After driving away from the school, Locke called Mrs. Helen Stacy to inform her that he would be taking Gwen out for dinner that evening.
In the eyes of both Mr. and Mrs. Stacy, Locke's image was impeccable.
This was a good thing.
Locke intended to keep it that way.
"See?"
Locke put his phone down and glanced at Gwen in the passenger seat, waving the device slightly. "Auntie Helen said it's fine."
Gwen looked out at the passing scenery. "This isn't the way to Fifth Avenue."
Locke took a direct right onto the George Washington Bridge, plunging straight into rural New Jersey on the other side of the Hudson River. After crossing the bridge, he made a sharp U-turn to the right and arrived at a pier on the riverbank.
"There!"
Locke pointed toward a floating restaurant docked at the pier, looking at Gwen with a smile. "I changed my mind. That's where we're eating tonight."
Gwen stared at the floating restaurant, her mouth falling open.
Chester's Lovers' Restaurant.
Gwen definitely knew about this place. Rumor had it the head chef was a winner of a major national award in the United States. More importantly, Helen and George had been trying to find a time to come here for a romantic getaway for ages.
However...
The restaurant operated strictly on a reservation system. Since six months ago, George had been trying to book a table, only to be told that the earliest opening wasn't until next March.
"...How did you get a reservation here?"
The gloom in Gwen's heart vanished as she stepped out of the car. Her eyes shifted through a spectrum of emotions: thirty percent surprise, thirty percent delight, thirty percent curiosity, and ten percent shy hesitation. "It's notoriously difficult to get a seat at Chester's."
"Is it?"
Locke smiled, closed the car door, and looked at Gwen. "Then that means we've come to the right place, doesn't it? After you."
Gwen: "..."
Chester's had two floors with only forty tables in total, serving just eighty guests per day across staggered time slots. The restaurant was actually quite large, but the limited seating ensured a high-quality dining environment for every patron.
Locke's reserved seat was in a prime location on the second floor, offering a perfect view of Manhattan across the Hudson.
"Seriously."
Gwen looked at Locke with intense curiosity. "The New York Daily reported on this a few days ago—apparently even Tony Stark, that famous playboy from Stark Industries, tried to cut the line and failed. How did you do it?"
Locke shrugged. "Would you believe me if I said I started the reservation a year ago?"
Gwen rolled her eyes.
However...
Even when a beauty rolls her eyes, it's a sight to behold.
Suddenly, Gwen's eyes lit up, and she pulled her phone from her bag.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking pictures, obviously."
"..."
Locke watched as the other women entering the restaurant pulled out their phones to snap photos, some even sending videos to friends to show off. He blinked as Gwen did the same, documenting every corner of the establishment.
Indeed.
Even in an alternate world, women shared many common traits.
Gwen scrolled through the photos she had just taken and looked at Locke. "If I send these to my mom, she'll be in total disbelief. She'll be so jealous."
Locke went silent for a moment. "Maybe don't send them."
Gwen asked curiously, "Why?"
Locke said calmly, "The next time I go to the firing range, George will turn me into a target."
What kind of restaurant was this?
Chester's Lovers' Restaurant. The chef's name, Chester, wasn't the point; the "Lovers" part was the key.
George could accept that Locke and Gwen were "more than friends but less than lovers," but he definitely wouldn't accept them being in a "Lovers' Restaurant" relationship. Furthermore, since George had been pining for a reservation he couldn't get, he'd definitely drag Locke to the range if he found out.
Gwen seemed to realize this as well, giving Locke a playful, knowing look. "Then can you at least tell me how you got this table?"
Locke smiled but said nothing.
Gwen blinked and nudged Locke with her elbow, her expression silently pleading for him to spill the secret.
Just then.
"Hahaha!"
A boisterous laugh erupted from nearby. A man with a thick, heavy beard—who looked less like a chef and more like a mob cleaner—approached them. It was the man himself, Chester. He looked at Locke and shouted, "You little brat! Get over here. I was wondering how long you were going to be in New York before you finally came to see me!"
Gwen's mouth fell open.
Locke shook his head and stood up to embrace Chester, who was built as solid as a bull. "Old man, you still holding up?"
"I've got money!"
Chester's eyes widened. "When you've got money, how can your health be bad?"
With that, Chester's gaze fell upon Gwen, and he shot Locke a series of meaningful winks.
Locke smiled and introduced her. "Gwen Stacy, a classmate from Midtown High. This is Clint Chester, the owner of this establishment."
Gwen stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hello, Mr. Chester."
Chester laughed loudly. "Hello, Gwen! Any friend of this little brat is a friend of mine."
Gwen smiled and glanced at Locke. Since she couldn't get the answer from him, she decided to ask Chester. "Mr. Chester, how do you and Locke know each other?"
Locke and Chester exchanged a glance and shared a smile.
Gwen was confused.
Chester's white beard quivered like a coach's as he spoke. "Didn't Locke tell you he was the best young cowboy in our part of Texas?"
Gwen nodded. Locke had mentioned it, but this was New York, not the Lone Star State.
Chester said, "This little brat? I'm the one who raised him and showed him the ropes."
A look of sudden realization dawned on Gwen's face.
Locke stood by with a smile.
That was indeed the truth.
But Chester had omitted a very important detail.
Besides being the mentor who guided Locke to become the youngest cowboy in Texas, he was also Locke's mentor on the path of an assassin. He was, in essence, Locke's tutor in the trade of killing.
After all, while the assassin business might seem easy to enter, it was extremely difficult to survive in.
Locke always claimed to be a professional assassin, not a "fast-food" tool like Wesley; this was the reason why.
A true assassin didn't just come out of some organizational factory.
In the old days, it was a master-apprentice system, taught hand-to-hand. Locke's initial intelligence sources and job pipelines were legacies inherited from Chester before the man retired.
Very few people knew that Locke was the Peerless Assassin.
Chester was one of them. In fact, he was the one who acted as the recommender to help Locke register his account at the Continental Hotel.
***
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