Chapter Five

Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant

Little Italy

Manhattan

Tony watched as Mathilda bustled efficiently about the restaurant delivering dishes, refilling drinks, and taking orders. It was a busy night, as they all were at Guido's. It was also Mathilda's 18th birthday. The past couple of years Tony had wanted to throw her parties to celebrate, but she had flatly refused. And as if sensing he might attempt to surprise her instead, she calmly informed him that she would slide a knife between his seventh and eighth ribs, lacerating his liver and causing him to slowly bleed to death. Tony had regarded her for a moment before replying.

"You know, kid, as much as I like you, sometimes you're really creepy." Mathilda had flashed one of those rare smiles and continued on with her work. Tony chuckled to himself at the memory and glanced at the clock. Another couple of hours to go until closing. He wasn't looking forward to this.

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Aegean Restaurant

219 Columbus Ave.

New York City, New York

John Clark, formerly known as John Doe #206318, finished slicing a batch of mushrooms and added them to a pan already containing red onions, olive oil, and an assortment of spices. He expertly flicked the handle, mixing the ingredients, and allowing it to simmer while he checked the order receipt for the next dish he needed to prepare.

John had been working at Aegean for the last couple of months, since his discharge from Franklin. Having been listed as a John Doe for 6 years and a certified amnesiac to boot, he'd essentially been granted a new identity by the government. He'd kept the first name since he was used to it and been assigned the last name Clark, randomly selected from a pool of common surnames. And a social security number had been issued with his new name.

He'd also been provided with transitional living quarters at a halfway house and a job as a dishwasher at a restaurant close by. One night a chef had not shown up for his shift, leaving the culinary manager shorthanded on a Saturday. In desperation, he'd made an announcement to the kitchen, asking if anyone knew how to handle a knife. Before he thought about what he was doing, John raised his hand. He then stared at it in confusion, as if wondering how it had gotten in the air. The manager gave him a speculative once over, then shrugged and pointed to the chopping counter. Tentatively at first, John picked up a knife and started on a carrot. He promptly developed a rhythm and soon picked up a knife in his other hand as well. He learned quickly over the next month and seemed to have a natural feel for blending foods and displaying them on their plates with flair. The manager was so impressed, he took John under his wing as chef-in-training. And John actually liked being around the restaurant, it felt...comfortable.

Business wound down for the night, so John cleaned his area and headed for the halfway house. He couldn't quite think of it as home. He didn't know if he'd ever actually had a home. Somehow, he doubted it.

There was small collection of books in the downstairs office and he'd found one on the Civil War that looked interesting. He read slowly and it seemed he was having to look up every other word in the dictionary, but he was getting better.

Amelia had given him his own copy of the 'Mathilda' movie, but after watching it a few times on the television in the living room, other residents started looking at him like he was some sort of pedophile. So he stuck to reading books in his room. An hour later, he was sitting in the overstuffed chair by his bed, book open in his lap, fast asleep.

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Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant

Little Italy

Manhattan

Mathilda smiled a goodnight as the last customer exited Guido's. She locked the door and flipped the sign to 'CLOSED' before heading to the locker room to change. When she emerged, Tony was sitting at his customary booth and waved her over with a "Hey, kid."

Mathilda slid into the booth. From the expression on his face, she guessed this discussion would not be to her liking and she sat silently, waiting for him to speak. He took a few drags on his cigar before reaching beside him on the seat and pushing a folder in front of her. She eyed it warily and then met his gaze.

"What's that?" she asked. Tony rubbed his palms together nervously and gestured to the folder.

"Open it," was all he said. Mathilda hesitated another moment before complying. The first thing she noticed on opening the folder was paperwork from Chase Manhattan Bank, followed by her name and an account balance in the high six figures. She looked up at Tony.

"What is this for?" she asked. Tony paused a moment before answering.

"Before he died, Leon told me that if anything happened to him, he wanted you to have his money." Mathilda had immediately tensed up at the mention of Leon's name and Tony continued more gently. "Do something with your life, kid. Go to school, find a guy, settle down. Leon would want that for you." Mathilda glared at him angrily.

"How do you know what Leon would want for me?" she demanded. "He would still be here if you hadn't –" She stopped speaking abruptly and crossed her arms over her chest. Tony sat back as if he'd been slapped and stared down at the table. Mathilda took a couple of deep breaths and looked at him. "I'm sorry, I know it's not your fault. They threatened the kids." Tony looked at her in surprise. "Manny told me," Mathilda explained, "about Stansfield crashing the birthday party." She uncrossed her arms, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Leon wouldn't have blamed you. And I don't either. Not really. I just . . .," she paused, then clasped her hands in her lap. "It wasn't fair," she whispered finally.

"I know, kid. Not a lot of things are." Mathilda nodded and eyed the paperwork again.

"That's a lot of money," she commented.

"Leon did good work. Twenty years worth. And he never spent much." With a last nod, she slid the folder to the seat beside her and faced Tony.

"And now for my birthday wish," Mathilda announced. Tony didn't like the sound of that and remembered the chill he felt when she'd mentioned it a few months back. When he didn't respond, Mathilda went on. "I want a job."

"You have a job," Tony responded, willing her not to say what he knew was coming.

"A cleaning job," Mathilda clarified. Tony closed his eyes and pressed a palm against his forehead. When his eyes opened, he pointed a finger angrily at her, flicking cigar ash on the table.

"I'll give you the answer I gave you six years ago – no!" With that, he stood and headed for the back. Mathilda quickly followed.

"Why?" she asked. Tony kept walking, but answered over his shoulder.

"Why?! Why do you think? You're a kid, you're a girl, you have zip experience, pick one!"

"As of today, I'm an adult, my gender can work in my favor, and everyone has to start somewhere."

"The answer is still no."

"You're not the only employer in town, Tony." That stopped him in his tracks. He turned to face her.

"What are you talking about?"

"I haven't worked here two years without seeing and hearing quite a lot. If you won't hire me, someone else will." She was serious. Tony knew it. Now what to do about it? He leaned against the wall and sighed deeply.

"Why, kid? Why do you want to do this? You're smart, you have a bright future ahead of you. You could do anything." Mathilda scoffed.

"Like what? Lawyer, doctor, teacher? Nine to five with a briefcase? Not interested. I was trained for something else, trained by the best. And I intened to make the most of that training." She crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Kid... damn it!" Frustrated, Tony ground out his cigar on one of the table ash trays and ran a hand over his head. "Okay, how about a compromise?" She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips.

"Such as?"

"Surveillance," Tony suggested. Mathilda didn't answer right away, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she nodded.

"All right, it's like the mail room before the board room. I can accept that." Tony didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that she was being agreeable. Now how to stall until he could talk her out of this foolishness...