Apparent apprehension etching his unkind features, the shaven head leaned over to disturb him at dinner. There was little that irritated Jacques so much as being distracted from his food and wine. It would have to be an emergency of extraordinary proportions. He took a moment to look about him and saw only normalcy, calm, and other diners who were fortunate enough to be enjoying their meals in peace. It was another moment before he was able to sufficiently bring under control his simmering, neurotic impatience.
“That man over there insists he has the most urgent of business to discuss with you. He says it has to do with the Italian Company.”
This did very sharply bring him to attention. He looked over to the side where he saw the bulky dealer from Sarlat nodding in his direction. He beckoned him to come.
“I am very sorry to disturb you during dinner,” he had been warned about Jacques’ near devotional relation to food and drink. “The Italian Company,” he resumed with the three magic words which were usually sufficient to command the attention of but the most recalcitrant fringe, “believes you may be able to do them a great service. It might be no better than a false alarm, but it seems one of your employees vacationing in Sarlat had gotten a bit drunk with a colleague of mine and began complaining that you had arranged for a new identity for someone with an unrecognizable accent, instead of having him killed for beating up on your men. He described him to me and it appears from the description that he might be of immeasurable interest to the Italian Company. They would very much appreciate if you would let them know who you created.”
*
The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book Page 42
