Straw Men

“Do you know how the cartel is going to deliver to you?” Parsons asked. Isaacs eyes narrowed and he scooted out of the booth. “Come with me,” he said. Parsons stood up and followed him to the restroom. Isaacs held the door for him and as he entered, stepped aside and slammed Parsons into the sink and mirror above it. Parsons’ head banged against the glass violently. “Listen carefully,” Isaacs said throwing his shoulder and all his weight against the smaller man while at the same reaching into his shirt and retrieving an Army Colt .45 which he shoved under Parsons chin. “I’m going to step back and you’re going to undo your shirt and take it off along with your pants. Very quickly now. “ He pushed the button on the handle on the door to lock it. “Do it,” he ordered, his drill sergeant instincts taking over. Parsons quickly unbuttoned his shirt and stepped out of his trousers not even worrying about the floor which wasn’t terribly clean. “Turn around,” Isaacs commanded. “Okay. Get dressed.” Parsons did as told and Isaacs, satisfied there was no wire, put his piece away.