Chapter Two - 'Rough Diamond' Part Two

Continuing my patrol, I make my way through the kitchens, the rest rooms. It’s almost routine.

Almost, but not quite…

I know that, even without my sending Schmidt separately, Romano’s sweepers will have checked the restaurant out before he arrived. But of course, Romano’s enemies know that too. I stick to my routine, working through the premises.

She’s wearing his ring…

So… Romano’s going to divorce Angelina?

Doesn’t seem likely…

Her family would never stand for it…

… surely…?

Nothing flags as untoward. Most of the tables are occupied, only one waiting to be filled, set out already with a Reserved plaque in the centre. Some of the other diners I recognise from previous occasions. La Dolce Vita is popular. It’s clientèle tend to return. A few familiar faces are to be expected. And the ones I don’t recognise seem unremarkable…

… A quiet couple, each scooping pasta with a fork, holding hands across the table...

… A family. He’s rattling continuously on about something I can’t pick out, punctuating his proclamations with the jab of a fork. She wears a strained expression. Two teenage boys look bored witless…

Is that what family life is?

… A pair of women, enough alike that only their apparent ages say they’re mother and daughter.

I take my accustomed post in a niche at the back of the room, seeing without being seen, or at least, without being conspicuous. If anyone should notice me, in my dark suit and tie, they’ll take me for a waiter, or perhaps the floor manager.

From here, I have a view over the entire dining floor, the front entrance, and the swing doors to the kitchens. Legs astride, hands neatly folded, I stand ready.

This is my remit. My duty. What Romano pays me for.

And like this, I can watch… Her…

Katya eats beautifully. Not in the over-fussy way of someone showing off, or of some of those women who’ve been taught how to behave, but tidily, with the air of enjoying her food without being ruled by it. Nor does she limit herself to salad or small portions. Food is a pleasure for her. And she’s relaxed enough with Romano that she doesn’t put on a show over it.

He gulps at his wine. Two glasses already. She sips at hers, swallowing a bare mouthful, seeming to drink more to be polite than because she wants it. Instead, she washes down her meal with sparkling water.

Watching calories?

Health conscious?

Romano takes her hand in his, patting his other hand down on top, smiling and nodding, saying something quiet. She smiles back, the light of love in her eyes.

My stomach roils.

Without meaning to, I find myself inspecting my shoes.

Don’t be fucking ridiculous, man…

You’re a professional…

Behave like one…

Straightening up, I resume my vigil.

The door swings open, a group of half a dozen entering. Young guys, already looking tanked on beer…

Stag party?

… loud as they enter. Stefano escorts them to the empty table. Benito brings menus, takes drinks orders.

The table grows louder, rowdier, one of the party jabbing a finger across to his companions. “So, I fucking told him…”

Other customers turn toward the lout. They don’t pay for this in the background. The yobs continue their yelling, growing louder, more boisterous.

I look to catch Romano’s eye. Katya’s sliding sidelong looks at the table, shifting in her seat. Romano head-jerks me across to handle it.

I stroll across, paint on a polite expression. “Excuse me, but could you lower your voices, please. You’re disturbing the other diners.”

Some turn away, muttering. One grins at me, his speech slurring. “Oh, yeah… Sorry.”

“And mind your language. There are ladies present.”

He waves a hand carelessly. “Just said yes, didn’t I.”

Every syllable oozing sincerity…

I’ve barely turned my back, when, “Anyway he wouldn't fucking shut up, so I…”

This time, moving close in, I lean down, propping myself on a fist beside him, trying not to inhale his alcohol-soaked breath. “I said, calm down. You're upsetting the other customers.”

Loudmouth’s face reddens and he sways back. “Er, yeah. Sure. Sorry.” The group drop their voices and after a moment, I turn away.

From across the floor, Romano beckons me. I make my way across. “Sir?”

He chin-jerks toward the louts. “Problem?”

“I don’t think so. Just had too much booze before they got here.”

He pats Katya’s hand. “You see. Don't you worry about anything. Any more trouble and I'll send Hickman back there after them.” He snorts. “One shot of his ugly face and they'll run a mile.”

The ugly face flushes. “I’ll return to my post then, sir.”

But Katya speaks up. “Don't be so rude, Leone…” Her smile turns on me, her words warm… “Ignore him, Hickman. You're a handsome man, in a rugged kind of way. I think so anyway.”

My throat tightens. “You're too kind, Miss Masterson. I know my looks are against me.”

She blinks. “Really, Hickman…”

A bloom heating my neck, I’m already retreating to the safety of my niche.

Barely half-way across the floor, and it starts up again… “And I told that fucker that if he doesn’t like it, he can…”

And I've had enough. Spinning on my heel, I march back to the table. Emilio’s there before me, looking distressed. “Signori, you must leave.”

Loudmouth’s chair scrapes back as, colouring up, he stands, looming over the much smaller man. “And who's going to make me?”

I stretch an arm against Emilio’s chest, easing him back. “I will. You’ve been asked politely. Will you leave quietly or not?”

He lurches, blasting me with beer-and-whiskey-breath. “We’ve not had our food.”

“And you won’t be getting it. Not here. Now, go. And take your friends with you.”

He hunches. “Well, yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“Good.” I turn toward the door to open it, but as I do, headfirst, he launches himself at me, his forehead impacting the side of my skull with a Crack!

Fuck!

I stagger, ears ringing...

… but through the stars, I grab him by the arm, swinging him around, using his weight to keep me upright as I punch into his gut before, knocking his feet out from under him, he goes down.

The whole thing lasts under five seconds.

And now I’m on top of him, straddling his chest.

