"The Sons know<em>nothing</em>," the cracking Johnson told them.  "And if they do, it's your job to make sure that they don't.<strong>Permanently.</strong>"  He went quiet for a few moments, as the waiter came by and delivered their food.  Two plates of baked potato (sour cream on the side), and a chicken breast dipped in buffalo sauce.  "Please go on, sir," Pathfinder continued as she unrolled her silverware.  "It's in all our mutual best interest to."  And before anyone knew it, she was cutting up her food-wait.  That<em>wasn't</em>the knife that came standard with the fork and the spoon.  Where the hell had she produced it from?  It looked...sharp.  Like it was meant to cut people rather than food.<br/><br/>"Uh, well..."  The Johnson said, looking at how carefully and precisely Pathfinder was slicing up her chicken.