A moment later Jimmy saw the door to the office open, and in stepped a short round man. He was wearing a white suit, just like Jimmy had seen in photographs online. An attempt at a mustache made him think of a Fu-Manchu, but even this one didn’t qualify. But what Mr. Wu-Tin lacked in testosterone, he more than made up for with presence. He ambled forward with confidence, even if it came with a slight wobble. He carried a thick walking stick. Whether for effect or need, Jimmy wasn’t sure. The man was probably in his sixties, his dark hair only slightly tinged with white.
Jimmy again braced himself as the man approached him. Was he the violent type?
“So, this is the famed Jimmy McSwain.”
“Mr. Wu-Tin. Should I say this is a privilege, if not a pleasure.”
“For you, not a pleasure. You are
