Davidson barely spared the moment necessary to make sure the restaurant was mostly empty before heading to a back table. He didn't care anyway. It's not like he'd be sticking around long enough to see how many diners lost their appetites after everything was said and done.
He sat at the table, drumming his fingers on the linen cloth as he waited. Joey was late as usual. Always did say that boy'd be late to his own funeral, he thought. The faint sound of bells caught his attention and Davidson looked up just in time to see the man he was waiting for walk in. And from the looks of him, he'd seen the bottom of more than one vodka bottle that day.
For two hours Davidson listened as the man talked, spilling every bit of information he had stored in his alcohol soaked brain. Lists of who he'd killed, jobs he'd been sent on, how he'd gotten involved with someone outside the organization and turned snitch... all interspersed with how he knew it was wrong and he never should have done it. He sounded like a kid begging for absolution.
Davidson played the part of sympathetic friend well. He even promised to help get Joey out of there and away from McCloy. What the drunk man failed to realize was that the only way out was in a body bag. But he'd know soon enough.
The job itself was over in no time. A quick flash of silver and the white linen tablecloth was quickly stained bright red. Davidson leaned close and whispered, "I told you I'd take care of you."
He got to his feet as the lifeless body slumped over the table and walked out of the restaurant, leaving his childhood friend dead in the corner booth. It was time to go give McCloy the good news.