She was there right on time, pushing through the door of the coffee shop at two minutes 'til 3:00. Although James expected to be at work in an hour and half, she didn't look much like a dancer at the moment. A hooker or a club brat, perhaps. The dark sea of her hair was teased and curled, looking more like a disco mane than anything. There were hoops in her ears and some silver ribbon corkscrewed through the hairspray-stiff coils of her hair. Despite the dramatic shadows over her eyes, she was dressed casual. Slim bluejeans and an ancient gray tee shirt that proclaimed Jersey Girls Do It Better in a fine, calligraphic script.
James didn't know who she was looking for, and there were a good half dozen patrons standing in line for coffee, another quartet of customers taking up tables as they sipped their chosen poisons. Several people looked up from their drinks or their magazines when she walked in the door, but that was to be expected. People were always looking at her, always watching her. She considered a couple of tables before stepping up to the counter and ordering an iced black coffee with raspberry. While the barista worked on her drink, James put her back to the counter and turned on the room again before simply calling out, "I'm looking for eleven-oh-six?"