Monday July 25th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the middleman.

Managed to get about two-thirds of the garlic taken care of this morning, with some help from Max. He enjoyed trimming the excess roots, or giving the garlic a haircut as we were putting it. Probably another half hour or so worth of work remaining... so hopefully it doesn't take me another week to get back to it.

No shaving though. Nor did I start on the blackberries, as a thunder storm was rolling around after dinner. Also: Kat needed some extra help with the boys tonight, so I'll be trying to get up early tomorrow to get going on the pick before it gets too hot.

Reached a milestone with Miles this evening, as I gave him his first bottle. We'd tried before (I can't remember if I'd mentioned it at the time) about a week or so ago? Something like that. Anyway, it did not go well. So it was nice to have this attempt go quite smoothly.

Hurray for a little more freedom for Kat!

Mine:

From my table at the rear of the bar I have a better view of the rest of the patrons than I care for. It's necessary, clearly, but I'd still rather not know that Baldy Sr. just ate peanuts that he picked up off the floor, or that Jock Number Two has been chugging Jock Numbers Three and Fours' beers every time they hit the can to take a piss.

I won't even get started on what I can see the bartenders doing. There oughta be a law. Well, there probably is one. Maybe somebody should stop in and enforce it.

Anyway. I need to be able to see what everyone is doing in here because the man I represent is more paranoid than I care to think too deeply about. If I start down that road I might start stressing out about my job security and I've got enough worries already, thanks very much.

The man he has asked me to meet here is yet to arrive, but that's probably because I'm an hour early to the party. It's a good thing the drinks here are basically alcohol flavored water, otherwise I might get myself into a bit of trouble trying to fit in.

Turns out, I'm only on my second 'rum' and coke when he shows up. With two bodyguards. That was not the agreement.

"Good evening," I say without getting up. No need to let them see the gun in my lap just yet, you know? "Mr. Herman and Misters...?"

"Misters Noneovyergawdambizness," the guard to my right says with a sneer. The guard on the Mr. Herman's other side chuckles without enthusiasm but with plenty of obligation. I decide that I like him immediately.

"Easy boys," Mr. Herman says as he waves his dogs off to the nearest table. Baldy Jr. was sitting there but he decides, all on his own, to go find somewhere else to take in the evening's sights and sounds.

"Were they really necessary?" I ask, feigning hurt. "I thought we're all friends here."

"In my line of business," Mr. Herman replies as he sits down across from me, "they are always necessary. Sadly."

I nod my sympathies but remain silent until the waitress takes his order and moves on. My left hand, the one that's resting on the gun's grip, is sweating profusely. I remind myself that I'm unlikely to need it - that I've only had to use it once in the last five years - and give Mr. Herman my best smile.

"Mr. Cortez sends his kindest and warmest regards," I tell him, the lie obvious to both of us.

"Tell Mr. Cortez that I... actually, you won't need to tell him anything," Mr. Herman replies.

"What does that me...?" My confusion lasts just long enough for Mr. Herman's guards to seat themselves on either side of me. Before I can move one of them grabs my left wrist and twists it until my gun hits the floor. Then he lets go and pats me on the head.

"It means," Mr. Herman says with the smile of a snake, "that you're in for a very, very long night."