"Isn't this exactly what I am doing? I am negotiating."
Jason raised an eyebrow, a smug, oily grin stretching across his pockmarked face. He tapped his knuckle heavily against the contract on the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"You sign your name. Then you press your thumbprint in red ink. And this matter is finished," Jason said, his voice dripping with condescension.
He leaned back, crossing his arms over his protruding belly. "Otherwise, I will find someone to help you sign. That is the only negotiation happening here. Why does Mr. Brooks look so confused?"
With a flick of his wrist, Jason tossed a gold-plated fountain pen onto the table. It spun and rattled, coming to a stop in front of Jack Brooks.
Jason then pulled a cigarette from a silver case, placed it between his lips, and lit it.
