“You want me to empty my pockets.” Maxwell said it flat, not a question. “Standard procedure,” Gary said, “for situations like this.” “Situations like what?” Gary didn’t answer, he just stared.
Maxwell held his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached into his jacket pockets. Left side first, a folded piece of paper. He set it on the counter. Right side, a set of car keys. He set those down, too. Back pocket, a leather wallet, soft from years of use. He placed it beside the rest.
“That’s it.” Gary stared at the items, picked up the wallet, opened it, thumbed through the bills inside.
There were several twenties, a fifty, and what looked like a business card tucked behind the ID sleeve. Gary didn’t pull the card out, didn’t look at the ID. He wasn’t searching for anything specific. He was searching because he could.
He tossed the wallet back on the counter. It slid and almost fell off the edge. Denise caught it. “What’s this?” Gary picked up the folded paper. “Personal.” “Not in my restaurant, it isn’t.” Gary started to unfold it.
Maxwell’s hand came down on the paper, firm, not violent, just enough.
“I said it’s personal.” The two men locked eyes. The paper sat between them on the counter, the acquisition agreement, though Gary would never know that. Not yet.
Gary let go, smiled, stepped back. “Fine. You know what? I’ve been polite long enough.” He turned to the register, punched it open, pulled out the remaining change, the four fifty he’d shorted Maxwell earlier. Nickels, dimes, a few quarters.
He held them in his fist, looked Maxwell dead in the eye, and threw them on the floor. The coins exploded across the tile. Some spun, some bounced. One quarter rolled all the way to the baseboard and stopped against a chair leg. A nickel landed on a woman’s shoe. She jerked her foot back like it had burned her.
“There’s the rest of your change.” Gary’s voice filled the whole room. “Now get down on your knees and pick it up, monkey.”
The word hit the air like a slap. Denise covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were wide and wet. Marshall took a step back. The couple by the window stood up, not to intervene, but to leave. They gathered their coats without looking at anyone and walked out the front door.
An older man at table two, silver hair, expensive watch, looked at Gary and then at Maxwell. He shook his head. But he didn’t shake it at Gary. He shook it at Maxwell. Like he was the problem. Like a man standing still and being humiliated was somehow causing a scene.
