He walked into the room and his attention was immediately taken by the windows. Not the view. The view was stunning. New York at sunset and so far above the rest of the world with just a few other towers visible as he looked out those giant windows. It was stunning. Would have been. If he had noticed.
But the windows. They stretched from the floor to the ceiling, They formed the outer wall and invited the whole of the horizon into the room. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A trickle of sweat ran down the small of his back under his sports coat and around the gun nestled there. He was suddenly conscious of how far his hands were from that gun. And he was wary of moving his hands any where near it.
That was when she came out from behind the bar. She cast a gaze to the windows as she crossed the room and offered him a Scotch. She smiled. "So nice to finally see you again, young man. Amazing view isn't it? The sun coming in can be a bit blinding from this angle, but the colors on the horizon are amazing."
He took the Scotch from her and turned his eyes to her. The years had been kind. She still held her figure. He noticed newer, deeper lines around her eyes and lips and the grey creeping into her hair. Still, no one would have thought for a moment that she was two decades older than him.
This was no good. He was actually daunted. He was on his heels. Time to fix that. "I was wondering why your boys let me keep my gun and then I saw those windows. Just how many sights are trained on my anyways?"
"Very good. Very scrappy. I have always liked that about you. A bit direct. But then, that tends to help in your line of work. The only chance you had to take control of this encounter was a blunt statement of the facts to unnerve me. And you came to that conclusion very quickly. That's good."
They smiled at each other. She gestured to the sofa and they each sat down looking out at the orange and purple and grey and red as their small piece of the world turned its back on the sun.
He sipped the Scotch. And sat.
She brought her drink to her nose, inhaled, and smiled again. "The vanilla is just coming out. I think I love the smell at this point even more than the taste itself."
He looked at her. He sipped. And sat.
She laughed. And sipped her drink. And sat.
"Six," she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"I know. Not all my decision. Some of my people are a little over protective. I had to be loud," she paused and smiled - he could tell it had been some time since she had had to be loud to get her way, "I had to be loud to convince them to let you keep your gun. My concession was more than one sniper out there," she nodded to the windows again.
He inhaled deeply. Sipped the drink in his left hand and slowly opened his right and let it rest on the arm of the sofa. The movement of his right hand was not lost on her. He swallowed deeply, cleared his throat. "Six?" he said. "Six is actually kind of flattering."
"Exactly. I was urged to use 3 but decided, if I was going to have to use more than one, I should be extravagant. I think it serves to convey several messages."
He laughed. It was not theater. It was a genuine laugh. He ran his right hand through his hair and then looked at it, realizing how quickly he had moved it. And laughed again. "You let me walk in here, with you, all alone, and me with a gun no less. You aren't scared of me. But you put me up on this stage facing the sun with six snipers staring at me. You respect what I can do. This meeting was expensive. And I ain't even talking about the Scotch."
"It is an important meeting. Our lives depend on how this meeting goes."
She sipped her Scotch.
