The Restaurant, by Ellie T.

Looking over the oversized menu, I can see them talking. Discreetly seated in the back of the restaurant, they talk in almost whispers, so as to not draw attention to themselves.

Two men, dressed in business suits, sit at the small table. One, who is holding a cigar, has one hand placed on the table as the other holds the cigar in midair.

“Tony,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face. “Both of us know you need to pay up at some point. It’s just a question of when.”

His head is bent towards Tony like he’s about to yell directly in his face. He has his hands folded across his chest, signaling his defensiveness towards the cigar holding man. What I learned in Psychology about body language was playing out before me in real life.

“Gordy, I just need more time.” Tony glanced behind him at the next table, relieved to find no one there. “A job like this takes planning, strategy, and discretion. If you want the job done right, then you’ll have to give me the time.”

Gordy squinted at Tony, his hand reaching for his inside jacket pocket.

“Well, Tony,” he chuckled, a menacing expression forming on his face. “You may have all the time in the world, but I don’t. And neither does the Don. And if the Don isn’t happy, none of us are happy, and you’ll be the first of your gang on the noose.”

A waitress came by their table, at which the two men ceased their threatening gestures. After she left though, they opened their menus, watching the other with a look of suspicion. Would the other make the first move?

I didn’t get the chance to see, for the waitress came by with my food. I ate my lunch as I sat, watching the intense negotiation continue.

Tony kept his hands closed around the edges of the menu, watching Gordy continue to puff the gray smoke around the restaurant.

“Look, you and the Don don’t have to do a thing; me and my men are doing all the work here. Just give me another week is all. In just one week, Lou will be sitting pretty in a jail cell and wasting his trust fund on his appeal.”

Gordy paused his smoking and laid his menu on the table. A quizzical look of intrigue twinkled in his tiny black eyes, and I knew that Tony was about to buy more time.

“What about the others?” He coughed into his sleeve. “Arty, Jimmy, and the rest of those pick-pocketers?”

“Rotting in the city morgue is where they’ll be.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, his fearful, hostile look replaced with one of confidence and savoir-faire.

Gordy finally gave in, twisting his cigar in the ashtray with his greasy fingers.

“All right, we’ll give you another week. But it’d better be clean.” He wiped his mouth with a little white handkerchief that had been previously sitting in his pocket.

“Gordy, trust me,” Tony laughed. “It’ll be as clean as holy water. Now, are we gonna eat, or are we gonna eat?”

“As much as I enjoy the food here, Tony,” Gordy stood from his chair. “I’m afraid I must go. I have…business that I have to attend to.” He acknowledged this with a small wink.

I didn’t get a chance to hear the good byes, as my waitress came yet again, asking for the check. By the time I looked back over, Gordy was gone, leaving Tony sitting by himself, eating his pasta with the smile of a runner that just won a marathon.

Ellie T. is a junior at Cave Spring High School. When not writing, she plays on the Academic Team using her knowledge of 19th century Russian literature and is president of the creative writing club Easily A Muse. Inspired by her love of graphic novels, she is amidst a new project that will be pertaining to the superhero genre.