"Me, Reddington?" The man looks as if he's not sure whether to be amused or alarmed. His smile falters, and he becomes more business-like. "No, no, I'm not. He's here though, probably. He is most nights. I'm Aldous Silva, the proprietor. If Mr. Reddington's here, he'll be at one of the tables in the back." He motions across the dancefloor to a row of tables that sit two or three feet above the rest on a sort of lifted ramp.