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He waggled his finger in the air to help make a point. He put the palm of his left hand in front of Flub Bonners face and tapped it furiously with the forefinger of his right hand, making his pitch all the while. What was More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin he doing? He might have been danny ganz death
them a house, or a new car, or a machine that peels vegetables or makes yogurt. Holt was selling the Bonners something. What? Nidech eased through the crowd as she had earlier, only this time she got closer The gweilos were soft-voiced More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin southerners who communicated as much with their expressive faces and their bodies dalmation coast
by what they said. It didnt take Ella Nidechs inside knowledge to know they were rich, arrogant, and given to posing as boorish but saloon-smart, dont-fuck-with-me kind of cowboys. Flub Bonner asked a question. Holt More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin laughed heartily and replied, waving both of his short arms. The taller brother asked a question, and Holt laughed lynne russell
louder. Once Holt asked a question of the stoic Pak, and the latter murmured an answer, his face impassive, his eyes on the Bonners, assessing their reactions. Holt continued More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin talking, his arms gesturing. Once he slipped alongside Clint Bonner and clapped heartily on the small of dints back. He was animated. He was boston celtics
He was optimistic. He was the most trustworthy man in the world. He was a tipster. A good old boy. This More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin was a sure thing, a fabulous deal, his face said. How could anybody not trust Gene Holt? The Bonners were loose and polite at first. Then Holt said something that literally gynecomastia
Clint Bonner to almost choke on his little black cigar. Flub looked momentarily discombobulated, men More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin hitched his britches just a tad, biting his lower lip. Holt kept talking. Nidech listened as best she could, memorizing every expression and shard of conversation, seeing it as she would write it in her report. Holt: Mr. lynne russell
Unintel, unintel, ien Sal... unintel, unintel, ...is inheritance? F. Bonner: More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Junglemixin (Hitches britches) Unintel, unintel, my brother and me. C. Bonner: Unintel. F. Bonner: Unintel. (Laugh.
