While the boxes and shelves would have had to be moved so we could play, this was just a massive shock to my system. Without looking around I could sense the eyes of all the other players falling on me, sizing me up. I quickly guarded my face as I pulled my eyes away from the unexpected décor. With a mental grimace I hoped that I hadn’t done anything to betray the image that I belonged here. As I began to take in the others I could see that most of them were in the process of looking away from the entrance and me. No one seemed to have noticed my slip so I felt safe for the moment. Is this the natural reaction for first time players?
I eased myself away from the entrance and began analyzing my surroundings. My first thought was that, apparently, Dempsey just didn’t know the meaning of the word restraint. Each of the walls were identically golden. And I don’t think it was gold paint, I actually think it was gold leaf. I would have to touch one of the walls to be sure but it had the shiny factor you would expect from precious metal. The only break in the golden walls was the rose chair molding that, from this distance, seemed to be made of either marble of granite.
It took me a moment to rip my eyes away from the opulent walls, but when I was finally able to do so, I began to gauge the distances. I noticed that the room we were in accounted for roughly half of the warehouse. Well that was my best guess at any rate. Perhaps my recon was good for something after all. Thanks to my prep work I also knew this building only had the one entrance. And that meant that one of these golden walls, most likely the one across from the entrance, had to have doors despite the fact that it looked like an uninterrupted wall.
Well, they were practically uninterrupted, there were a pair of bars built into both corners of the wall opposite of the entrance. The top of those bars were lined up perfectly with that exquisite molding. Image was everything and that encircling piece of stone helped to enforce the whole “there is no way out” thing Dempsey had going. I stopped looking at the decor and shifted my attention to the six individuals sitting at each of the bars and dozen or so others who were milling about the tables scattered throughout the room.
If Dempsey had stopped with just the walls and the two bars with their accompanying stools, the room would have been opulent enough. But I guess it wouldn’t have satisfied the man’s taste for the extravagant if he hadn’t included those tables. Scattered around the interior of the room there were twenty-four circular tables with five chairs pushed under each. From this distance, the tabletops appeared to be hand-sculpted and made from various types of stone, probably some collection of marble or granite. In order to hold their weight, those tabletops needed something serious for legs. Well, wrought-iron columns would certainly do the trick. The chairs were made of the same wrought-iron pattern and were topped with fancy, plush cushions, colored to match the tabletops.
Oh yes, and this gathering looked to be catered, what with all the waiters and waitresses walking in and around those works of art. They all appeared to be genuine, as evidenced by the ease and comfort with which they deposited the food and drinks. With everything I was seeing Dempsey had to be making an ungodly amount of money from these tournaments. There was just no other way to justify showing the players this kind of five-star treatment. Well, I had a part to play and there was no time like the present to play it. So I veered to the left and headed straight for the bar. There were two bartenders so I headed for the nearest one, which happened to be the only one free.
As I drew closer I realized that there was no way this man was an actual bartender. With his build I figured he had to be one of Dempsey’s thugs who just happened to be charming enough to stick behind the bar. Why would Dempsey place a dummy behind the bar? And for the same reason I had pushed my luck with the men at the front door, I decided to ruffle this one’s feathers too. So walking straight up to him I assumed the most cocky and arrogant tone I could muster. “What would you recommend, my good sir?”
The man appeared to be very confused by my open ended question. To his credit, he managed to keep his composure quite well, though there was the ever-so-slight crack in the armor. “Excuse me sir?”
He was providing me with such a great opportunity and I just couldn’t help but have some fun with him. After all he was wasting my valuable time and I had to put up the appropriate image. It was easy enough to keep a straight face, I have had a lot of practice with that, so I repeated my question with even more attitude while looking the man straight in the eyes. Which was quite an accomplishment considering he was about half-a-head taller than me. “What would you recommend for me, my good sir?”
Again this faux bartender impressed me. Despite my abuse, small though it was, he managed to keep his composure as he offered a suggestion. “Whisky on the rocks sir?” I had to give it to Dempsey, he had well-trained men working for him and that was not cheap.
If I had been looking for a drink, I probably would have said yes, but that wasn’t what I was trying to do. What I really wanted was to break his composure. So, just because, I tried to put him into a tough spot, “That could be good, but... but no. I’m not feeling all too good about that option.” Rubbing my tongue around the front of my lips I waited for a second before venturing on. “How about...” I paused, trying to think of a specific drink that would be difficult to make. I was never one to think about what I was drinking. But I quickly thought of a classic and ordered it. “... a martini.”
The faux-tender quickly went to work referencing a sheet and he tried to make the drink. It was fun watching him struggle, but as is true with all good things, this soon came to an end. He quickly excused himself and went over to the other bartender. My bartender communicated the request and the other man simply nodded, issued a few orders that were well within the other man’s capabilities to make and, once satisfied the faux-tender could get through the drink orders on that end of the bar, made his way down to me.