Minus
Minus
“Is this coffee or motor oil, Phil?”
“I’m sorry, Clutch, I would have made a fresh pot if I knew you and Minus were… stopping by. Here let me make…”
Phil Blondino tried to stand, but the barrel of Clutch’s gun pointed at his head convinced him to remain seated. Phil’s grease-stained office chair seemed to groan in agony from underneath his bulky frame.
“You’re good right there, Phil. I’m just going to sit here and sip my delicious cup of Pennzoil while my good friend, Minus, looks for Cutter’s money.”
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