“Kemp,” Sinclair growled, snapping Kemp out of his reverie. “You’re off somewhere again. Want to talk about what’s going on?”
“I…I wish I could but it’s personal and…” Kemp picked up the tray and looked around to see which tables needed bussing.
Sinclair took the tray away from him, setting on the end of the bar. “I’d think we should talk, but in my office.”
“Boss, I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”
“My office,” Sinclair told him as he headed in that direction, not waiting to see if Kemp followed. When they were there Sinclair closed the door saying, “Have a seat.”
Kemp slumped down in the chair, waiting for the axe to drop. Rather than sitting as well Sinclair rested one hip on the edge of his desk as he looked at the young man.
“Perhaps, if you’d tell me what’s got you so distracted I could help you. Has one of the customers been bothering you, or,” he frowned, “one of my people?”
“Oh no, it’s not that,” Kemp hurriedly assured him.
“Does it have to do with why you so suddenly disappeared last year then? Were you in trouble because of…” Sinclair hesitated, apparently not quite certain how to broach the subject.
Kemp looked up at him with a frown. “Because of?”
Sinclair ran a hand through his short, dark hair as he nodded. “I’ve been here for a long time, Kemp. Long enough to know that there’s a lot of things going on in this city that most people are unaware of. A lot of umm, other types of beings here, including vampyres. And before you try to shut me down or tell me I’m crazy I happen to know that you know this too.”
“How?” Kemp whispered agitatedly.
“How do I know you know? First off because you carry two knives with you at all times. Silver ones if I’m not mistaken. And before you deny it I can tell you that you carry one in your boot and the other one sheathed at the back of your waistband.”
“How the hell? Have you been spying on me?” Kemp asked angrily.