Ziggy stuck his chest out like a peacock in heat, like he thought he was John Wayne or something. I rolled my eyes, "Really?" I said, surprised that it came out of my mouth.
"Really what, Sugar?" He took a puff from his cigarette then grinned. He had pretty teeth, which irritated the crap out of me for some reason. Maybe because I expected Old Zig to be old and ugly. I wanted him to be ugly. My job would be easier if he were ugly, but he wasn't. He had that perfect mid-west haircut, like the news anchors always wore and an accent that was no accent at all, had no life in it, flat as a dry cow patty. He was over confident and smooth and I had to play the helpless whore, because if I didn't, I'd end up dead and of all the places I've never been, that's the one I least wanted to go.
"Really nice place," I said, pouring on my Mississippi accent as strongly as I could. "I ain't never been no place so fancy before." I looked around the room, eyeing his décor like I was Ellie Mae Clampet.
"You bring me the cash, Little Miss Corn Pole?" He said then chuckled. His laugh was so greasy that you could've fried bacon on it.
I pulled the bag Hank had give me out of my purse and deposited it on his desk. He counted it.
"It's good," he said. Then he reached under his desk.