Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Three
“Light?” Colonel Matheson said extending his good cigar lighter to the startled man in the cream-colored suit.
“Um, thanks,” he said hesitating before slowly leaning forward.
Colonel Matheson flipped the nickel-plated Zippo open and struck the wheel with his thumb. The man flinched from the large flame, which may have singed the hairs dangling from his forehead. Matheson didn’t apologize, didn’t adjust the flame height, and didn’t fidget. The man with the cigarette in his mouth, by contrast, displayed a considerable level of anxiety in tilting his head sideways to light his smoke. When you’re a colonel you get used to that kind of skittish submission from subordinates and civilians alike. Hell, truth be told, Matheson sometimes depended on it.
