Ain't no checks.'
'Cash deal, Robert?'
Nold.
'You holding out on the Internal Revenue?'
Gabray crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders. 'C'mon, what'd I do?'
'You'd know that better than me, wouldn't you, Robert?'
'Bunch a A-rabs, the owners.'
'Names.'
'Fahrizad, Nahrizhad, Nahrishit, whatever.'
'Sounds Iranian, not Arab.'
'Whatever.'
'How long you been working here?'
'Couple of months.'
Milo shook his head. 'No, I don't think so, Robert. Wanna give it another try?'
'What?' Gabray looked puzzled.
'Think back where you really were a couple of months ago, Robert.'
Gabray rubbed his shoulders some more.
'Cold, Robert?'
'I'm okay... Okay, yeah, it's been a couple of weeks.' Ah,' said Milo, 'that's better.'
'Whatever.'
'Weeks, months, it's all the same to you?'
Gabray didn't answer.
'It just seemed like months?'
'Whatever.'
'Time goes quickly when you're having fun?'
'Whatever.'
'Two weeks,' said Milo. 'That makes a lot more sense, Robert.
Probably what you meant to say. You wouldn't think of giving me a hard time-you were just making an honest error, right?'
'Yeah.'
'You forgot that two months ago you weren't working anywhere because you were at County lockup on a pissanty mary-joo-anna rap.'
The bartender shrugged.
'Really bright, Robert, running those red lights with that brick in the trunk of your car.'
'It wasn't my stuff.'
