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“The boss is busy, Lediyah,” Salvador croaked in his guttural drawl “you can wait your turn, just like everybody else.”

The Irish woman sat delicately down on one of the sofas which ran outside of the boss’s office, gently folding her jean-clad legs. 

“What’s your deal?” Her eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Excuse me?” Salvador snorted, crossing his powerful arms as he stood sentinel in front of the office door.

“You’ve got an issue with me.” She stated bluntly “Why?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grumbled. 

“Sure ya do. Don’t play dumb with me; it won’t work. We’re both smarter than that.”

The grunt cleared his throat , shooting a quick glance to the back of the room.

“Frank Buckholtz. That name mean anything to you?”

“Should it?” Lediyah asked, notching an eyebrow. 

“Figured as much.” Salvador laughed dryly “Young kid, with a bright future ahead of him. He needed some extra cash to put him through law school, so I suggested he get a job working for us. When he lost the boss’s shipment you painted Somabra Bridge with his insides.” 

The grunt’s voice cracked slightly. 

“He was my nephew. My brother don’t talk to me no more.” 

From behind her sunglasses, Ledyiah’s eyes dilated ever-so-slightly. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t pay someone to take a stab at me.” 

“Oh believe me, I’ve tried,” Salvador snorted “you try finding a Rat whose willing to go up against Lediyah -fuckin’- Gorman.” 

“I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.” She couldn’t help but smirk. 

“I think you’re a piece of shit who deserves to be gunned down in the streets like a rabid fuckin’ animal.” Salvador croaked. For a split second, it looked as though he was tearing up, but then it passed. 
“The boss ain’t busy anymore.” Salvador muttered, moving to one side. 

“Did he fax you that just now?” she shot him a seething glare, slowly rising to her feet. 

“I’m telepathic.” he said in a dry, deadpan voice. 

[hr] 

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“Stephanie! If you drop that plate, I swear by all the gods and demons; I will shove this spatula up your snatch! Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, Chef!” Stephanie called back over her shoulder,  bargaining the kitchen door open, as the sweltering heat and noisy clamouring slowly drifted away behind her. 

The young blonde made her way carefully out into the restaurant, delicately balancing some rich ponce’s meal in either hand. Once upon a time, Stephanie had been a woman of principle and values. She was the head of the feminist committee at her high school, and she’d created countless petitions against police corruption in the Santa Somabra area. She’d even attended a rally to help end workplace discrimination against goblins. But at the end of the day, she’d needed a job and the Pale Veil had an opening for a new waitress. So Stephanie Brie had swallowed her pride, taken out her piercings, and handed in her application. 

Stephanie carefully padded past the pristine white tables, and the many customers they held, and made her way over to the Brownie and the man in the purple tie. 

“You know how much the classy ones charge these days?” the Brownie was squeaking, his fur-coated body propped up on a booster seat, so that he was level with the table “and that’s just the ones that’ll  go near fae types.” 

“Mushroom spinach risotto and a medium rare steak.” Stephanie announced in her sweetest voice as declared her presence to the two men.

“The steak for me,” The purple-tie wearer smiled warmly “and the risotto for Mister Sprekler.” 

“Cheers, sugar tits.” The Brownie grinned, showing off rows of gap-ridden teeth. 

Fighting the overwhelming urge to pick up the Brownie and drop-kick across the restaurant, Stephanie faked a ditzy giggle, before placing the respective meals down in front of the two men, and heading back to the kitchen as quickly as she could.  

“Stephanie!” The chef barked at her, as soon as she slipped back through the door “forget your next order. The owner wants a talk.” 

Stephanie repressed a gulp. How badly had she fucked up? 

“I thought we weren’t supposed to disturb the owner?” Stephanie wondered aloud. 

“If they’ve asked to see you then you’re not disturbing them, shithead,” The chef scowled “now get your boney white arse upstairs.” 

The walk to the owner's lair was a quick one, through a few doorways, and up a few flights of stairs, until she arrived at the fancy dining room that was exclusively off-limits to lowly kitchen staff. 

The dining room itself was a vast, ballroom-like expanse of polished glass and sweeping mahogany tables. It epitomised the upper-class aura of the rest of the Pale Viel; oozing class and pristine decor. 

“Good evening, Stephanie.” A chocolatey voice called over from the far end of the room. Sat at the end of one of the tables, was a pale, lithe figure with curls so black they seemed to be wrought from the night itself. 

“Please, have a seat.” the woman smiled “My name is Nichole Vielsiti, and you look most appetizing.”