“I assure you, I asked for lemon. Lemon. This is not lemon.”
“...and I don’t know why you even asked me here, if you just wanted to tell me that....”
“If I say yes, have the cheesecake, and you can’t get into that dress on Friday, somehow it’ll be my fault.”
It was all background noise, and Finch treated it as such. Tuned it out mostly, though he retained an attentiveness for anything that might be a cause for concern, and let his eyes wander the restaurant while making it look like innocent curiosity.
A diversion for a man eating alone.
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
He didn’t jump, and was rather pleased with himself over it. He did look up at John, and frowned at the impertinent smirk he received in return.
“What would you recommend?” he asked, waspishly. Only three weeks into their working relationship and he’d already seen that Reese was a pusher of boundaries.
“The duck’s good.”
“The duck-” Harold closed his eyes briefly. Another thing he’d observed was that his new employee was very good at inducing migraines. “There isn’t duck on the menu, Mr. Reese.”
“No? I’ll have a word with the management.”
Harold closed his menu with a snap. “Salad.”
“Would sir like anything to drink?”
Harold stared at him until John tucked the order pad back into his apron. “I hope you don’t expect a tip.”
He watched John head to the kitchen. A little more time to organise a more suitable cover would have been preferable, but since their latest number – the restaurant owner/manager – virtually lived out of the establishment the odds of him getting into trouble anywhere else were minimal.
But the restaurant’s high staff turnover had been an opportunity – and possibly a clue – that couldn’t be ignored. So it really had been the best possible way of infiltrating their number’s daily routine and investigating that peculiarity.
All the same, other than his deliberate misbehaviour at his table, Finch had to admit John made sure he looked and acted the part with every customer. If he wasn’t careful, the restaurant manager might offer John a permanent job here – provided he wasn’t a perpetrator rather than a victim. If that proved to be the case, the man’s opinion on Mr. Reese might go sharply downhill.
Still, Harold was sure his benefits package could easily surpass anything Elliot Baxter could offer John.
Baxter himself appeared then from the kitchen. He did a walkthrough of the restaurant, engaging briefly with this diner or that one, appearing every inch the affable boss. It was off somehow, though – perhaps in the way his eyes lingered too long on some tables and the way he ignored some staff but put his hands on others to instruct them out of his way.
He passed Harold’s table, and Harold took the opportunity to force pair their phones.
The tactic didn’t yield much in the way of pertinent information, just several texts sent over the course of the past week to someone called Peter L.
Peter L it appeared wasn’t interested in responding. Finch pondered on that and started a reverse directory search on the mobile number. In the meantime, he skimmed through the sent messages and saw why they had gone unanswered.
Also, that Baxter did not like to be ignored.
And of course, he recalled that there had been one Peter Lindstrom among the list of Baxter’s recent ex-employees.
The salad was suddenly set in front of him, and Finch wondered if John had managed to find out anything from eavesdropping among the other staff.
“I don’t suppose,” he started, and trailed off as a young woman with red hair smiled down at him.
“Is there something else you’d like?” she asked.
“Well, you’re not the man who took my order,” he managed. What was Reese up to?
“I’m sorry, he had to speak to the manager. If there’s anything else you need, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”
Finch declined, and felt a surge of frustration as she went to serve at another table. Really, he was in the same establishment as Reese, and he knew less about what the ex-operative was doing than if he was in the library and Reese only connected to him by an open channel.
It didn’t help that he was suddenly concerned. Summoned alone to speak to their number could mean he’d picked up that Reese was perhaps not as experienced at waiting tables as he’d let on. It could be that Reese had spotted something indicative of the threat they were here to resolve and decided to act.
It could be that the manager was the threat in which case Reese might already be in a difficult situation.
Finch picked at the salad, telling himself that Reese was more than capable of defending himself against any peril. It wasn’t as if he could go striding into the staff only section and start opening doors until he found his employee.
And if he stumbled into a physical confrontation between Reese and the manager – well, it would be short lived, for one – he would not be of any real use to the former soldier. More likely he would simply be in the way or prove a distraction for John, having to worry about his safety as well as winning the fight.
All the same, when John didn’t appear again in the next few minutes, Harold found himself quite unsettled. Decided, he got up and walked between the tables and straight through the employees’ only door. He was fortunate that it was a busy night and no one seemed to notice his intrusion.
He found himself in a long corridor with only two doors. The one at the end had an illuminated ‘fire escape’ sign above it. The other was simply a door, and Finch had his fingers wrapped around the handle, ‘I’m sorry, I thought this was the bathroom,’ already on his lips.
Harold shoved the door open and, when he saw who was inside, entered and quickly closed it behind him.
Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (1/3)
“...and I don’t know why you even asked me here, if you just wanted to tell me that....”
“If I say yes, have the cheesecake, and you can’t get into that dress on Friday, somehow it’ll be my fault.”
It was all background noise, and Finch treated it as such. Tuned it out mostly, though he retained an attentiveness for anything that might be a cause for concern, and let his eyes wander the restaurant while making it look like innocent curiosity.
A diversion for a man eating alone.
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
He didn’t jump, and was rather pleased with himself over it. He did look up at John, and frowned at the impertinent smirk he received in return.
“What would you recommend?” he asked, waspishly. Only three weeks into their working relationship and he’d already seen that Reese was a pusher of boundaries.
“The duck’s good.”
“The duck-” Harold closed his eyes briefly. Another thing he’d observed was that his new employee was very good at inducing migraines. “There isn’t duck on the menu, Mr. Reese.”
“No? I’ll have a word with the management.”
Harold closed his menu with a snap. “Salad.”
“Would sir like anything to drink?”
Harold stared at him until John tucked the order pad back into his apron. “I hope you don’t expect a tip.”
He watched John head to the kitchen. A little more time to organise a more suitable cover would have been preferable, but since their latest number – the restaurant owner/manager – virtually lived out of the establishment the odds of him getting into trouble anywhere else were minimal.
But the restaurant’s high staff turnover had been an opportunity – and possibly a clue – that couldn’t be ignored. So it really had been the best possible way of infiltrating their number’s daily routine and investigating that peculiarity.
All the same, other than his deliberate misbehaviour at his table, Finch had to admit John made sure he looked and acted the part with every customer. If he wasn’t careful, the restaurant manager might offer John a permanent job here – provided he wasn’t a perpetrator rather than a victim. If that proved to be the case, the man’s opinion on Mr. Reese might go sharply downhill.
Still, Harold was sure his benefits package could easily surpass anything Elliot Baxter could offer John.
Baxter himself appeared then from the kitchen. He did a walkthrough of the restaurant, engaging briefly with this diner or that one, appearing every inch the affable boss. It was off somehow, though – perhaps in the way his eyes lingered too long on some tables and the way he ignored some staff but put his hands on others to instruct them out of his way.
He passed Harold’s table, and Harold took the opportunity to force pair their phones.
The tactic didn’t yield much in the way of pertinent information, just several texts sent over the course of the past week to someone called Peter L.
Peter L it appeared wasn’t interested in responding. Finch pondered on that and started a reverse directory search on the mobile number. In the meantime, he skimmed through the sent messages and saw why they had gone unanswered.
Also, that Baxter did not like to be ignored.
And of course, he recalled that there had been one Peter Lindstrom among the list of Baxter’s recent ex-employees.
The salad was suddenly set in front of him, and Finch wondered if John had managed to find out anything from eavesdropping among the other staff.
“I don’t suppose,” he started, and trailed off as a young woman with red hair smiled down at him.
“Is there something else you’d like?” she asked.
“Well, you’re not the man who took my order,” he managed. What was Reese up to?
“I’m sorry, he had to speak to the manager. If there’s anything else you need, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”
Finch declined, and felt a surge of frustration as she went to serve at another table. Really, he was in the same establishment as Reese, and he knew less about what the ex-operative was doing than if he was in the library and Reese only connected to him by an open channel.
It didn’t help that he was suddenly concerned. Summoned alone to speak to their number could mean he’d picked up that Reese was perhaps not as experienced at waiting tables as he’d let on. It could be that Reese had spotted something indicative of the threat they were here to resolve and decided to act.
It could be that the manager was the threat in which case Reese might already be in a difficult situation.
Finch picked at the salad, telling himself that Reese was more than capable of defending himself against any peril. It wasn’t as if he could go striding into the staff only section and start opening doors until he found his employee.
And if he stumbled into a physical confrontation between Reese and the manager – well, it would be short lived, for one – he would not be of any real use to the former soldier. More likely he would simply be in the way or prove a distraction for John, having to worry about his safety as well as winning the fight.
All the same, when John didn’t appear again in the next few minutes, Harold found himself quite unsettled. Decided, he got up and walked between the tables and straight through the employees’ only door. He was fortunate that it was a busy night and no one seemed to notice his intrusion.
He found himself in a long corridor with only two doors. The one at the end had an illuminated ‘fire escape’ sign above it. The other was simply a door, and Finch had his fingers wrapped around the handle, ‘I’m sorry, I thought this was the bathroom,’ already on his lips.
Harold shoved the door open and, when he saw who was inside, entered and quickly closed it behind him.