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“Very well, Mister Bayer. When’s your next shipment due?” “June First, our anniversary,” Wally replied with a smile. “A thousand gallons.” “That’s two thousand dollars. We’ll consider that my retainer fee. It’ll be another two thousand upon successful execution,” Yale chortled, “of the job, no pun intended.” Yale moved away from the light separating the two men and headed for the door. “Have a pleasant spring, Mister Bayer.” “You, too.” Wally waited until Yale had left the building, then climbed back into his truck to wait for the last of Yale’s henchmen to reopen the sliding doors that had allowed his vehicle entry. Long after Frankie Yale had been driven away from his warehouse, Wally was allowed to depart in his milk truck and drive back to Manhattan, where he found a muddy parking lot on the Upper West Side and walked to the Concourse Hotel, the establishment he would spend the night in before conducting more business the following day.
############Wally arrived in the offices of Newburg & Young, Member NYSE, in a new suit and straw hat he had purchased that morning with a small slice of his profits from the previous night’s delivery. The dapper gentleman from upstate smiled at the receptionist with bobbed hair and informed her that he would like to buy some stock. The receptionist smiled back at the silk tie, handed Wally a clipboard with a questionnaire on it, and asked him to be seated. Wally took his seat in a wooden chair and filled out the form before leaning back to listen to the pleasant sounds of an unseasonably warm March morning on Wall Street wafting through the opened windows beyond two rows of desks. |