Jack's old rotary phone rang four times before he answered it. He wedged the receiver between his cheek and shoulder, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigarette. He flicked the match across the room and breathed in his own personal kind of painkillers.
'Yeah?' He said. Smoke curled out between his lips.
'Is this line secure?' Ramirez, Jack thought. One of the local bosses.
'I s'pose.'
'The fuck does that mean? Is it secure or not?'
'I s'pose.'
A silence followed. Jack waited for Ramirez to give in. He knew he would. Jack was the master of loaded silences.
Ingen kommentarer:
Send en kommentar