Law of Omertà

Like everything else in the self-proclaimed capital of what was left of the United States of America, the compound's kitchens were underground. Stacked in between the laundry facility and dry goods storage, the cooking areas switched from bustling activity to virtual vacancy in between daily work shifts. A few Charleston residents assigned to specialty tasks could be found here and there at off-peak hours, which was information Tector Murphy was putting to good use.

He paused for a moment at the kitchen doorway and drew in a calming breath. After such a long time acting without thinking first, he was a little amused with his own trepidation and decided to walk in without immediately announcing his presence. The young woman standing at a long metal table in the eastern quarter of the baking galley was intently crimping the edges of a pie crust with her fingers and didn't notice her approaching visitor.

"And just who's been beatin' on you with a Pretty Stick?"

"Hey, you." She looked up and smiled as Tector drew a nearby barstool up the table and sat down. "What brings you down here this time of night?"

"I'm partial to the scenery."

Still smiling, she turned from her pies and handed him a cloverleaf roll plucked from a cooling rack on the countertop behind her.

"Flattery gets you everywhere, doesn't it?"

"Yes ma'am. It certainly does." Tector replied, his mouth full of soft white bread. "How much longer do you figure you'll be working tonight?"

"I just started these. Maybe an hour and a half, but probably closer to two."

"That long?"

"Yeah. I don't think it would be to my benefit to deprive Manchester or the upper echelon around here of their baked goods, do you? "

"Probably not. I'll step on out then and let you work. Maybe you'll stop by when you punch out for the night?"

"You still in the same place?"

"Yeah. You know where to find me. "

"Well, don't wait up or anything." She leaned across the prep table for a quick kiss and slipped another roll into Tector's hand to replace the one he'd just polished off. Using the bottom of her apron, she attempted to dust away the flour that had found its way to the front of his jacket.

Tector tucked the bread into the inner pocket of his jacket and headed out of the kitchen, whistling a breezy tune she couldn't name but had come to recognize as something of a signature element for the Texan she'd recently been spending an awful lot of time with.