“Please, there’s no caviar in any of the markets. I've searched all over. Can’t you just pay me for the crates I've delivered? I’m down to my last couple grand here. I don’t even have enough money for fuel…” I trailed off, tracing a line with my finger down the condensation on the side of my empty glass. Bob motioned to the bartender to get me another. Was that a good sign? I finally looked up and met his eyes beseechingly.
“We had a deal. You’ll get your money when you deliver the rest of the caviar.”
I could feel my shoulders slump. The silent bartender gently pushed a new glass of scotch on the rocks towards me. He looked sympathetic. I closed my eyes and held the cold glass against my cheek listening to the soft sound of ice cubes cracking as they melted. I felt feverish.
“You want to back out now? Then you get nothing.”
I should have known better than to expect any mercy from Bob. He is serious about his caviar.