Blake walked towards the desk as I stood there like I was about to be the applicant for a job interview. I thought he would offer me a seat in the comfortable black swing chair positioned in front of the desk. The lack of an invitation to do so left me standing, and I was okay with that. We could skip what Joe thought was a catch-up, although I didn't think Blake warranted that interaction. He removed a packet of small thin cigars from the breast pocket of his leather jacket and lit one with a match. I would have thought that he would pull out a lighter. I guess not, since he flicked the match until it danced a bit of smoke in the air and put it in a marble ashtray. He leaned against the desk, just like he had done at the bar to take that phone call. I wonder what kind of criminal enterpri
