With the steaming plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and biscuits arrayed before me, I drew in a sample of the mingling aromas. Instantly, my mouth watered as I rubbed my hands together. A slow breath rushed through my lips as I tore into my breakfast, slathering the first piece of buttered toast with strawberry jam. After biting into the sweet and creamy goodness, I sped through the last remaining footage of the previous night.
When I caught up to the live feed, I popped the last bit of toast into my mouth. And with that, I’d confirmed nothing had happened with the building in the last seventy-two hours, give or take a few. As the worthless feed continued mocking me, I pulled the plate laden with eggs closer to me and began slicing through them, spilling the yolks across the porcelain surface. With a false grin, I ripped a biscuit in half and sighed.
I dipped the fluffy bit of bread into the yellow pool, scooping up a small portion of it. As two thin streams raced for the impromptu utensil’s edge, I shoved the laden morsel into my mouth, smiling as the buttery flakes of biscuit melded with the richness of the yolk. While my tastebuds were enjoying the complex flavors, I made a mental note to encourage Matt to choose a steak house for that dinner.
Despite being presented with worthless footage, I made sure I skimmed every second, even the bit I thought was going to provide me with a brief insight. Unfortunately, the supposed motion I saw while talking with Matt was nothing more than a trick of the light. Chasing that simple illusion cost me some sleep, but it shouldn’t affect me too much. When the last bit of the egg and biscuits tumbled down my mouth, I grabbed a piece of bacon. Between bites of the crispy strip, I witnessed the first signs of movement.
The warehouse door swung open, and six men marched out, carrying a collapsable table and folding chairs. I dropped the remaining bit of bacon and leaned forward, licking my fingertips as I studied them. Where had they come from? Did Dempsey convert a portion of the building into a barracks? After a few moments, I dismissed those questions and others as foolish. In the end, it didn’t matter if he’d converted a small section into a temporary home for some of his men. More importantly, it meant he’d already stocked the building with everything needed for the tournament.
As I chased the looming questions from my mind, the only one that lingered concerned their apparel. Even though anyone could have a nice suit, these employees were exceptionally well dressed. While they wore formal clothing, none of them could pull off the look. Given the quality of their garments, it was apparent they didn’t dress like this normally. However, despite wearing unfamiliar clothing, they quickly arranged the table, the accompanying chairs, and even a miniature bookshelf I’d missed under the direct supervision of the largest lackey. Given the man’s brutish stature, it was fairly evident how he’d risen in Dempsey’s ranks.
The aroma wafting up from my remaining breakfast teased me, but I couldn’t rip my eyes away from the flurry of motion. While this footage simply created new questions, it was a far cry more than what I’d had when I woke. When the formally dressed thugs finished their work, four of them walked back inside, leaving their supervisor and another block of muscle behind to wait, presumably for the attendees. They promptly sat down and started talking to each other.
Instantly, I slapped my forehead. One of these days, I was going to have to figure out how to add audio to this system. But in the meantime, I had a few things to take care of before heading out. I quickly wolfed down the last of my meal and promptly took a hot shower before removing the stubble from my face. As I slipped into my persona and the accompanying ensemble, I reviewed the footage, grinning when I confirmed Dempsey’s doormen were the only people there.
While I slipped the cufflinks into my shirt, the first attendee stepped into view. In stark contrast to Dempsey’s men, this fellow knew how to wear his immaculate suit. From his haircut to his shoes, this man oozed money. As I watched him interact with the doormen, a low whistle sliced through the suffocating silence. My hand reached for the briefcase containing my entrance fee. When my fingers brushed the luxurious leather, I was glad I had insisted on purchasing something gaudy to carry the fee.
By the time I finished getting ready, a dozen attendees arrived, and I watched the same repetitive script. The player would step up to the table and offer their fee to the muscle on the right, while they addressed the seemingly brash supervisor. After a brief exchange, he would rise and lumber around the table to pat down each guest, male or female. Obviously, Dempsey wanted to ensure his people held the metaphorical higher ground.
With a halfhearted laugh, I shoved everything into place and left the room. “It’s time to get started.”
As I rounded the corner of the warehouse, Dempsey’s doormen locked eyes with me, sending a shiver down my spine. I wanted to stop and study both sets of eyes, but given who I was pretending to be, I rolled my head and strolled toward them. When I reached the table, I placed my gaudy briefcase onto the sturdy plastic table, gripping the handle with both hands.
Despite not studying their gazes, I was able to survey their body language. Even though I noted their unease from the video in person, that discomfort was amplified. And after another second’s scrutiny, the quality of their garments snapped into focus. The feed had provided me with enough details that I knew their clothing was exceptional, but standing before both, I realized how immaculate their tuxedos were. While it’s true, the addition of formal wear will elevate anyone, there are some like these two hulking brutes who should stick to wearing simple suits. It wasn’t worth the expense to reach for this level of quality.
As a silence wound amongst us, I dismissed the trappings these two men wore. Like me, they were playing a part. Unlike me, the only layer for their guise was their clothing. In all honesty, I don’t think there was any danger that’d fool anyone. Their harshness bled through their disguise with every motion. No one would confuse these brutish thugs for gentlemen. Don’t get me wrong, the clothing did wonders to obfuscate a lot. But every motion promised they were not only ready but more than capable of inflicting harm in an instant. There wasn’t enough finery in the world to camouflage these two as anything other than what they were. These gentle thugs proved my point about anyone owning a nice suit.
The man to my left shrugged, and the motion threatened to rip the sleeves from his coat. “This is a private event. Without an invitation, you’ll have to leave.”
“I have one,” I said, reaching into my coat.
In the blink of an eye, both men produced guns, thrusting them toward me.
I’m loathed to admit it, but in that moment a squeak filled the air, and I was the source of the undignified sound. As I forced my lungs to draw in a fresh breath, my eyes started flickering between the firearms as I kept my hand where it was. “I’m reaching for my invitation.”
“Make sure that’s all you’re doing,” the supervisor said as he rose to his feet.
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