Story of the day - Installment 4
The giant glowers at me a few seconds. Then a deep breath. He appears calmer. I'm not taking my chances. I can wait.
"Look," he says, "there's nothing I can do about the dead. But I can help my friend. You can help my friend. That's what I want. That's what I'll pay you for."
The guy's rich. Slightly creepy. But rich. I'm broke. And. . .that's it. Just broke. "Alright. But I need money up front. Not all of it," I say thinking he'll protest, though he doesn't, "just enough to get started. We'll go from there."
"How much?"
Makes me pause. How much? Good question. I look up. My pondering look. I've done it in the mirror. Looks like I'm doing math in my head. I'm not. Sometimes you gotta play the game.
"A thousand." I say firmly.
He pulls a billfold from his coat pocket. Engraved leather. Can't make out the design. He counts out ten one-hundred dollar bills. Lays them on the table. Crisp. I wait the requisite few minutes. Look him in the eye. Then scoop up the money. Don't want to seem desparate. Too desparate anyway.
"Meet me at my office tomorrow." He nods. "10am?"
"Noon. The club doesn't close till 3." He finishes the coffee. Shifts his massive frame. No movement wasted. Giants don't tend to be lithe. He is. Buttons his coat. Slips on his hat and is out the door. I take a breath. Sometimes the game takes it out of you. I nod to the waitress for another drink. And then it hits me. He left me the tab. Figures.
"Look," he says, "there's nothing I can do about the dead. But I can help my friend. You can help my friend. That's what I want. That's what I'll pay you for."
The guy's rich. Slightly creepy. But rich. I'm broke. And. . .that's it. Just broke. "Alright. But I need money up front. Not all of it," I say thinking he'll protest, though he doesn't, "just enough to get started. We'll go from there."
"How much?"
Makes me pause. How much? Good question. I look up. My pondering look. I've done it in the mirror. Looks like I'm doing math in my head. I'm not. Sometimes you gotta play the game.
"A thousand." I say firmly.
He pulls a billfold from his coat pocket. Engraved leather. Can't make out the design. He counts out ten one-hundred dollar bills. Lays them on the table. Crisp. I wait the requisite few minutes. Look him in the eye. Then scoop up the money. Don't want to seem desparate. Too desparate anyway.
"Meet me at my office tomorrow." He nods. "10am?"
"Noon. The club doesn't close till 3." He finishes the coffee. Shifts his massive frame. No movement wasted. Giants don't tend to be lithe. He is. Buttons his coat. Slips on his hat and is out the door. I take a breath. Sometimes the game takes it out of you. I nod to the waitress for another drink. And then it hits me. He left me the tab. Figures.
posted by MP at 2:18 PM
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