McFinn sat quietly at the bar as it slowly began to fill with bodies. “Man,” he spoke to himself silently, “never did I think we’d see something like this in this city.” He smiled at the thought.

Just a week prior he’d nearly been cracked over the head with a plate ten feet from where he now sat and today he was a just a quiet customer at the far end of the bar. Stirring his smoky drink, he felt a sense of pride in his town for the first time, well, ever. “Taco combo?” a slightly accented voice asked him. “Yes sir,” he replied as the older gentleman sat the plate on the bar in front of him. “You enjoy those Mr. Policia,” the man said with a smile as he twirled and deftly cleared the table behind them.

McFinn watched as the older gentleman navigated the crowded room with a series of ballet like moves, plates above everyone’s heads, twisting, turning and never, ever colliding with a customer. In all of the years he’d spent as a cop, hell even his time as in the military special forces, he’d never seen someone move with such grace, purpose and control…the thought paused him. McFinn took a gulp of his drink and watched the man some more. He HAD seen someone move like this before. Exactly like this.
Another quick gulp then another glance as the waiter glided past him and down the hall to towards the kitchen. The feet…those nimble feet.
“No fucking way,” he said quietly to himself. “No fucking way!” He smiled at the thought and finished his drink pretty damn sure of what he’d just figured out. “Night Man…The Night Man moves like that! The Night Man moves exactly like that!”