Manning a booth seat against the memorabilia-laden wall while I enjoyed a meal of pepper steak with fresh broccoli and mushroom risotto. Took a look at the time on my phone while I drank from my glass of water. Was in the right city. Right time. Wrong location. Just trying to put things back on my terms. My instructions were to meet with the mystery man by the water taxi on the canal here in Bricktown. But I wanted a good steak, so I sent some poor schmuck to summon him to me instead. Told my messenger to look for a pompous, gangly asshole who looked like he was used to giving orders. Dressed differently than when he first met me, I motioned him over when he entered the restaurant. Seeing the pissed look on his face brought joy to my soul. While I wore a sun visor, T-shirt, and cargo shorts, he was in jeans and a button down with Ray-Bans shielding his eyes. Had a folded newspaper under his arm that I hoped didn’t contain a gun. Something unusual happened as he approached. The pictures on two of the TVs above the bar developed static when he walked by.
