touchofhell:
“Good.”
Neel noted Moe’s confidence. Despite her quiet demeanour, she didn’t seem to shy away. She would certainly need to maintain that attitude once richer, more particular clients come her way.
The waiter returned, plates in hand. Their meals were placed before them and Neel’s stomach silently gurgled in agreement. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something substantial. Was it yesterday? Perhaps even the day before? He didn’t wish to think too hard about it.
He offered his thanks to the waiter. Before Neel had a chance to pick up his fork, he overheard a commotion outside the restaurant doors. Though the sound was muddled, he could pick up the distinct rage laced in the man’s voice. Neel gave a curt sigh through his nose.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said to Moe, pulling his cane to his side as he stood. The bodyguard he had brought along was stationed by the door and soon his voice cut off the enraged man’s. Another shout. Then silence. Neel froze where he stood, hoping his bodyguard would walk through the door, tell him the problem was dealt with. As luck would have it, a drunken mess stumbled in instead.
“You mother f-fucker,” spat the man. It didn’t take Neel long to realize who he was.
“Mr. Cain,” Neel said flatly. A former client, Thomas Cain. He had always been an angry man, but had taken it too far one night when he nearly killed one of Neel’s escorts. Of course, she attacked in self defence, almost severing Cain’s eye with a piece of glass. Cain had been taken away by the police and hospitalized, but his presence made it clear he had received no sentence.
Moe began to eat her food while he isn’t looking-- a little disappointed that the lobster had come as a set of tails, open and ready to eat. She picked one up with her hands-- he wasn’t looking, anyway-- and began to eat up the meaty contents.
Her sloppy eating isn’t disturbed by the presence of the drunken man, but she does set the half-eaten tail down and begin to clean her hands. He’s obviously disturbing their dinner with the commotion he’s causing. It’s enough for her to clear her throat. She directs her gaze to the drunken man, calling to him:
“Is there a problem, Mister?”
