In reply to Warren Worthington III (msg # 83):
Taskmaster's expression couldn't be read, given the hood and mask. But when the man sat back, he almost looked like a confused dog, tilting his head this way and that. Warren had impugn his honor, but it hadn't seemed the usual threats and insults of an uncouth man. He had apparently offended him, and from his words, broken house rules. As far as he knew, he had done know violence, and caused no destruction. He slid op the right side of his privacy partition to look around the club to see if he had accidentally killed someone. With as reflexes as fast as his, he might have taken out a perceived threat without conscious thought, but he saw no signs of it. No screaming, no blood, no angry or frightened shouts.
Just a crowd watching a show.
Maybe Warren was offended he had refused his showgirl, but in Taskmaster's mind, their meeting was not finished yet, and it would have been rude to cut it off prematurely. He had given the girl some reaction, so as not to be fully awkward when the audience member refuses the host. Was that it? Had he feared his display could have hurt the girl? The man clearly knew much less about him and his skill than he had thought.
Or perhaps it was misplaced anger at the messenger for bringing news of the...future unwanted merger. Well, if that was the case, perhaps in his last moments, the hunchback would learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Appetite suddenly gone, Taskmaster dropped two hundred dollars for the steak, drink, and tip for the waitress. He placed a business card in the ashtray, and hoped the man would have sense enough to call him before other interested parties did. He liked this club and it's atmosphere. It was nice having an independent operator out there with a love for jazz.
Stepping out from behind the privacy partition, he approached the bar once more, and asked for a telephone and phone book from the bartender.