Page 103 of Money Shot

VINCE

If I ever felt likesomething was important enough to be important, it was pretty damned important.

“I told you once, I don’t think I should just have to keep repeating myself,” I said.

“Well, that is a sketch made on a note pad. A sketch. It’s not a precision drawing, and…”

I was done listening to this asshole, and was about ready to either beat the living shit out of him or go elsewhere.

“What you think because I’m a fucking biker I’m some dumb fuck?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That’s not an accurate statement.”

I pointed toward the drawing and tossed my hands in the air. “I didn’t draw that fucker with a crayon; I drew it with an architect’s pencil. That, that right fucking there, that’s what I want.”

“Very well. Identical to what is depicted?” he asked.

I nodded my head. “Exactly.”

He glanced at the drawing, shook his head from side to side, and sighed heavily. “But, the dimensions, it’s not drawn to scale, and it’s…”

“Who says it’s not drawn to scale?” I asked.

“Well, I assume based on the disproportionate nature, and the sheer size of the…”

“Just. Like. The. Fucking. Drawing,” I said flatly.

He picked up the paper, nodded his head, and shifted his eyes toward the parking lot where I had parked my bike.

“And, the manner in which you’ll resolve payment?” he asked.

I reached inside my cut, pulled out a banded stack of hundred dollar bills, and flopped it onto the edge of the counter.

“Cash. That ought to get you started,” I said.

He picked up the bills, flipped through them, and grinned. “It certainly will.”

“Your name?” he asked as he picked up a clipboard.

I pointed to the drawing, shifted my finger toward the money he held, and nodded my head.

“Name’s Vince, that’s it. No phone number, no address. I’ll be back in a week,” I said.

“The pleasure’s mine, Mr. Vince,” he said.

“Exactly like the drawing,” I said.

He glanced down at the drawing, nodded his head once, and grinned. “It will be.”

And as far as I was concerned, that was all that mattered.