“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.
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