The Dealer
“A half million up front,” the guy said. “Another five hundred large when you deliver.”
The Dealer couldn’t believe he was even considering the offer. He’d never taken this kind of money before, and there was no guarantee he could deliver everything the guy was asking for. Taking the money would go against everything he—and the piece of metal on his chest—stood for. Maybe he should just stand up and walk away, leave all of this behind him.
He took a long sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn on his tongue as he bought himself another moment to mull things over, to consider all the pros and cons …
“Hello?” the guy snapped impatiently. “We got a deal or not?”
He sent the guy a cold stare. “What if I don’t deliver?”
The guy smirked. “You mean what if you can’t?”
Fucker. This exchange had begun to feel more like a castration than a conversation.
The guy tossed back the bourbon in his glass. “If you can’t deliver, but we can tell you’ve tried?” He belched a nasty chuckle. “You can keep the down payment. Consider it the equivalent of a pity fuck.”