Slick
The guy is slick in every way. His slicked back hair glistens with grease, in a style out-of-date for anyone but car salesmen and cardsharks. His eyes are like oil on black water under cloudy skies.
"This is the guy?"
"The best."
Tom pulls up a chair, and I take the other. "I have a business proposition."
"Drinks first."
I order expensive scotch all around, and the cocktail waitress brings it shortly.
"So, about–"
"Drink first."
We finish our drinks in silence.
"Alright," I say. "Let’s talk turkey."
Slick’s face brightens. "I’m so glad you brought that up."
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