Defective - A Psychopath's Tale

Chapter 84

Sasha

We were a bit early for our reservations at the restaurant, so we sat and waited in the foyer lounge area at the front of the restaurant until we could be seated. Merlyn passed some coin to the hostess for a good table. He was a slick operator.

As we sat together waiting, I was looking around where we were. There wasn't much to see actually, some art on the wall, copy of the menu on a small shelf stand by the door and a sign on the podium the host stood behind. This caught my attention, it wasn't fancy like everything else in the joint.

'Guests with reservations will be seated with priority.

Slaves will receive a 15% discount only!' the sign read.

This was rather odd I thought. Usually slaves would be seated even if a place had to chuck a customer out the door to make room for them; and their meal, and often their table's meals, would be compensated, meaning free. This type of thing was happening more and more, people, businesses, limiting the 'extra' service or privileges that were extended to slaves. The news, now that I watched it, often had short stories relating to slave relations actions such as this.

Pointing at the sign I said to Merlyn, "I wonder how that's affecting business. Probably pissing some slaves off."

He started with a nod and replied, "Yeah, I'm sure it is. A lot of restaurants have been losing revenue because of slaves though. Not only do they not pay for food, drinks and whatnot, anyone with them gets a free ride. Plus, people are leery of making reservations lately. If slaves want your table, they get it. Why make a reservation if you're not going to be able to get seated. It's been getting progressively worse. More slaves now then ever and they like to eat at high end joints like this one."

We had reservations so, according to the sign, we'd get seated no matter what. I wondered how hard the place would enforce their posted policy. If a slave started to make a protest, would they end up giving away reserved spots or booting someone out? And what if the slave demanded their and their guests meals be free? What could the restaurant do if they just walked out? The police wouldn't arrest a slave for that. They liked having a job.

"McAlester?" The hostess called out.

Merlyn and I stood and the girl smiled at us then led us to our table. My consort palmed her another coin. In places like this he'd said, tipping brings in the service. She stated that our maître d' would be right with us.

"The food here is gourmet, everything's fresh and hand made when you order it. They specialize in Russian, French and Israeli cuisine here. Not a huge menu, 10 or 12 items from each food nation, they change them up every several months for variety. Very well done, never a shortage of customers." Merlyn told me.

With a smile I nodded then looked around the dinning room. All of the people were well dressed, most didn't have as much black as I did, but there were a few girls with darker ensembles. The smells of the food wafted into my nasal orifices. They were wonderful. As I took things in, I tried to read people and guess what they did for a living; more practice of Merlyn's training.

I spotted someone heading towards our table, dressed like one of the other waiters and waitresses. I assumed she was our maître d' for tonight. Her face, it was... like a butcher had carved it up. I knew whom this girl was.

"Good evening and welcome, I'm..." The girl started, Merlyn cut her off.

"Staci." He stated.

She looked a little stumped. "Yes... Staci." Her eyes darted over Merlyn for a moment. "Do I, do I know you sir?"