"I certainly hope it's the latter," he said almost off-handedly,  "For silence would reduce my oxygen intake."  Standing up, he took Ms. Morris' arm in his and led her to the door and opened it.  A gun strapped underneath his shoulder brushed against her forearm.  Regardless, Mr. Percey led Dahlia through the luxurious penthouse halls, down an escalator, to a restaurant located within a giant tank of fish.   "Our cover is, we are an unhappily wed couple who are following the advice of our esteemed friend and psychotherapist to expand our horizons.  You are addicted to pain pills and anti-depressants, and I'm a workaholic."<br/><br/>A hostess escorted them to a reserved table and handed them their menus.  However, Mr. Percey didn't look at it.<br/><br/>"Yes, I would like the Chilean sea bass for the lady, and for myself, a 6 ounce steak done medium rare.  Ask the sommelier to bring me that bottle of vintage Riesling."  He turned to look at Dahlia.   "German wines; many perceive them to be cheap and mass produced, but when done right, ah...  there really is nothing quite like it in the world."<br/><br/>The host quickly walked away, and Mr. Percey set his silver ware and placed his napkin upon his crossed-legged lap.<br/><br/>"There really isn't anything like luxury dining on this side of the world, is there?  There really isn't much luxury to it, period.  How barbaric."