Jumbo Meatstick is one of the most obscure restaurants in Chiavo. It is a Turkish joint that only opens three hours a day, and three days a week. Its food and prices are alright, though no one would go out of their way for them. Even so, Jumbo Meatstick's dining room is always booked. The average Chiavan is fine with pickup or delivery, but for those with enough insider knowledge, they'll know this old two story location is the Crogiolo Syndicate's prime meeting place.
The owner, a short and bearded Turk known as Uccian Kuso, prepares the lunch today all by himself. He normally has a boy and girl assisting him, supposedly his nephew and niece. They are acquainted with the syndicate, but whenever Federica Azzurro comes over with her entire inner circle, Kuso would give them the whole day off.
The big oak table would normally seats eight guests on such occasions. Today, there is only seven. The typical chatter, both business and otherwise, is absent at this moment. Kuso emerges from the kitchen with a big platter of kebabs. He is wearing one of his many starch white dress shirts underneath his apron, though it is wrinkled rather than the pristine state it had always been. There is a bulge in his pants, its blocky shape probably hints toward a concealed handgun rather than his excitement.
The only sound in the dining room comes from a small TV hanging on the far corner. The headline all day has been Federica Azzurro's arrest. There has apparently been a shootout before that; Federica's driver and bodyguard, Tom Bergman, tried to fight through the police, and was quickly shot dead by SWAT officers. Detectives found numerous incriminating evidence in Federica's mansion. Drugs, forged ledgers, stolen artworks, blackmail materials. The police chief says anonymous tips are to thank for the bust, but the criminal community knows otherwise.
"Enough of that." Kuso declares. He sets the kebab platter on the middle of the table, and shuts off the TV. Drinks (without alcohol, since Federica never drinks before 4pm), salad, pita bread and everything else is already served. Kuso looks at each of the syndicate members, then at the wall behind them, where an antique painting of a medieval saint stands vigil.
"Here you go; enjoy your lunch." Kuso rubs his stubby hands clean on his apron.
He walks over to the windows, making sure the blinds are securely shut. Then Kuso fidgeted with his belt buckle, and the concealed sidearm underneath it. He makes the syndicate members leave their weapons at the front, inside their own secure containers. Still, he is debating whether or not he should say something about the situation. He's not the person for Crogiolo's secrets, but the seven people here all are.
"Federica trusts you handle this, uh, business." Is what Kuso settles on saying. "I'll be at the front; give me a shout if you need...cleaning up, or anything else."
The Turk leaves with the heavy double door closing behind him, leaving seven people around a dimly lit table.
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