cabinet and removed a
bottle of cognac, a favorite drink among the Chinese elite. He poured a splash
in two glasses, and held one out to Li. "Now tell me, my friend,"
General Soong said, "what exactly have you done to Mr. Ford?"
"Done to
him? Done for him would perhaps be better phrasing. Hopefully he will have the
sense to accept his good fortune, or" — Li shrugged — "as
you say, I am not afraid to employ the old ways." Li drained his glass
before explaining.
7
"I really
don't need another shot," Nick repeated as Scott Johnson waved a twenty in
the direction of the bartender, ignoring Nick's protests.
"It's a
party in your honor," Scott insisted, his voice slurred. "Participation
is required." He reached for the knot on Nick's tie and pulled down. "Loosen
up, huh? Here, maybe this will help. You ever hear the one about the
constipated accountant?"
"No,"
Nick dead-panned.
"He worked
it out with a pencil."
Nick looked to
Meg and made a face. "That's a little sick."
"No,
that's humor." The twenty finally caught the bartender's attention. "Jack
Daniels," Scott said, then looked at Meg. "Will you be joining
us?"
She looked at
her watch. "I should be getting home."
Scott let his
head fall to the bar. " Two of you. Where do you people come from? No
one's going home until I say so." He lifted his eyes to the bartender and
held up three fingers. "Make it three, to the brim."
The bartender
set a shot glass in front of each of them; Nick and Meg both grimaced .
The party had
started at six — a Friday night get together with three dozen or so GAO
employees to celebrate Nick's promotion. By eight-thirty only a dozen remained,
by nine, when Meg arrived after a late night at the office, only a handful. It
was now ten-thirty, and all but Nick, Scott, and Meg had filtered home .
There had been
plenty of pats on the back, a jealous face or two, and numerous rounds in
Nick's honor. Too numerous, in Nick's opinion — he felt sloppy. Time to
pack it in for the night; he faced a long weekend of work.
Scott raised
his glass; Nick and Meg reluctantly followed suit .
"To
Nick," Scott said, weaving slightly on the bar stool. "Whenever the
occasion arose, he rose to the occasion. Congratulations."
Meg chuckled,
then added, "Here, here."
All three
emptied their glasses; Meg's face soured on swallowing .
"That was
really good," Nick commented sarcastically, eliciting a cough, then a
laugh from Meg.
Scott's eyes
lit up. "Another?"
"No. There's
such a thing as work, remember?"
Scott motioned
again for the bartender, pointed to their glasses. "For you, Nick, work
comes around an average of six point five days a week, but a promotion to
assistant comptroller, that's a bit rarer."
"So is a
liver," Nick said, cupping the top of his shot glass. "One a life is
the allotment. Besides, for the foreseeable future my work week will be an even seven days, dusk to dawn — a hangover won't help." He turned
to the bartender. "Make it three light beers."
Scott puckered
his face in distaste. " Light beer?"
Nick nodded,
then draped an arm over Scott's shoulder. "And then, regardless of how
much I enjoy your company, buddy, I'm out of here."
Nick sulked for
a moment, then stuck a thumb in Nick's direction. "You know, I've seen this man loaded," he said to Meg. "When we first started with the
GAO, I got him to close up a few bars with me. Believe it or not, the guy's a
pretty damn good drunk. He can actually be funny."
"Hey,"
Nick said, feigning offense, "I'm funny all the time."
"Right. You've
been cracking us up so far tonight." Scott imitated Nick's voice. "'Have
to go now. Gotta work tomorrow, dawn to dusk.' I don't know about Meg, but it
was all I could do to keep from rolling on the floor. Could you tell us another
one?" Scott put his hands together in prayer. "Please."
Nick laughed as
the bartender set three beers on the bar. "Okay," he said, accepting
the challenge and instantly regretting the decision — his repertoire of
jokes
bottle of cognac, a favorite drink among the Chinese elite. He poured a splash
in two glasses, and held one out to Li. "Now tell me, my friend,"
General Soong said, "what exactly have you done to Mr. Ford?"
"Done to
him? Done for him would perhaps be better phrasing. Hopefully he will have the
sense to accept his good fortune, or" — Li shrugged — "as
you say, I am not afraid to employ the old ways." Li drained his glass
before explaining.
7
"I really
don't need another shot," Nick repeated as Scott Johnson waved a twenty in
the direction of the bartender, ignoring Nick's protests.
"It's a
party in your honor," Scott insisted, his voice slurred. "Participation
is required." He reached for the knot on Nick's tie and pulled down. "Loosen
up, huh? Here, maybe this will help. You ever hear the one about the
constipated accountant?"
"No,"
Nick dead-panned.
"He worked
it out with a pencil."
Nick looked to
Meg and made a face. "That's a little sick."
"No,
that's humor." The twenty finally caught the bartender's attention. "Jack
Daniels," Scott said, then looked at Meg. "Will you be joining
us?"
She looked at
her watch. "I should be getting home."
Scott let his
head fall to the bar. " Two of you. Where do you people come from? No
one's going home until I say so." He lifted his eyes to the bartender and
held up three fingers. "Make it three, to the brim."
The bartender
set a shot glass in front of each of them; Nick and Meg both grimaced .
The party had
started at six — a Friday night get together with three dozen or so GAO
employees to celebrate Nick's promotion. By eight-thirty only a dozen remained,
by nine, when Meg arrived after a late night at the office, only a handful. It
was now ten-thirty, and all but Nick, Scott, and Meg had filtered home .
There had been
plenty of pats on the back, a jealous face or two, and numerous rounds in
Nick's honor. Too numerous, in Nick's opinion — he felt sloppy. Time to
pack it in for the night; he faced a long weekend of work.
Scott raised
his glass; Nick and Meg reluctantly followed suit .
"To
Nick," Scott said, weaving slightly on the bar stool. "Whenever the
occasion arose, he rose to the occasion. Congratulations."
Meg chuckled,
then added, "Here, here."
All three
emptied their glasses; Meg's face soured on swallowing .
"That was
really good," Nick commented sarcastically, eliciting a cough, then a
laugh from Meg.
Scott's eyes
lit up. "Another?"
"No. There's
such a thing as work, remember?"
Scott motioned
again for the bartender, pointed to their glasses. "For you, Nick, work
comes around an average of six point five days a week, but a promotion to
assistant comptroller, that's a bit rarer."
"So is a
liver," Nick said, cupping the top of his shot glass. "One a life is
the allotment. Besides, for the foreseeable future my work week will be an even seven days, dusk to dawn — a hangover won't help." He turned
to the bartender. "Make it three light beers."
Scott puckered
his face in distaste. " Light beer?"
Nick nodded,
then draped an arm over Scott's shoulder. "And then, regardless of how
much I enjoy your company, buddy, I'm out of here."
Nick sulked for
a moment, then stuck a thumb in Nick's direction. "You know, I've seen this man loaded," he said to Meg. "When we first started with the
GAO, I got him to close up a few bars with me. Believe it or not, the guy's a
pretty damn good drunk. He can actually be funny."
"Hey,"
Nick said, feigning offense, "I'm funny all the time."
"Right. You've
been cracking us up so far tonight." Scott imitated Nick's voice. "'Have
to go now. Gotta work tomorrow, dawn to dusk.' I don't know about Meg, but it
was all I could do to keep from rolling on the floor. Could you tell us another
one?" Scott put his hands together in prayer. "Please."
Nick laughed as
the bartender set three beers on the bar. "Okay," he said, accepting
the challenge and instantly regretting the decision — his repertoire of
jokes
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