Nick motioned for their waitress to inquire about dessert. She left Jean with a dessert menu with more choices, promising to return in a few moments. Jean settled on cherry cheesecake. With it in front of her, Jean ate tiny bites, rolling her eyes, and making over the top noises of enjoyment until she broke Rachel.
“Curse you, Daughter of Darkness!” Rachel signaled the waitress for a serving of the cherry cheesecake too.
Two men in suits, Nick saw enter the restaurant, caught sight of him. They spoke together, and then walked toward Nick’s table. Always positioning himself to see the entrance to any place he frequented, Nick knew his quirky precautions amused Rachel and Jean. Nick leaned back in his chair while smiling at Rachel’s irritation ordering the cheesecake. He also shifted a hand to his .45 Colt under the back of his light jacket.
“We have company, girls. No matter what, do not leave this restaurant until I find out what’s going on. If I leave with these guys, you and Jean head for home.”
“Understood,” Rachel acknowledged.
The waitress brought Rachel’s cheesecake as Nick’s visitors arrived, the short haired, beefy blond one in a black suit leading. His partner looked to be a few inches over six feet tall, and a couple inches taller than the blonde. The taller one’s lean featured face, and nearly black hair trimmed to an even stubble, made the smile he was gracing Nick with a menacing sight.
“Mr. McCarty,” the blonde one began, “I am Mr. Smith, and this is my associate, Mr. Jones. My employer would like to speak with you. He has a limousine waiting in the parking lot. We would like you all to come with us, I will of course pay your tab.”
“My wife just now ordered cheesecake, and my little girl, isn’t finished with hers. I think we’ll stay. Have your employer call me. I’m sure if he found where I was dining tonight, he can find my phone number.”
Mr. Smith smiled, leaning forward with his hands on the table. “I’m afraid we’ll have to insist, Mr. McCarty.”
It was then the barrel of Nick’s .45 Colt barrel end peeked out from under the napkin Nick held over it loosely. “I don’t think so, Mr. Smith. I’m going to stand, and you two will walk out of the restaurant in front of me. Walk with your hands holding the bottoms of your suitcoats at your sides. If you let go of the suitcoat with either hand for any reason, I will blow the backs of both your heads off. In case you don’t know your weapons, this is a .45 Colt loaded with hollow points. Do you understand what I just said, Smith and Jones. I’ll need an actual affirmative answer now or I commit murder right here in this lovely restaurant.”
Mr. Smith looked into the Terminator’s eyes without any doubt he would be the first to die. He straightened slowly, his hands gripping the bottom of his suitcoat. “I understand.”
“What is wrong with you, Carl? He cannot get us both, even if this was not a bluff,” Mr. Jones said, beginning to inch his hand toward the inside of his coat. His hand froze when Rachel laughed. She had shifted nearer to Jean, giving Nick more room.
“Nick won’t warn you again, but I’ll do you a favor. I will,” Rachel said. “He will put a bullet in your brain before you can get your fingers inside the suitcoat. I’ll get our daughter out of the way, because there will be blood, but it won’t be ours. Sorry, Mr. Smith, but when Mr. Jones reaches, you’ll get a new hole too.”
Nick grinned, but never took his eyes away from Smith and Jones. He planned on killing them. He preferred it didn’t happen in the restaurant, but he would not hesitate for a split second. Both men would die faster than they considered humanly possible. Nick knew one thing for sure, Rachel and Jean would be just fine. Jones gripped the bottom of his suitcoat, his mouth tightening into a slash of promised retribution.
Nick stood slowly. “Lead the way, gentlemen. Let’s go meet your employer. I’m sure he can explain all this to me. See you in a little while, girls. Only one piece of cheesecake, Dear.”
“Brat!” Rachel called after him as he followed Smith and Jones.
Outside the restaurant, Nick followed the men through the crowded Fisherman’s Wharf walkway with absolute concentration. When they reached the outskirts of the parking area, Nick halted the men. He looked around at the thinning numbers of people. “Hand me your weapons. Do it oh so very slowly. One twitch I don’t like, you both die. You first, Mr. Jones. That’s it… you don’t need two hands. Stretch it out to me, big boy.”
Nick took the Glock 9mm from Jones, quickly sticking it inside his belt. “You’re next, Smith. A Taurus, huh? Nice. Okay, guys, one last thing, did one of you drive the limo, or does your boss have a driver?”
“I drove,” Jones answered. “You had better pray to God our boss loves you, or I will make you pray for death along with your girls.”
“Oh good, a mook who likes to threaten. Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. I will be very loveable for your boss. You’ll see.”