Danny usually went to Ambrosia with Alistair who liked the affluent atmosphere and selective clientele. The door-man let Danny in without a pause, recognizing him straight away from the nightly news. He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow and grey slacks with a grey loose tie. He wasn't with Alistair tonight; he just wanted a quiet drink, some time alone.
Plus Alistair hated it when he smoked and he'd had two outside before coming in. Sometimes the stress relief was worth it.
He sat at a stool at the bar, meeting the bar-tender's eye and almost instantly a dry martini appeared in front of him, Danny tipped well and they were local celebrities so the staff knew him well. He was taking in the rest of the bar, his usual habit of casing his situation, when his gaze stopped dead on a man sat a few seats away from him. His face was familiar.
It took him a few moments to place the face; local college baseball star. Stanley May. Worked for Moretti. More importantly; dead. Or supposedly dead. He got up and took the seat directly next to May placing his own drink on the bar-top, "I've got it." He said to the bar-tender as he served the guy's drink, Danny slid a ten over the bar to him and turned to May. "Anyone ever tell you, you look like someone else?" He asked, hedging his bets this wasn't May. Although he was more than 90% sure it was.