he was facing . . . and to the other diners, whose attention was all on him.
He pulled out the chair across from the man and slowly sat, his eyes not breaking contact. Smoke wasn’t riled, wasn’t even annoyed. He was making a point.
“First, I apologize if my friends and I have disturbed your dining experience. That’s why my friend is currently paying Erin for your meal and adding a nice tip, which I’m sure you would’ve forgotten. That means your meal is now over. There’s a real difference between having a bit of fun and sending the message you just sent to Erin. Your presence is no longer acceptable at this diner — today, or any day moving forward.”
The guy’s mouth opened and closed as his eyes narrowed. He was just drunk enough to be an idiot. Smoke hoped that didn’t happen. He didn’t relish fighting — not that it would be a fight. But this man was no challenge; having to put him in his place was too easy. On the other hand, men like him took pleasure in attacking people weaker than they were, so it might do the guy some good to get knocked down.
Before the guy could open his mouth, Smoke leaned forward, his face a mask of power, his eyes showing he didn’t know the meaning of backing down.
“I encourage you to think before you say a word. The option I gave you involves zero violence. My next option involves more pain than you’ve ever known possible. If you want to open door number two, it’s not locked. I strongly encourage you to choose door number one.”
He leaned back after speaking, appearing to be completely relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world — he didn’t where this man was concerned. He never broke eye contact.
The man stared at Smoke for several tense seconds before glancing over to the table where the other men sat. He looked back at Smoke . . . and his shoulders slumped as his brain cells fired to life. If the man had consumed a few more tequilas and zero food, there might’ve been a different outcome.
Without uttering a word, he stood, keeping his head down as he walked to the door and stepped outside.
Smoke rose and went back to the table. The entire diner was silent as heads whipped from Smoke to the door, then to the table full of men, who were once again smiling. Green spoke as if the past several minutes had never happened.
“So, Erin, where are you and Ben going for your first date?” he asked. He picked up his fork and cut a large piece of cinnamon roll, popping it into his mouth and chewing before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Delicious!”
Erin’s eyes were wide as she looked at each of the men. It might be disconcerting to the average person to switch emotions so quickly, but it was nothing new to any of the men at the table. As quickly as they’d gone into serious mode, they were right back to smiles and jokes.
Erin stood there, obviously unsure of what to do. But when she looked at Brackish again there was a look of intrigue and interest in her eyes. He might be taking the girl out after all. She just might be worth pursuing . . .
***
Joseph Anderson leaned back in the lounge chair, holding a glass of scotch in one hand, and a fine Partagus Series P No. 2 cigar in the other. He looked out at the water lapping against the shore as boats bobbed along the bay with their fishing poles dipping and skis jumping.
Sherman Armstrong turned to his friend, a serious look on his face. He took a sip of his own glass of scotch before speaking.
“How are you holding up, Joseph?”
Sherman had been a great friend for many years. Joseph considered Sherman’s nephews his own. He’d watched those boys grow up, grieved as they’d lost their father, prayed as they’d fallen into despair, then cheered as they’d grown into fine young men. He might’ve had a hand in helping their uncle lead them in the right direction by finding their wives.
“It’s been a rough few months,” Joseph admitted. He took another pull on his fine cigar. “But Katherine is home, and she’s positive. I’m driving her crazy with all of my worrying. I’m here today because she kicked me out of the house. She told me if I come home earlier than four,