His first victory came from the Greek, who was no pushover. The man was over seventy, and had been pouring lethal coffee and cheap beer down the throats of Kensington’s hipsters for decades and had steadfastly refused every single crackpot scheme hatched by his customers.
“Larry,” Andy said, “I have a proposal for you and you’re going to hate it.”
“I hate it already,” the Greek said. His dapper little mustache twitched. It was not even seven a.m. yet, and the Greek was tinkering with the guts of his espresso delivery system, making it emit loud hisses and tossing out evil congealed masses of sin-black coffee grounds.
“What if I told you it wouldn’t cost you anything?”
“Maybe I’d hate it a little less.”
“Here’s the pitch,” Alan said, taking a sip of the thick, steaming coffee the Greek handed to him in a minuscule cup. He shivered as the stuff coated his tongue. “Wow.”
The Greek gave him half a smile, which was his version of roaring hilarity.
“Here’s the pitch. Me and that punk kid, Kurt, we’re working on a community Internet project for the Market.”
“Computers?” the Greek said.
“Yup,” Alan said.