There are those out there who would know how to get out of this situation. Loudmouth’s not one of them. Screaming incoherently, he tries to punch up at me, but he’s not got the angle. Instead, with each attempted swing, I rap my knuckles onto his nose, rattling him. “Like I said before, calm down. You’re going nowhere except out of here.”

Spittle flies with his blustering. “Gonna call the fucking cops on you.”

“Be my guest…” I aim a finger up toward the corner and the cyclops eye of the security-camera. “All of that was on CCTV. The police’ll be delighted to see you attacked me first.”.

I glance up toward Emilio, wringing his hands around and around. “How much do they owe?”

The old man shifts from one foot to the other. “They haven’t eaten yet.”

“They’ve had drinks and you’ll have started preparing the food. How much do they owe?”

He spreads fingers, rocks his hand. “Cento? A hundred.”

Hauling Loudmouth up by his lapels, I reach inside the jacket, pluck out his wallet and hand a couple of fifties to Emilio. Frog-marching the moron to the door, I jerk a thumb to his table... “Out! The lot of you. Take your friend somewhere he can get coffee.” I toss the wallet out onto the street after him.

Loudmouth’s cohorts slump out and away. Around the restaurant, faces smile. One man raises a glass to me. Emilio’s accent thickens as he slaps at my shoulder. “Mr Hickman. Grazie mille. I not know…”

“Not a problem…” I level a finger toward the kitchen… “… Now you get back to your job and I’ll get back to mine.”

“I get you a drink, Signore Hickman. He hurt you. I hear the noise when he hit you. We all hear it.” Around him, other diners nod and mutter.

“Later, Emilio. I’m working. And so are you.”

He stalks off, shaking his head. “S’gonna be one of those days…”

Yeah…

Rubbing at my temples against the thumping inside, I return to Romano. “My apologies, sir. Didn’t think I could leave the old man to handle that…”

My employer is jovial. “Forget it, Hickman. Good work.” He nods sidelong. “Katya here was all eyes for your exploits.” She semi-rises from her seat, her brow creasing, angling to see the side of my face.

I scratch an ear. “Don’t know that I’d call bouncing a drunk exploits.”

Still, I glow inside as Katya brushes her fingertips over my temple. “You’re hurt, Hickman. Leone, you should give him some time off. He might need to see a doctor.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Romano angles to look too, slipping the handkerchief from his top pocket, offering it to me. “No, you’re bleeding…” I touch my temple and my fingers come away wet, a slick red trickle. “… Go get yourself cleaned up. And like Katya says, take the rest of the day. You’re off-duty. Go get that drink Emilio wants to give you.”

“If you’re sure, sir…”

He gives a lop-sided smile. “There are others here, Hickman. You’re not actually indispensable.”

At the kitchen swing doors, Emilio advances, a green first-aid box in one hand. “Mr Hickman…” He gestures me through to the bathroom.

“Just… stop fussing. It’s nothing. Let me clean myself up. Then I’ll have that drink.”

Retreating to the sanctuary of the bathrooms I eye the damage in the mirror. It really does look like nothing, a bare trickle of blood, although I suspect there’ll be a good bruise where the silly bastard’s skull cracked into mine. It could have been serious. Classically, a side-punch is how boxers go for a knock-out, but Loudmouth wasn’t sober enough to deliver anything properly.

A drink, then go get my head down for an hour or so…

The splash of cold water over my face helps. Gulping a mouthful and rinsing out my mouth helps more.

I breathe in. Huff out. Straighten my jacket and head out…

… and all but walk into a black-jacketed waiter with a domed silver platter balanced on a palm. He veers, steering around me, “Scusi, signore.”

“My fault…” I don’t recognise him. “Um…?”

“Guiseppe, sir,” He flashes a smile and continues on to the dining room.

At least Emilio’s evening should be improving…

From behind the bar, Franco gives me a sympathetic smile and without asking, slides a beer across. Half a minute later, a chaser sits beside it. His boss joins me, pulling up a stool beside me. “Grazie, Signor Hickman. We could not have…”

“Forget it, Emilio. It really was nothing. It’s what I do. What they pay me for.”

“Okay. But what you want now, it on the house. Si?”

“Si...” I tilt my glass toward him. “… Thank you.”

“The lasagna… It very good today…” He cocks a questioning brow.

Surrendering to the inevitable, “I’ll have the lasagna, then.” He beams, rotates, then trots through to the kitchen.

In under five minutes, Rodricco trots out, a tray in hand, setting it on the bar in front of me. “I’d give you a table, Hickman, but as you can see, we’re full…”

“Chill out. They don’t pay the prices you charge here to sit next to the hired help.” I fork up noodles and sauce, then blow air as my tongue scorches. A gulp of beer quenches the flames.

Emilio slaps a palm on my shoulder. “Good, yes?”

“Very good. Yes.” He beams again… “Ah, scusi…” … then follows an upraised hand from one of the diners.

Rodricco tops up my beer then, reaching under the counter, produces a jar of peanuts and a small bowl. “You made the old man’s night. He’d have been like a bear with a sore head if you’d not let him feed you. He’d already had a bad start to the evening, what with Guiseppe not showing up.”

I fork up more lasagna. “Well, at least that’s sorted itself out.”

“Sorry?”

“Guiseppe’s here now…”

Tipping nuts in the bowl, Rodricco pauses, mid-movement. “He is?”

“Sure. I met him as I was coming out of the bathroom.”

Brows beetling, he slides the bowl of nuts to me. “You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. He’s over there…” I nod across to where Guiseppe, tray in hand, is weaving between tables toward Romano…

Rodricco’s expression precedes his words. “That’s not Guiseppe…”

‘Guiseppe’s’ hand shifts for the dome. The smallest of movements. No one would notice except…

I'm paid to notice.

And I’m already moving, charging across the floor... “Katya! Down!”