Bagman: Playing Stupid
Jarvis’ smile fit the rest of him. It’s ugly. In a world where beauty could be bought, there was a certain dignity to his appearance. Widely-spaced white teeth were bright against Jarvis’ black skin.
“Biz is under my control, Benny, where it should be.” He went to his desk and grabbed two Cuban cigars. He sat down and motioned for me to do the same as he cut the ends from the cigars. He offered me one, and lit it.
“Except,” he continued, “that it turns out that somebody has gone into business for himself. Cut a deal he shouldn’t be near with people he shouldn’t know.”
I coughed on the dark, rich tobacco smoke and shrugged. “Sounds like a problem, man. What you need me for?”
“What I need you for is to is fix what you fucked up.” I made my face go blank. “Don’t fucking play stupid, or I swear I will shoot your bitch mother right now.”
“Shit, man.” I stood and threw the cigar in the ash tray. “No need to threaten my Ma.”
Jarvis picked up a shotgun, clamped the cigar in his teeth and aimed the barrel at me.