![]() ![]() He laughs again and tosses popcorn in my face. The one I use right before I kill some asshole. I lean forward and give him the cobra stare. You’re a charmer? Give me a fucking break. ![]() He convinces people like you to blow stuff up while he watches. ![]() A Beret reckons himself a charmer, I explain. I drop my hands to the table and give in to the need to school this fool. Nah, I say, tracing my goatee and considering his level of stupidity, which is high. Do you get pedicures, man? Because those are some soft hands you got there. Little bitch-ass Army Ranger, I say, motioning to his hand. He runs a hand through his sandy brown hair, leaving it a rumpled mess. Smith, the other of the two Walker compadres, grimaces, tossing back his shot glass as well with a grimace. Sorry bastard, I murmur because he just took my money in a card game in the backroom of a New York City bar a few blocks from the Walker offices. It’s liquid foreplay.Įxactly why I lift my shot glass at Adam, one of the two Walker Security compadres at the table with me, and down the booze, a wicked bite following. Tequila is the Mexican version of the middle finger, the perfect fuck you to someone you either can’t kill or haven’t decided to kill yet. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |