“And now, you will uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Figgins. Lie down on your back and keep your shirt sleeves rolled up,” Ms. Helmsley ordered.
“Can't we talk about this? I've got another idea!” Figgins pleaded.
“The time for talk has passed. You accepted our investment and have produced no return. Guido? Open your kit.”The man in the cocked-back fedora obeyed. From the orange and yellow case he retrieved a set of rubber tubes, plastic bags, large needles and hand-pump bladders.
Figgins lay down and breathed heavy. Guido swabbed Figgins' inner arms with iodine and felt for veins with his fingertip. He pressed a needle into each arm and secured them with tape. Rubber tubes ran from the needles to the bags.
“Both!?” Figgins yelled. He had forsaken all else to try and turn a profit, but workaholism, especially with other people's money, rarely pays off.
~ fiction inspired by Edward Hopper's Midnight Meeting ~
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