Chapter Text
It wasn’t meant to be that special of a day, really. Sunday afternoons often saw the mass of families and older people coming in after christian services, ordering more than I could carry in one trip over, and with attitudes that make you question why they even went to church in the first place. The sun beat through that summer afternoon in a warm embrace, and I found myself trying to move between booths as fast as possible considering that the tacky white tiled floors often made it difficult to move efficiently without tripling over and getting everything everywhere. “TK! What's the word on MC?” I groaned through the ticket window, gathering up the ready dishes along my arms. “Nothing, ugh, they probably slept in again. You know how it goes. Hopefully the brunch crowd will die down a bit, I heard that there was some kind of re-election rally for the mayor or something. That’s probably why the crowd is so dense today.” I groaned, feeling the grease tip over one of the plates and run a dribble down my arm. From the other side, they gave an apologetic smile. Their heart had always been in the right place, especially for MC, but taking the brunt of them time after time grew tiring. But taking it out on TK wasn’t right either, and so an understanding smile crossed my lips as I sped walk back onto the floor before the plates grew cold.
Maybe it’s the most mundane days where misfortune likes to strike, unknowing and precise. Using what energy I had between wiping down sticky tables with questionably ‘clean’ washcloths, and being the entertainment to teens on their day off enjoying watching the working class struggle. Among the crowd always sat groups that seemed out of place though; pressed cotton-silk blended suits worn by men who barely murmured above a whisper to each other. Even though many of them were regulars, it didn’t make the sight any less jarring to see. It made me giggle that even the most sophisticated among us enjoyed classic milkshakes and fries that dripped in grease and flakey salt. I’d always giggle about it with TK, who always seemed to pull a tight lipped smile and often would change the subject, “just be careful around those guys Y/n.” And so was how brunch service usually went.
Today saw its own surprise though, as through trying to clean up the crumbs and remnants left from its guests, a crowd seemed to form outside. Just peeking up to see through the glass littered with hard water stains, I saw excited journalists and regular people all crowding around an older male in another one of those pressed suits that seemed to always find themselves in the diner. Taking back several mugs of half drank coffee, I catch TK in the window again. “Did you see the whole crowd outside??” “Yeah, I mentioned the rally, right? Apparently the Mayor is trying to prove he’s one of us and has been coming here every other week to prove he’s not unlike us poor people.” They scoffed, taking the deposited dirty ceramics to be washed. “Boss really makes a point to treat him all nice so uh, just make sure to wipe down his table again before he comes in. Maybe change out the condiments for a couple non-sticky ones. He’s been really stressed out about it for whatever reason.” The eyeroll that followed was hardly held back or attempted to be hidden. “He usually sits in the far corner booth where all the sun comes in at this hour.”
Taking TK’s guidance, rushing over to one of the booths tucked away in the corners, they were right that this one did get considerable sunshine. Wiping it down over again was only a slight bit easier as the rays had heated up the surface just a little, loosening the dried out sticky patches of leftover syrup. Sliding into the booth to be able to reach over to retrieve the messy ketchup bottle and crusty syrup bottle, my knee unexpectedly brushed something tucked in the back of the booth. Taking each of the condiments to be held up against my chest with my left arm, I reached down to retrieve the notebook with my right. An inconspicuous thing, a simple spiral notebook that seemed to be left behind by whoever sat here last– of which I couldn’t quite remember from the rush of people.
I didn’t think much of it, walking to the kitchen to switch out the bottles, I did quickly take a look inside to feel smooth paper and notice that it wasn’t really your standard college lined notebook. It looked more like an Excel spreadsheet. Every couple pages had scribbles of numbers, expenses, and occasional words: “votes”, “shipment”, and even some names I didn’t really recognize. It seemed to be some kind of accounting thing, but I figured that whoever left it behind would come back and ask for it– so leaving it in the back where no one could take it was probably safest.
Heading back out carrying fresher bottles of the condiments I had taken out before, I had already spotted who I guessed to be the Mayor himself sitting at the booth. “Sorry! Usually people wait at the front to be seated. I was just cleaning up this table.” He was mature in his appearance, grey-speckled warm chocolate-brown hair with his age showing through subtle creases in his skin. A grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but showed off perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth, greeted me in a way that made him seem friendly, if not kind of fake. “Oh, you’re not the usual waiter that comes by to serve me.” I laugh it off with an awkward smile, where was MC right now? “Ah, well I’m uh Y/n! I’m covering for MC who you’re likely more used to, Mr. Mayor.” “Gordon Williams, just Gordon is fine. It would be kind of silly if you got used to calling me Mayor and I don’t win reelection." The short laugh that left him was deep and reverberating, he reached a hand out and gripped mine for a shake, but his tight grip and rigorous shake only made a nervous chuckle leave my lips.
“Ah, uh, right Mr. Gordon. What could I get you this afternoon?”
Taking his order fell back into routine, and soon I was rushing off to send his order to the kitchen– missing the scrutinizing gaze that followed me as soon as I left his table.
“Dunbar.”
A flash of irritation caused his eyebrows to furrow, these assholes always had to use his real name. “What?” His voice dripped venom, under the cover of night unexpected calls risked giving his position away. “We have a proposition for you.”
Stupid politicians and their election year schemes. His hand reached up to rub at his temple, annoyance at interrupting his nighttime activities already evident, and he would hang up if he could. “Given how you’ve proven your aptitude for… Silencing. We would like to offer you the chance to have all this swept under the rug. Allowing you and that waiter you follow around a blind eye with whatever you see fit to do with them.” He perked up a little, hesitant to get too excited and give away the fact he was just outside their window.
“I’m listening.”