The bar smelled like burnt coffee, spilled beer, and secrets that refused to stay buried. Neon from a flickering sign outside pooled across the cracked linoleum, casting green and pink shards across the wall. Every shadow seemed to move just slightly offbeat, like it had a mind of its own.
Click… drip… scrape…
I slid into the corner booth, knees tucked, eyes scanning. Three men sat at a table nearby, sleeves rolled, voices low but deliberate. Cigarette smoke curled around their faces, highlighting sharp eyes and tighter jaws than most humans carried naturally. They weren't just talking they were weighing, calculating, negotiating invisible lines I couldn't see.
"Great," I muttered under my breath, "a friendly meeting with the city's hospitality committee. They even provide smoke ambiance."
A coaster scraped across the table. One of the enforcers leaned forward, voice calm as water over stones. "The Lieutenant doesn't appreciate mistakes."
I let my fingers tap the edge of the table, counting the syllables like bullets. "Mistakes," I muttered, "so charming. Guess I'm auditioning already."
Another exhalation of smoke, another measured glance. They didn't need to point or gesture. I knew enough from years of watching patterns that the Lieutenant wasn't here yet but his presence bled through the room like a temperature drop. Invisible, heavy, unavoidable.
Click… hum…
A faint emblem etched into the corner of the bar counter caught my eye slightly worn, orange against the dull wood. Familiar. Recognizable. A breadcrumb. Someone had been here before me, left me a little note in steel and paint.
I leaned back, letting my coat fall over my knees. "Ah, wonderful. Now I get fan mail from criminals. Couldn't be more flattered."
The men spoke in undertones, syllables meant to be heard and dismissed at the same time. I pieced fragments together: the Lieutenant's methods, the calm authority, the silent fear he inspired. Not yet a face, not yet a confrontation but the weight of him was unmistakable.
Drip… scrape… tap…
I finished my coffee slowly, savoring the bitterness while the enforcers murmured, laughed softly, and disappeared into the smoke. I stayed, just long enough to leave a mental note, a breadcrumb of my own: the Lieutenant existed, he was real, and Dylan's luck was about to get much more complicated.
I pushed back from the booth, sliding into the wet neon night. "Ah, perfect," I muttered, voice dry, teeth grinding slightly in a grin. "Just when I thought my career was a series of minor inconveniences… plot twist: Level One Boss waiting in a smoke-filled bar. Fabulous timing."
Click… drip… hum…
The shadows swallowed me, the city humming with hidden intent, and for the first time in a while, I felt the thrill of being noticed by someone I hadn't even met yet.