Wednesday, 19 November, 2359; Korean BBQ House, Capitol Hill, Downtown Seattle
Sam had arrived in plenty of time to take a discreet look at the area and the exterior of the place. Though by no means an Asian neighborhood, Korean or otherwise, the place had a reputation for authenticity despite its pedestrian name, so it attracted enough Koreans that the guards hanging around outside were not completely conspicuous. Sam counted eight just on the outside, so this Mr. Kim must be something to rate this sort of security. Or else they really were in a situation, as Comb had said.
He walked right in, a minute before mindnight. No one stopped him. The hostess didn't ask how many were in his party, just looked at him, smiled sweetly, and walked away. He followed. The place was warm with the small charbroilers embedded in each table, and the simple smells of kim chee and cooking beef filled the room. The woman led him through the place toward the back. Many of the tables were separated by ornate partitions - nothing to block sound or sight, just wood carved into the shapes of Korean letters forming screens to delineate space, create a sense of privacy. At one point they walked through an archway of such woodwork, and Sam was pretty sure he spotted the telltale signs of scanners. They ended up at the rearmost dining area, and through the partition he could see a great fat man using a pair of tongs to turn several strips of beef on the grill. Two burly Korean men flanked the opening. One nodded for him to enter.
Ducking through the opening, Sam was offered a seat with a courteous wave of the fat man's hand. "I have tongue, liver, flank, and shoulder grilling now, but of course we can order anything you may care for. What sort of beer to you drink?"