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"Then finish it for fuck's sake and bring us a champagne, four glasses, and something small to snack on. Like olives!" He calls back.
You and the Attendant share a look and you shake your head.
"If I didn't need the money.." You mumble.
He gives you a sympathetic smile and shrugs.
"Work is work, sir."
You look into the room and roll your eyes.
"Let me help you carry some of that mess so they don't get any louder. I've heard Maroni when he's REALLY angry and it ain't pretty."
"I can handle it, sir. I assure you."
"I insist, let's get this meeting going so we can both get out of here huh?" You nudge the man and walk towards to bar top, he follows after you asking in hushed tones that you not bring this up to his own boss and quietly thanking you. You breathe a silent sigh of relief and enter the meeting room with an ice bucket, some glasses, and a revolver.
His eyes. It's the first thing you notice about him. Mandragora in the flesh sits at a circular table, green felt and ring stains from drinks long drank decorate it's surface next to old flakey stencils of Texas Hold Em rules, he's even bigger in person than the files said. Six foot five and nearly 300 pounds with ghostly white skin, and those eyes. You feel a shiver and your arm hairs brush against the soft inner sleeve of your dress shirt. Around the table sits Mandragora, Maroni, Falcone, and Oswald Cobblepot. You blink a few times standing in place until a voice breaks you out of your stupor.
"Are you going to hand that over, or are we going to have to take it from you?"
Mandragora addresses you directly in a vaguely european accent, his dead eyes watching you flounder as a smile spreads over his lightly blue lips.
"Sorry.." You say quietly setting the ice bucket and champagne down in the center of the table.
"No trouble at all, dear boy." Cobblepot says, quite politely, as he leans forward grabbing at the bottle's neck. You can't help but notice his hands are grotesquely mutilated leaving only 3 large chunks of flesh with half embedded fingernails in the tips. You pull your eyes away before you offend.
"Your bodyguard seems a little green, Maroni. Not just around the gills." Mandragora continues, still looking you over like a choice cut of steak.
"That's cause he's a cop." Maroni quips through a mouthful of olives and gin.
Falcone gives you a bit of side eye but doesn't move. Cobblepot and Maroni continue enjoying their refreshments and Mandragora has a glint in his eye as he looks at you now. On the fringes of the room you see the other bodyguards, draped in designer suits and cheap jewelry, they tense waiting for what comes next, though you can't help but notice one of them remains completely still as he lounges against a vintage jukebox twirling a matchstick in his mouth. Mandragora slowly rises from the table and looks you up and down.
"You don't seem the type of man who's for sale, what's your price?"
