She sighed as the woman cheerily left. "See you next time!"<br/><br/>Rodge followed behind and locked the door. Putting the keys back into the apron she cleaned up the little table, the empty plate of sticky baklava. As she did Rodge wished she had asked the woman where her tour took off from so she could see it, Rodge was a skeptic and didn't particularly like that kind of thing, yet she found herself wondering if the woman would ever return again.<br/><br/>Rodge lost that thought and all others in fulfilling her closing-duties. Turning off the ovens and burners, putting away the sauces and garnishes, putting up the chairs, sweeping and moping, she made herself a cup before she dumped out the last of the coffee, then cleaned the last of the dishes, which was the baklava dish. Which made Rodge think of Moreta again.<br/><br/>"There was something about her..." Rodge decided it wasn't the 20's get-up after all. Yet, she couldn't put her finger on it.<br/><br/>Money in the safe, tips in her apron, then Rodge let herself out the back door. She wore a long coat over her uniform. She didn't want to look like a server so late at night. She had promised Andross that someone would be picking her up, but that was a lie. Firstly, no one she knew would be willing to do that, and secondly Rodge felt as though she could handle herself. It wasn't even<span style="font-style: italic">late</span>by London standards. She headed to the nearest Tube station.<br/><br/>The night was clear with a small bite on the wind. If something odd was going on Rodge wouldn't notice at first. In America it was particularly offensive to pay attention to what strangers were doing on the subway, and blank tired expressions were not an uncommon site on the late night trains.