seaport. I was looking at the tracking on my phone, following a moving icon.

I scanned the area, checked the doorways, looked behind me to make sure there was no one around me. I pushed down that familiar nervous feeling I always got at times like this no matter how many times I did this.

I hate having to work two jobs and lie to Georgia, who’s been nothing but kind to me. But it’s not like I can turn down Dante. I owe him so much. He’s been like a father to me.

I sucked it up. This was my life, and it was fine—or at least as fine as it would ever be.

I spotted a man up ahead walking at a fast clip. I looked down at my phone, noticed the icon moving in the same speed and direction.

It was him.

I stayed hidden and watched him approach someone standing on a deserted dock. The man he was meeting wore a trench coat—kind of on the nose—with the collar flipped up so that I couldn’t make out any of his features. I watched as the senator handed something to Trench Coat Guy, who then pressed his hat down lower on his head and took off without a backward glance.

The senator stood there for a moment, watching the other man leave. The senator wasn’t dressed as smartly as the other guy, so I could see his face clearly. He spun around slowly, trying to make sure that no one else was nearby.

In my hiding place, I felt eerily calm. I took a breath, counting to three. The Maddy from the sweet little coffee shop didn’t exist here. I was Madeline Archer. This is who I really am. Professional. Collected.

….Murderer

This is it.

I pulled out my gun and fired.