“If he’s working with others, one could still be in here.”

Addis looked all around the crowded restaurant. Latino toughs, young professionals, boisterous Cubanos. He saw several candidates. Rolando passed by.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “The table’s no good?”

“Muy bueno,” Addis said. “But we need a favor.”

He spoke so low that Lancette could not hear him. Rolando whispered back. Then Addis said something else.

“No problem,” Rolando replied, louder than necessary. “You go dance.”

Addis grabbed Lancette by the hand. “Let’s go,” he said. “Upstairs. Dancing.” He placed an arm around her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He stared straight into her eyes. “Upstairs.”

Rolando led them to the stairs. There was a disco on the floor above. They could hear the salsa music.

“I’ll keep the food hot for you,” Rolando said. “Have a dance. It will be ready for you when you come back.” He was still talking loudly.

They entered the dancing area. It was long and narrow, lined with cheap wood paneling. A mirror ball hung from the ceiling. The beat of the music banged loudly. Several men stood by the bar. They each wore gold chains and shiny shirts that showed off hairy chests. The dance floor was full.

Addis took her hand again. Don’t ignore how it feels, he told himself. He guided her through the dancers, to the back of the room, and through a door that led to a storage area that held cartons of beer, wine, and rum. He closed the door. He moved six cases of beer that were stacked against a wall. Behind them was a dumbwaiter.

“You’re fucking kidding,” she said.

They heard the compartment moving in the wall. Then it stopped. Addis opened the door to the dumbwaiter.

“Get in,” he said.

Lancette shook her head.

“It can handle the weight. This is how they bring the booze up here. Rolando has his two nephews in the basement running the thing. The parking kid is bringing the car around to the back. Get in.”

“This is nuts,” she said.

“We’ll discuss other options later,” Addis said. He put his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away. “Nuts,” she repeated. She took a breath and let it out slowly: “Okay.”

Lancette squeezed into the dumbwaiter and crouched on her knees. Her bag was between her legs. The floor was moist. The air was dusty. She coughed. Her hair fell in front of her face. “I feel like a jack-in-thebox,” she said.