“New plan. You go in and pay off Clyde. I’ll take the camera, get in the room and get your client enough evidence to nail his balls to the wall. When I’m done, I’ll meet you at reception.”
“I’m all for nailing a lying, cheating ass**le’s balls to the wall but usually shots of them entering the room work.”
“Shots of him entering something else would work better.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
But I could argue something else. “Man, you’re a mountain. No way you’re gonna get in one of those rooms and not be seen.”
“Trust me.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Absolutely, one hundred percent. He knew it and I knew it. We both knew the other knew it because both our bodies tensed so tight, I could feel with the slightest movement my tendons would snap and I sensed the same with him.
Still, I buried it. We had to work together. We had to partner up. Which meant I had to trust him.
This sucked but it was my experience that a lot of shit in life sucked. This was just the most recent.
So I forced myself to relax and said, “Right. Meet you in reception.”
He lifted up, taking me with him and twisting me in my seat. I retrieved the camera that fell to the floor at my feet as well as my travel mug. I handed him the camera and avoided his eyes trying not to look like I was avoiding his eyes.
He angled out his side.
I angled out mine.
He moved right.
I moved left toward reception.
Clyde rolled his eyes when I entered.
“Please, a hundred dollars for a two minute phone call?” I asked as I walked toward the reception desk. “I am not a pain in your ass.”
“No, you’re killin’ me,” he returned.
“No, I’m sending your kids to college,” I retorted, pulling out my money clip and handing him the bill.
He snatched it out of my hand and it disappeared in a blink.
Bullshit moaning weasel.
My eyes went to the TV sitting angled toward him at the end of the reception desk. I leaned into my forearms on the desk and checked it out.
“Classic p**n ,” I muttered. “Odd choice.”
“Seen all the others, like, a gazillion times,” Clyde muttered back and I grinned.
I had no doubt.
“We havin’ a party?” Clyde asked because I usually paid him off then took off and I looked from the p**n to him.
He was balding and not liking it, thus growing a line of hair way too long in order to do the comb-over, a tactic that men should abandon. I didn’t know when they’d get that bald was beautiful all you had to do was have the balls to carry it off.
Clyde clearly didn’t have those kinds of balls. Then again, he was slender, narrow-shouldered, had an unfortunately shaped nose with a hook at the end and a bump on the ridge and squirrelly eyes. Thus, just physically, there were a myriad of reasons he lacked confidence. Not physically, he was a whiner, not a good trait in anyone, man or woman.
It was my experience anyone could work anything. A man or woman could be what convention said was ugly or overweight and if they held their shoulders straight, looked you in the eye and had a ready, genuine smile, that shit melted away. The light shone from within and if you had the balls to shine it, all anyone would see was beauty.
Alas, people did not get this and Clyde was one of those people.