Bon Appetit

“Table for two.” A demand, not a request.

“Your reservation?”

A snort, a glare, and two quick finger snaps brought the manager running.

“Ah, Mr. Porcine and Ms. Ava Ricious. What an honor to have you here tonight. Pierre, seat them at table three.” He smiled at Porcine. “For you, our finest table!”

“But sir, the Avery Mann family is dining at that table. They made reservations weeks ago.” The maitre d’ was trembling.

The manager ran a quick mental balance sheet – wealth, influence and power against the last shreds of his own sense of decency and responsibility. The money won.

“Kick out the Manns.” When Pierre started to object, the manager silenced him with an impatient gesture. “Just do it.”

Porcine and his mistress sauntered through the elegant dining room, disdaining to even look at the other diners. Porcine smoothed his oily hair, Ms. Ava admired her own reflection in the long windows. Finally, they seated themselves at the coveted table. The waiter handed them menus, which Porcine waved away. “We know what we want.” And he proceeded to place his order.

“Appetizer – Sizzled saplings with hot sauce”
“First course – Steamed vegetation and glacier melt soup”
“Main course – Roasted seafood on a bed of bleached coral”

His hideous smile was rapacious. The waiter was ashen, terrified. But he wrote down the order and managed to stammer out one question. “Any dessert?”

“But of course! Baked Alaska. Light it just before serving us, so we can enjoy the full effect.”

The entire room was hushed. A few brave souls rose to their feet in protest, but they were quickly ejected.

Outside the tall windows of one-way glass, night was well and truly falling.