Lenny Bent’s Silvery smile
Lenny Bent came through the door. The sight of him was enough to tell you he was a man of power. He had two suited thugs with him, one on each arm, a walking, talking advertisement for his business. The guy on the right held a small black satchel, a silent promise of what was to come. Weasel greeted him like a child greeting his grandfather, all respectful grins and soft murmurs. A quick nod from Weasel, and Lenny, with his boys in tow, made a beeline for Brutus.
Lenny stood there a moment, sizing the big man up. “I hear you’re quite the story teller,” Lenny said, his voice a low rumble. “Perhaps you’d tell me a tale?”
“Certainly,” Brutus said. “Is it worth the price of a beer?”
Lenny just waved a hand at the barman. The guy didn’t even hesitate, putting a fresh beer in front of Brutus. Lenny’s eyes, slick and cold, settled on the ring. “That’s a fine trinket you wear. Did you get it at Tiffany & Co.?”
“No,” Brutus laughed, a deep chuckle that shook his shoulders. “I picked it up in a backyard very far from here.”
The Negotiation
“Would you sell it?” Lenny asked, his voice flat.
“No,” Brutus said. “I’m not a salesman, I’m a traveler. But I might trade it for a sum of cash.”
Lenny stared at the ring, the red diamond glowing under the low light. “It’s pretty gaudy,” he said, the words dripping with practiced disdain. “It’ll be hard to move.”
“You could cut it,” Brutus said, still smiling. “And still make a fortune.”
Lenny shook his head slowly. “Probably flawed. But,” he paused, his eyes unblinking, “it is the finest diamond I’ve ever seen.” He took a breath, letting the words hang in the air. “It’s probably hot. That’ll mean a discount. Tell you what, I’ll give you five large. How’s that?”
Brutus took a slow sip of his beer, his gaze steady. “I wouldn’t throw five grand away if it was in my hand,” he rumbled. “But I wouldn’t bend over to pick it up if it was lying on the floor.”
Lenny’s expression didn’t change. He nodded to the thug with the satchel. “I could double the price,” he said, the words soft, but with the finality of a closing coffin. “But that’s as high as I’ll go.”
“That’s fine,” the big man said, a smile finally showing on his face. “Put your money on the bar, and we’ll count.”
Lenny nodded to the thug and from the satchel a pack of money wrapped in Lenny’s signature brown paper was placed on the bar. “Now the ring,” Lenny says. Brutus tries to take it off but it’s stuck. Lenny offers to bring a jeweler’s saw, but Brutus says soap and water will be quicker. After a few moments, the ring comes off and Brutus holds his hand in the air, exclaiming, “Look! It even left an indentation in my finger to remember it by.” The three men stare at his hand while the barman wiped the dripping water from the bar. The big man lays the ring on the bar and says, “Now we count.”
