Call to Zilker

Henry stands in a public phone booth, the light rain pitter-pattering against its plastic cover. Looking every bit like a West Berlin spy meeting a contact, furtive and looking around constantly, he slips a quarter into the machine, and dials the number he received for Epopt Zilker.

(( Need a location for Henry ))

"Hello?" answered a soft male voice.

((Folsom Blvd and 32nd street, close to Club Raven. Assuming there's an imaginary phone booth there))

"Zilker, please." The name is pronounced with emphasis on each letter and syllable, like a foreign name you might not be sure about.

"Henry's the name. I have business to attend with him before the curtain parts." Curtain, Veil, how subtle.

Henry's reply takes a few seconds. "Agreed. Table on the left-hand side, with the pitcher of water on it. 10 minutes." As soon as he has Zilker's confirmation (if), he heads straight to Avalon, melting in the crowd and taking a smoke on the way there.

Henry gets his confirmation and the phone hangs up.