Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
The server, Toby, wanders over. “More coffee, Mr. Wolfe?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I reply.
He smiles, looking out the window. “I didn’t know Mr. Whittaker vaped so much.”
“He doesn’t, usually,” I say. “He must be nervous about this meeting.”
Toby leaves the table. I’m debating leaving when Elliot finally returns, this time with a man walking beside him. The man has slick black hair, shiny with product, and is wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. He looks out of place in the hipster-ish environment of The Clam.
Elliot’s voice slightly trembles as he introduces us. “Logan, this is Sal Mangano. Sal – this is Logan.”
I shake the man’s hand, not liking the small smile tugging at his lips. He looks like he’s getting ready to laugh at a secret joke. Does he think I’m the joke?
Elliot must be able to sense my mood. He gives me a pleading look.
“Drinks, gentlemen?” I ask.
“Anything stronger than coffee in this dump?” Sal says, dropping heavily into his seat.
I grind my teeth. Calling The Clam a dump is ridiculous. Sure, it’s not a high-class cocktail bar, but it’s a decent place run by decent people.
“I’m drinking coffee,” I say.
“You’re teetotal?” Sal says.
“I don’t drink at work.”
“I thought that was the main benefit to being the boss.”
“You can drink whatever you want,” Elliot says.
“Oh, why, thank you, Elliot,” Sal says sarcastically.
I don’t like the way Elliot lowers his gaze, looking cowed. I also don’t like how several men at a table on the other side of the restaurant have suddenly taken an interest in us. They’re all dressed similarly to Sal, all with slick hair, like different-sized versions of each other.
My instincts are already blaring with warning signals.
Once we have our drinks – coffee for Elliot, whiskey for Sal – Sal leans forward with that annoying little smirk. “I’ve done some research into your outfit, Logan. It’s impressive as hell; I won’t lie about that. In three years, you’ve combined charity, products, and wealth investment. That’s no mean feat.”
“It’s taken a lot of hard work,” I reply. “Thank you.”
“The most impressive part, pal…” The pal seems intended to offend or intimidate, possibly both. “Is that other businesses are keen on your ‘Do It All’ logo. I’ve seen it in their advertisements, billboards, and TV. They want the whole world to know they’re working with you. You’ve made them money, made them seem like upstanding, selfless people and not the bloodsuckers they are, and made yourself money. Oh, and got free advertising in the meantime. It’s genius. Where’d you come up with the idea?”
Everything he says is tinged with a subtle layer of sarcasm. He’s talking down to me, mocking me. I think about punching him across the mouth hard enough to send him flying from the chair—the prick.
I can’t give him an honest answer of where I came up with the idea.
I kissed my best friend’s sister, and when she broke it off, she used the phrase ‘do it all’ while explaining that we couldn’t.
“But I guess ideas are like assholes, eh?” Sal says when I don’t answer. “Everyone’s got one. It’s not the idea that matters. It’s how you make it work, eh?”
“It’s true,” I agree. “What line of business are you in, Sal?”
He sloshes the ice in his whiskey glass, thinking he’s so clever, so in control. “This and that. Real estate. I’ve got a laundromat franchise. Anything I can get involved with, I’ll take a shot at, you know? I’m a fella with multiple talents.”
“You told me you were interested in Do It All, Sal?” Elliot says. He’s taken his vape from his pocket, fidgeting with it. I’ve never seen him like this before.
“Interested? Ha! That’s an understatement. I’m starting up a new business, a construction company specializing in home repairs on government-funded apartments and houses. You see, some of these places are shitholes. They’re just waiting for somebody to swoop in and make some repairs and make some cash in the meantime.”
I must be radiating some seriously angry energy. Elliot keeps staring at me to go along with this. All the men at the table across the restaurant are looking over, not even trying to hide it anymore.
“It’s a good idea,” Elliot says.
I almost snap at my friend. He’s got no business trying to placate this asshole.
Sal drains his whiskey glass, then loudly shakes the ice in Toby’s direction. “Hey, kitten boy, refill needed over here.”
“Don’t talk to him like that,” I growl.
Sal slowly turns back to me, his smirk wider than before. “Excuse me?”
“If you want another drink, speak to him with some respect.”
“Wow, this is how you talk to people during business meetings, is it, tough guy?”
Tension hums in the air. I get the impression this man is accustomed to intimidating everybody he interacts with. I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a hint of fear in me, a shadow of it, but it’s not enough to make me back down.