It was a hot and muggy May afternoon; it’s Alabama, everyday is hot and muggy; I was busy working on a project when the two of them walked in my door. The moniker is Dave Robison, I’m a PR guy.
They wore dark suits, and hats tilted toward their eyes. What the hat didn’t cover, the black Ray-Bans concealed. I noticed a glisten of perspiration on each of their upper lips. They asked me,
“Would you mind putting down that hairbrush you were using as a microphone? We’d like to talk to you.”
I said, “Sure” and pulled up my chair and sat down at my desk. “Have a seat, boys”
They walked to the front of my desk, but remained standing. I asked them their names, but they declined to give any introductions, they just said,
“We’re from Quixtar and we’d like to discuss a situation with you.”
“No names, huh? I asked, “Mind if I just call you, ‘Bob’ and ‘Doug’? By the way, nice hat.
“Thanks,” said Bob.
“I meant Doug’s,” I replied. “What can I do for you boys?”
Doug interjected, “Mr. Robison, we’d prefer to just stick to the matter at hand”
“Okay, no problem… call me Dave.”
“Mr. Robison,” continued Doug, “we are tired of some of the things Mr. Larsen has printed, and we want to do something about it.”
Bob said, “That’s right, we want to elemi-”
Doug quickly coughed and shot his eyes in Bob’s direction.
“Ahem,” Bob continued, “we want to settle a matter of confusion that Mr. Larsen has published, and we need to ask you how to handle it.”
Okay, boys, my fee is $200 dollars a day PLUS expenses.
“Okay,” I said, “you gotta deal.” (I’m a sucker, for PR babes)
END OF CHAPTER ONE