Meghan: Sweets

“Would you care for a dessert?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that your house specials are to die for.”
The waiter smiled slightly as he poured wine into his patron’s glass, “To die for. Yes, I would say that.”
The portly man in front of him swirled the cup before wetting his lips with the drink, “I’ll have one. Bring it out when my friend arrives.”
“And will your friend be dining with us tonight monsieur?”
“No,” the man said shortly, “he will not.”
“I see.” The waiter started to turn as if to leave but then returned as if he had forgotten something, “One more thing monsieur, would you prefer your dish hot or cold?”
The customer raised an eyebrow at the peculiar phrasing of the question, but answered anyway, “Tonight I’ll take it hot.” He lit a cigar and dragged in a long breathe, “I’m not in the mood for cold.”
“Very good monsieur.”
The waiter strode away and barely avoided a collision with a thin man who threw himself down into a chair opposite the one with the cigar.
“What are you doing in my city?” he hissed to the beefy man across from him, “You are breaking things set down before your generation, who the fuck do you think you are?”
The giant man in the suit blew a huge lungful of smoke into the other man’s face, “Be careful boy,” he smiled, “You wouldn’t want to make me angry.”
“I don’t care if I make you—“
They both fell silent as the waiter wheeled to their table with a steaming silver tray, which he set in front of the first man. The shining dome slid back to reveal a beautiful fruit and chocolate dessert; with whirls of whipped cream and pudding making it look all the more sinful and delicious. The second man watched as the first loaded his elegant spoon with fudge and strawberries and thrust it into his wide mouth. A vein in the second man’s temple twitched and he asked the waiter, “What is it that my companion is dining on so voraciously?”
The waiter smiled peacefully and ignored the portly man’s meaningful look, “It is the house special monsieur.”
“If you would be so kind as to bring me one.”
“Of course monsieur. And would you like it served hot or cold?”
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits as he eyed his companion’s steaming dessert, “Cold.”
“Right away monsieur.” The waiter left.
The first man smacked deliciously on another spoonful of his dessert, relishing the moment when he had something that the other did not, “Where were we?”
“You were about to tell me why you and your men are in my city.”
“Was I?”
The younger man slammed a fist on the table, rattling the delicate dishes, “Damn it. Stop playing games with me.”
The other gobbled another spoonful of his dessert and smiled, “Can’t even control yourself at the dinner table? A little child like you can’t control this much territory. You don’t deserve it.” Whoa, where had that come from? He was usually a little more tactful than that. “Just because dear old Daddy is turning up daisies doesn’t mean that his precious baby can run the show.”
Of course what the precious baby didn’t know was that the suit-wearing man sucking down pudding across from him had been the one who put daddy-dearest in the ground.
But we can’t tell him that, no, no. The man clenched his teeth on his spoon. What was wrong with him today? He couldn’t even seem to keep control of his thoughts. He looked up to see his companion’s eyes burning into him.
They were both quiet when the waiter came by with the tray.
“Here is your dessert monsieur.” He said as he set the tray in front of the second man. The silver had a dusting of ice crystals on it and as the top slid back puffs of frost were released. The slender man barely looked at the concoction of sorbets and sauces that had been set before him, he merely kept his eyes locked with his opponent’s and thanked the waiter. The waiter wheeled away his cart; knowing that neither of the men would see him nor need him for a while. Both of the men dipped spoons into their desserts; almost mechanically, tasting but not tasting. Whatever confectionary miracles the cooks had made that day were wasted on the two enemies.
The first felt his heart gripped in fire and rage and knew that he needed blood to set it free. But to do that the man in front of him would have to break, would have to attack him. If his enemy attacked him first then anything he said or did would be justified. His frenzied mind held onto that word as chocolate dripped down his chin; Justified.
The second was gripped in a world of ice, where the fire of anger burned carefully in a banked bed. Every bite he took made him feel colder, more alone, and yet he knew what he wanted (needed) to happen.
