Page 38 of Fate Awakened

I walk my way forward, noting the lack of patrons due to the late hour, wondering if that’s intentional.

Easier to tie off a loose end without witnesses.

I notice two security guards on the east side of the room adjacent to the slot machines watching me carefully, and I wonder if they are friend or foe.

Friend? Ha, more like foe or foe.

Making a point not to stare, I focus my gaze on the route I’m walking, attempting a low whistle as I go. As we ascend, my nerves get the better of me. My palms start sweating, and I wipe them on the dark wash jeans I decided to pair with my black “There are 10 types of people, those that understand binary, and those who don’t” t-shirt. Not that you can see most of the writing because the damn “fake out lanyard” with the UNLV pin I’m wearing blocks the message, but most people don’t understand my coder shirts anyway.

Yep, focus on the stupid shirt; that will get me right through this.

I approach the restaurant attempting a friendly smile, and ask the host with the oversized nose, receding hairline, and face of someone who smells something awful nearby, if they have a table under the name RP. I’m surprised my voice doesn’t waver. My hands are shaking, just a bit, and my heart rate is through the roof.

His eyes scrunch, surveying me and my t-shirt before rolling his eyes and pointing to a row of chairs next to the stand, silently signaling for me to have a seat.

This is starting wonderfully. Even the host doesn’t like me.

I run my hands down my shirt, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles I know aren’t there. To distract myself and my growing anxiety, I reflect on my pursuits earlier today. I’d spent a reasonable amount of time trying to decode the acronym RP in my head, trying to figure out what it stood for. It could be someone’s name—Ryan, Robbie, maybe Ray. The P could be Parker, Paulson, Peterson, Philips, or a million others.

After realizing the endless combination possibilities, I went to more common uses for it. When I gamed, it was for “Role Playing". On the cybersecurity side, it meant “relaying party,” which, honestly, would be rather clever to pass on a message. If I went into the engineering side, it meant Rapid Prototyping. It could be a company, a call sign, or hell, the code to kill me. It bothered me that I couldn’t solve that particular puzzle without more information. Maybe I'll get it tonight. That is, if they intend to talk to me at all. This could’ve been an elaborate way to kill me from 1,149 feet in the air.

The host returns with the same condescending look on his face from before but asks me to follow him inside.

The restaurant oozes elegance with dim lighting, large floor-to-ceiling windows that reveal the night sky beyond the glass, and a breathtaking view of the city. As a local, I’d never been up here. We leave the touristing to the tourists.

Light music plays in the background, and only a handful of people remain at tables strewn around the room. Mostly couples, engrossed in a romantic evening. Their light chatter adds to the ambiance, creating an exclusive experience.

We walk around the bar at the center of the opulent revolving room, and I take in the two men sitting before me as I approach.

The first is a middle-aged Italian man. He appears to be relatively tall, though, from his seat, I can’t say; he's lean but muscular in the way a soccer player would be. His long, shiny, dark hair falls just below his ears. He’s wearing a fitted gray suit with a crisp white button-up shirt that offsets his olive skin tone, and he completes the look with a narrow charcoal tie. His jacket sits unbuttoned, his posture leaned forward, and his forearms braced on the table as he flips through his phone.

The second Italian man appears older only due to the more defined lines on his tanned face and the light graying on the sides of his barber-styled low pompadour with a part and fade. His strong jawline is accented with salt-and-pepper five o'clock shadow. His suit is meticulously tailored to perfection and easily cost him thousands of dollars.

It does nothing to hide the muscled physique that lies beneath. Gold cufflinks that adorn each sleeve show an elegant M, and even his watch has the telltale gold crown splashed across the face.

This man is clearly the boss of the two. He radiates strength, power, and money. As we approach, his eyes lift from the empty highball glass in front of him to the receptionist in front of me, and I realize he’s speaking on his cell phone.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way cara, ciao.” His smooth foreign voice fits him completely, and I immediately feel like I’m in a crime film. He ends his call and points to the glass before him, prompting the host for another.

“Right away, sir,” he responds, quickly retrieving the glass and scurrying off. I stand awkwardly waiting as he places his phone face down on the table and finally shifts his focus to me, his expression unreadable as he assesses me.

“Mr. Anderson, a pleasure,” he says, without any warmth. There’s no trace of a smile on his face.

The second man slides out of the booth confirming his height as he nearly looks me in the eye.

“Arms,” he says, his accent matching his boss's. The one word comes out with no additional information before he steps behind me and slides his hands through my hair.

“Usually, I get dinner first,” I blurt, unable to keep the snarky remark from sliding through in my nervousness.

Fucking idiot!

Surprisingly it breaks the hardened exterior of the boss, forcing a low chuckle as the second man continues getting to know me on more than a personal level.

“Empty your pockets, and take off the keys,” he commands once his perusal of my body is complete to his satisfaction.

I produce my cell phone, AirPod case, wallet, pack of Extra gum, and chapstick before pulling off the keys. Each item is picked up and searched to ensure its validity. My anxiety increases as he approaches the AirPod case, and I try to maintain my calm demeanor by looking around the restaurant.

He uses my facial recognition software to unlock my phone before searching to ensure I'm not recording. He powers it off and leaves it on the table with the rest of the items, and pulls an infrared flashlight from his pocket before shining it directly into my glasses, causing me to squint and turn from him before he flashes it to the other items, spending extra time on the pin.

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