Pardon Me, Sir, But Would You Have Any Grey Poupon?


“When I started this operation, I had a secondhand Cadillac limo and a phone number. Over the years, I have been able to grow it into what you see today—and in a tough business environment.”

The squat old man made his way along the row of cars, gesturing with his cigar. “Two Rolls Royces, three Bentleys, six each of stretch Caddies and Continentals, a couple classic Essex Terraplanes for theme weddings and of course the Town Car fleet. Each one perfectly maintained to be like new.”

He paused, drew on the cigar, exhaled. “And before you ask, yes we do stock a bottle of Grey Poupon in the glove boxes of the Rolls.”

As they listened to the old man run through his obviously well-rehearsed spiel, Jimmy kept glancing over at Martin. Martin, paying more than close attention, wore what Jimmy recognized as his “church face”—pious and a little superior. It was the way he held his mouth. Jimmy’s annoyance increased as the old man bragged about plans for a stretch Hummer and even a helicopter service. Martin looked like he was hearing Jesus himself sing the Gospel.

It was just a goddamned job.


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