“I’m going to destroy your company.” The first said it with a crazy grin, his teeth stained, “I will take everything you have and kill all of your men.”
The second just smiled.
He tried again, a little more desperate, “I’m going to kill your family; your mother, your wife and your little girl…what was her name?”
The other man sipped his wine.
“That’s right, Ana. Little Ana will die screaming.” He stared at his enemy for some change and saw that vein, pulsing lightly in his temple. He grinned like a mad dog, knowing that he was getting something
“Your little girl will die just like your father.”
The Second drew in his breathe sharply and his face flushed, “What do you know about my father?”
The First grinned, “What do I know about your father? I know he died like a coward, kicking and screaming like a little girl.”
Pulse, pulse went the vein, “That’s a lie.”
“Oh, I also bet you didn’t know that Daddy sold you all; the company, his family, everything, just if we wouldn’t kill him.”
“You’re lying.”
“But I’m not.” The man laughed, his belly jiggling, “Because I’m the one who killed him.”
Pulse, pulse, pulse
Come on, boy, feel that heat.
Ice, keep it together.
Burn, baby, burn.
The other pushed his chair back slowly and walked over to stand next to his enemy. He set his wine glass down on the table and leaned down until he was inches away; smelling the sweet-sharp scent of the chocolate sauce on the other’s breathe.
“You will not touch my family.” He said in a dangerously soft voice, “If you do, I will kill you.”
The other laughed, “Your threats aren’t worth much, because I’ve already killed in your family and what do you have to show for it?”
The thin man picked up his wine and sipped it, staring down his nose at the other, “Until you prove yourself no longer useful, I will keep you around.”
The big man barked out a laugh and downed his glass in one gulp, “And when would that be?” he asked sarcastically.
“Now.”
The big man grinned as he watched the other man reach inside his jacket with murder in his eyes; he finally had the little weasel! “WAITER!” He called as he clutched for the handle of a gun within his own suit jacket, sure that an attempt on his life was about to be made and he needed a witness close at hand for when he ‘defended himself’. But when he looked back to where the other man had been, he saw that he was sitting down and sipping his damned wine again.
“What’s the matter?” he grunted, “Attack me!”
“No thank you.”
“But I murdered your father; I’m going to kill your family.”
“I’m aware of that.”
The First man paused, confused, “Why don’t you want to kill me?”
“I already have.”
The waiter then came into the room, “Monsieur’s? Is everything all right?”
No everything is not all right, I’m dying! The First tried to scream at him as he stood up, knocking over his chair. But all he could manage was a choked sob as his throat swelled.
“I don’t know, I think something’s wrong with the food.” The thin man’s voice sounded concerned as he rushed over, knocking the other man’s wine glass from the table in his hurry.
“We have to call the police.” The waiter said in a panicked voice.
“Yes, could you call them?” The remaining customer grabbed his coat, “I’m going to go let his family know what happened.” He ran out of the room while the waiter pressed his fingers to the fallen man’s neck
“Let his family know what happened?” he snorted as he felt the pulse slow, “You have got to come up with better lies if you plan to run that company child.”
He heard heels clack on the tiles behind him, “Is he dead yet?”
“Be patient Yuki.”
Her heels tapped and she sighed, “Can’t I just take him down there now? I have some chocolate that needs to be mixed.”
The waiter looked up at the girl behind him; frowning, “You know we can’t let living customers down into the kitchens.”
The oriental girl smiled as she held up a glittering carving knife, “He won’t be living.”
The waiter sighed and got to his feet, “In the back, if you would. I have another coming at eight and I don’t have the time to clean up one of your messes.” The girl curtsied, spreading the folds of her pink dress out like the petals of a flower, and left the room to go find a gurney to transport the portly customer. No sooner had the sounds of her wheels dimmed into the darkness then the bell at the front desk rang. And that would be his eight o’clock reservation, party of five.
And how would you like your revenge monsieur, hot or cold?

-Meghan