"In a manner of speaking." She ignored the proffered handshake. "Is it true you are now in his employ?"
"I was. At the moment, though, I'm taking care of myself, American-style, if you want to know."
"Whatever you are doing, I hereby order you to terminate all activities in this office. Immediately."
Jim Bob just stared at her, not quite sure his brain wasn't playing more tricks. "Well, now, I'd normally like to oblige a
pretty lady like yourself, but I'm afraid I just don't have any intention of doing that." He grinned, eyes flashing.
"Are you telling me you refuse?"
"You hear real good." He reached down for the Uzi, and his bloodshot eyes began to blink. "Far as that goes, where I come from we're not used to takin' orders from cute little twats. So the best thing for you to do would be to shake your ass out of my way and mind your own business. Or maybe go talk things over with Noda." He thumbed toward the office. "In there."
She was opening her handbag, reaching inside.
Jim Bob, I was wanting to yell, this woman is neither "cute" nor "little." Above all, she is definitely not a "twat." You are now face-to-face with a world heavyweight ball-breaker. Who may be about to take that Uzi you're so proud of and tie it around your scrofulous neck. This game is way over your head. Can't you see where it's headed?
"Matt, what's she doing?" Tam bolted forward. . . .