Penningfeld wanted it. Wanted it bad. He had Daisy talk the mayor into letting him bid, something that required a waiver (and something that would cost the mayor a week of bad press during the next election). The reason Penningfeld wanted it so much was because Mitch and his German backers were bidding, the bunch of kraut hoodlums.
Before you heard about that you couldn't care less about that old pile of bricks, Daisy said, hooking her bra slipping into her dress again. She turned away and backed toward him. Button those last two buttons for me, will you, hon?
Penningfeld laid his cigar in the ashtray by the open window and stepped around to the other side of the desk.
You don't know what that old pile of bricks means to me, he said, fumbling with top button. Bah! Don't they usually make these things with zippers?
Some of us are old fashioned, Daisy said, slipping the folder labeled "Mitchell Enterprises" into the Parade Magazine from Penningfeld's Sunday paper.
1 comment:
Hook me.
; ' )
Post a Comment