Every time he looked at it, his wife stopped speaking and watched his expression.
Still, they ordered as though they were determined to enjoy the evening.
Oysters.
Filet mignon.
Lobster.
Several cocktails.
And a bottle of Bordeaux we kept in the locked wine cabinet.
By the time they turned down dessert, their total came to $407.63.
“Could we have the check?” the man asked.
He looked at his phone again.
I placed the leather folder beside him and walked away to deliver drinks to another table.
I was gone maybe three minutes.
When I came back, the booth was empty.
So was the payment tray.
At first, I assumed they had stepped outside.
Then I checked the restrooms.
Nothing.
I hurried toward the front entrance.
They were gone.
My stomach dropped.
I went straight to my manager’s office.
Jett barely looked up when I rushed inside.
“Table twelve left,” I said. “They didn’t pay.”
He sighed.
“Maybe they stepped outside for a cigarette.”
“They’re gone.”
“You sure?”
