Karl slowly slid the glass over to Rogers. “Apology accepted. Now let’s drink to

it.” Rogers picked up his drink and the two men clinked their glasses together

and each took a sip. “You ever do any of that cage fighting?” asked Karl.

 

Rogers cradled the drink and shook his head. “No, never did.

 

Never really had the chance.” “You might want to try it. I think you could beat

any son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. I think you could beat all of them together.

You are one strong dude, Paul. I’m no weakling, but I never felt a grip like

yours before.” “Good genes,” replied Rogers. “My old man was smaller than me,

but he could break me in two. Almost did a couple of times when he was drunk.”

“Glad I never ran into him when he was drunk, then.” The two men drained their

glasses and set them back on the table.

 

Rogers wiped his mouth. “I met Josh Quentin last night. Guy rolls in in a

stretch limo with a bunch of beauty queens. He paws over the ladies like he owns

them. What’s all that about?” In a low voice Karl said, “Guy’s a prick.” “Ms.

Myers said he’s really rich, got his own company, printing money. And he’s only

like thirty. How can you not hate the dude?

 

We’ll be working men till we drop, while that guy just drifts off into the

sunset on his yacht before he’s forty.” “That’s the God’s honest truth.” Karl

looked pensive. “Now, what I heard was the jerk lucked into something.” “Pretty

lucky guy, then.” “Hell, ain’t that the truth. I’ve never been lucky like that.”

“Me either. So what did he luck into?” “Not sure. Some opportunity. Look, I’m