“She’s capable, right?” Harold went straight to the point, with a stern mustache twirl for emphasis.
“Quite. You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s all secured. Physically and electronically. Guaranteed.” He held out his hand and Harold gave it a firm shake in recognition of their new partnership.
“Gil, update me as soon as it’s done. In person, if you don’t mind. After four I’m typically out back putting.”
Gil stood up to put on his jacket. “Yes, sir.”
With that he exited via the foyer and went out the heavy oak front door. He stepped down and crossed the wide street to his old Chevy Blazer. 1986. Red and white and bruised. Everyone said they couldn’t imagine why he kept it, given his job and its apparent need for shiny toys, but this car held so many secrets he couldn’t bear to let it go. Besides, Gil knew that the key to his job security was his brain and, among other things, the amazing number of contacts he had. People willing to do all kinds of work on both sides of the line.
Not that he personally ever crossed it, but it never hurt to know someone with a looser interpretation of right and wrong. Options. You always needed options when tackling problems and that is what his job was at it’s core: problem solving.
© 2023 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.
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