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Don’t look at the people, Dale commanded himself. Don’t study their faces.
Get a seat. Then look at the four people.
Deep breath. Sound confident, but not too strong. “Mind if I join you?” Not too bad—a little weak, but not terrible.
One of the guys at the table raised a hand in invitation.
Matheson had claimed a round table with a long plushly-padded bench seat nestled into the inner curve of the stairwell and three straight-back wooden chairs in the outer edge. The locale made him looked less like Reliable BSD Godfather and more like Criminal BSD Godfather. The bench had lots of space, but if Dale squeezed in there the next arrival would trap him.
He claimed one of the chairs.
Matheson sat in the middle of the bench, beer in one hand and rubbing his close-shorn scalp with the o
