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Roper stabbed the last piece of potato with his fork and ate it. He dried the corners of his mouth with the embroidered napkin and looked at the man on the other side of the table. “Done?”
“Yes, it was delicious.”
“And now, let’s get something sweet, Andrew,” Roper said, and Jonathan would almost say he winked.
Roper signalled for the waiter to bring the dessert.
“Tiramisu,” Roper said, and the waiter returned with elegant, tall glasses and poured them champagne.
“You’re probably wondering what we’re celebrating, Andrew.”
“Exactly. We’ve already celebrated me becoming the CEO plenty,” Jonathan pointed out.
“We’re celebrating that one of the minor competitors of our business won’t be bothering us much longer,” Roper said, he didn’t even lower his voice, they were the only guests in this room. Roper paid for the privacy.
“Which one?” Jonathan asked after a moment, as if he wasn’t even interested in it.
“Mr. Smith.”
“Oh, and is he leaving our field or have the police got him?”
“Let’s say Mr. Smith will soon transfer from the earth to… hell,” Roper said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Normally I would ask Corky, but I thought you might want to do this personally,” he added.
Jonathan’s face stayed blank.
“Should it look like an accident or it’s not necessary?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“It shouldn’t look like an accident, we want to send a message to other rivals, too.”
“Ok.”
Roper raised the champagne glass. “Let’s toast to Mr. Smith’s imminent death.”
“Cheers.”
“You should finish the tiramisu, it’s excellent.”
When they left the restaurant, Jonathan exhaled. ‘I should contact Angela,’ he thought about his handler.
Roper handed him a gun.
“It’s in your hands, Andrew,” he said.
Jonathan nodded.
‘Maybe I’ll wait a bit longer with the report.’