Short Story #11
Glassy green eyes met icy gray ones across the mahogany desk, the only thing separating the men and the thickening atmosphere in the small, but cramped room.
“This can only work one way,” the goon in the blue powder suit from behind the desk rose to his full height thinking that it would send a threat to the man still seated in the ugly plush green chair. The gray-eyed man didn’t flinch. He just sat there with a smirk on his stern, but handsome face that the goon wished he could wipe off with just a backhand slap, but he had heard things about this Monsieur. “You have to agree with my terms otherwise the deal is off.”
Jean-Pierre Papin sadistically smiles. “I work only for money. If you want loyalty, get a dog.”
“They say you are the best!”
“And I am the best, but I don’t work on your terms. I work on mine. If you think you can do the job better than me, then you have no need for my help.”