Benton pulled the chair away from the table for his new client and scanned the restaurant. “I had the maitre’d reseat you, sir. The center table was a little too exposed for my liking.”
“Thank you, Benton.”
Suddenly, Benton swept the elderly man to the floor. “KNIFE!”
The old man shook him off and struggled to his feet. “He’s cutting his steak, you idiot! Get off me!”
Benton helped him up. “I’m so sorry sir. I guess I’m a little over-cautious.”
As his client sat down again, Benton caught movement in the corner of his eye. “GUN!” he shouted, reaching for his own.
“That’s the lady’s purse, you moron! Now, leave me in peace! You’re fired. If I ever see you again, I’ll see to it the only person who safety you have to worry about is your own!”
Benton slunk away and exited through the kitchen. Near the back door, he brushed past a man preparing an exquisite chocolate mousse. The two made eye contact as the cook was pouring a small portion of liquid into the mixing bowl from an unlabeled bottle.
The cook nodded, put the bottle in his pocket, then handed Benton a rubber-banded bundle of hundred-dollar bills.
“He’s all yours,” Benton said, pocketing the money and walking out the back door.