are you getting a vibe?
they meet in brooklyn, because his suit alone costs three thousand dollars and he simply refuses to step foot in hell's kitchen if he can avoid it, at a bistro that appears up and coming if the kombucha on the menu is anything to go off. the conversation is middling; a lot of pleasantries for the most part, some shop talk about a client she has, an update here and there on the latest tracking information he has on kingpin. it's a you scratch my back sort of meeting.
but it does not stay that way.
at some point after he's finished his eggs but before he can see off the last of his coffee, the cafe sudden dims. the noise of scraping knives and forks dies off, no more waiters buzzing around the place in the flotsam jetsam flow of bodies, the kitchen dinging bell falling silent for far too long to simply blame on poor service. it is quiet. too quiet for the breakfast rush.
jessica looks over at him, eyes flicking from the door to the patrons and back, voice low as she looks over the rim of her shitty red plastic cup. are you getting a vibe?
phil dusts his napkin off and sets it across his lap, chewing through his last bite of eggs benedict regretfully. he'd really been enjoying it.
"yes, miss jones, i am. i suspect we've been followed."
