After Dinner in New York, by Peter Shilston,

The two men remain at their table in the restaurant long after the other diners have left. Umberto the proprietor would like to shut up shop and go home, but you don’t argue with customers like these, and in any case he anticipates being well paid for the inconvenience. The food is good. Joe attacks it with his usual greed and uncouthness; Charlie is more abstemious. During the meal, Joe reminisces volubly about old times, and when they are alone in the room, the two talk business. Eventually Charlie excuses himself to go to the lavatory. 
   He contemplates his reflection in the mirror above the washbasin as he rinses his hands and slicks back his hair. He is only in his early thirties, but his face looks much older: a result of the pressures of his work. The livid scar down his cheek, which gives his right eyelid a permanent and sinister droop, often aches with the tension, but he forces himself to ignore it. He bears the nickname of  “Lucky”, which he dislikes: his success has been due to careful planning and determined application, not to luck. 
   He glances at his watch: it’s three o’clock.There is the sharp retort of pistol shots. Charlie retreats into one of the cubicles, where he waits a short while before pulling the chain. Only then does he venture back into the restaurant, where he finds his careful planning has once again paid off: Joe is dead.