The waitress brought the newcomers’ food. For a woman who still retained her pro cheerleader figure, Cenine Gilmore had ordered as if going out to saw down trees afterward. She had a full stack of pancakes, three eggs over easy and home fries on the side. Cyrus Kang had coffee and a bagel.
“So we’re good on this?” Oates, called Jeff, asked. He made sure to keep his face placid but he’d splayed his hands on the tabletop, to better his ability to lunge toward the two should the need arise.
“Absolutely,” Cenine Gilmore assured him as she forked down a healthy portion of her pancakes.
“You don’t seem on board with this, Cy,” the smaller one, called Mutt, chided. His real name was Satterfield.
“It’s not my call, is it?”
Mutt shifted. The serrated blade in his right hand was also edging closer to the end of the table where he could flash it into the open and slice it across in the briefest of moments. “It’s money out of your pocket, Slick.”
Jeff gave him a death’s-head glare. “We’re good. You heard the lady.”
“I didn’t hear him.” Mutt had had too much time to stew about the beatdown he’d received from the lezbo Latina lover of Cyrus Kang’s sister, Congresswoman Cynthia Kang. And now here was the brother, a handy surrogate to unleash his anger on. But Jeff was looking to get paid. He knew what the youngish Mrs. Gilmore had obtained from the stash in that house on the ocean in Newport Beach in Orange County. He knew because he’d been the one who originally delivered it there more than a decade ago for Mace Gilmore.
Cyrus Kang sipped his coffee, absently looking into the near distance as the missus continued to enjoy her food. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Mutt goaded.
Cyrus Kang smiled and casually tossed the hot coffee into the other man’s face. Mutt yowled and Jeff hurtled forward, upsetting the table. Kang planted an elbow in the tall man’s mouth, chipping a front tooth. Cenine Gilmore jabbed her fork into the side of Mutt’s throat and blood spurted freely.
“Shit,” Congresswoman Cynthia Kang said as she looked at the early returns on Proposition 8.
“How can this be?” Janny Caulder, an organizer for SEIU, said as she tapped the keys of her laptop, seemingly trying to evoke from the cyber-ether a different result than was displayed on her monitor. “California’s going for Obama solidly, but this anti-gay measure is gonna be law?”
Kang smiled ruefully. “Sadly, that’s not hard to explain. We–hell, I didn’t do what I knew should’ve been done.” She didn’t elaborate about being sidetracked with such matters as an attack on and kidnapping of her chief of staff, witchy women, whisper campaigns against her and crazed former black ops ooh-ahs running around shooting up the place and each other.