Remember When

another story, Lieutenant." He topped off their wineglasses. "Another story entirely."
    The waiter served their antipasto. On his heels the maOtre d' came hurrying back, pulling a waitress by the arm.
    "Tell the signora," he ordered.
    "Okay. I think that maybe I waited on her."
    "She thinks maybe," Gino echoed. He almost sang it.
    "She with a guy?"
    "Yeah. Listen, I'm not a hundred percent."
    "Is it okay if she sits down a minute?" Eve asked Gino.
    "Whatever you like. Anything you like. The antipasto, it's good?"
    "It's great."
    "And the wine?"
    Noting the flicker in Eve's eyes, Roarke shifted. "It's very nice wine. A wonderful choice. I wonder, could we have a chair for..."
    "I'm Carmen," the waitress told him.
    Fortunately there was a chair available as Eve had no doubt Gino would have personally dumped another diner out of one to accommodate Roarke's request.
    Though he continued to hover, Eve ignored him and turned to Carmen. "What do you remember?"
    "Well." Carmen looked hard at the photo she'd given back to Eve. "Gino said it was a first-date thing. And I think I remember waiting on her-them. She was all nervous and giddy like she didn't get out much, and she looked young enough that I had to card her. I sort of hated to do it because she got all flustered, but it was okay because she was legal. Barely. That's why I sort of remember."
    "What about him. What do you remember about him?"
    "Um... He wasn't as young as her, and he was a lot smoother. Like he'd been around some. He ordered in Italian, casual like. I remember that because some guys do and it's a real show-off deal, and others pull it off. He pulled it off. And he didn't stint on the tip."
    "How'd he pay?"
    "Cash. I always remember when they pay cash, especially when they don't stiff me."
    "Can you describe him?"
    "Oh, I don't know. I didn't pay that close. I think he had dark hair. Not too dark. I mean not..."
    She shifted her gaze to Roarke and her eyes skimmed over his hair and would have sighed if they could. "Not black."
    "Uh-huh. Carmen." Eve tapped her on the hand to regain her attention. "What about skin color?"
    "Oh, well, he was white. But he had a tan. I remember that now. Like he'd had a really good flash or a nice vacation. No, he had light hair! That's right. He had blondish hair because it was a real contrast with the tan. I think. Anyway. He was really attentive to her, too. Now that I'm thinking, I remember most times I went by he was listening to her, or asking her questions. A lot of guys-hell, most guys-don't listen."
    "You said he was older than she was. How much older?"
    "Jeez, it's hard to say. To remember. I don't think it was one of those daddy-type things."
    "How about build?"
    "I don't really know. He was sitting, you know. He wasn't a porker. He just looked normal."
    "Piercings, tattoos?"
    "Oh wow. Not that I remember. He had a really good wrist unit. I noticed it. She was in the ladies' when I brought out their coffee, and he checked the time. It was really sharp-looking, thin and silvery with a pearly face. What do they call that?"
    "Mother of pearl?" Roarke suggested.
    "Yeah. Yeah, mother of pearl. It was one sharp-looking piece. Expensive-looking."
    "Would you be willing to work with a police artist?"
    "This is a cop thing? Wow. What did they do?"
    "It's him I'm interested in. I'd like to arrange for you to come down to Central tomorrow. I can have you transported."
    "I guess. Sure. It'd be kind of a kick."
    "If you'd give me your information, someone will contact you."
    Eve plucked an olive from the plate as Carmen carried her chair away. "I love when long shots pay off." She saw the plates of pasta heading in their direction and struggled not to salivate. "Just give me one minute to set this up."
    She pulled out her 'link to call Central and arrange for an artist session. While she listened to the desk sergeant, asked a couple of pithy questions, she twirled pasta on her fork.
    She ended the call, stuffed the pasta in her mouth. "Nadine broadcast the connection."
    "What?"
    "Sorry." She swallowed and repeated the statement more coherently. "Figured she'd make it after talking to Gannon, and that she'd go on air."
    "Problem?"
    "If it was dicey I'd've stopped her. And to give her credit, she'd have let me. No, it's no problem.
    He'll catch a broadcast and he'll know we've got lines to tug. Make him think, make him wonder."
    She stabbed a meatball, broke off a forkful, wrapped pasta around it. "Bobby Smith, whoever the