"Afternoon, Phil," he says, standing up and reaching out for a firm handshake. It's always strange to deal with Glen because he's got the body of a man who works for a living. His wrists are near as thick as a baseball bat, and he's got a grip like iron.
"Glen. I didn't realize I'd be keeping you waiting, I'm sorry."
The other man gives a hard smile. "Only a minute or two. Don't worry about it."
"You talked to a waitress yet?"
"Like I said—only a minute or two."
Callahan slips into the seat opposite. Unlike Glen, this place is only a few miles from home—he's got the m
enu just about memorized.
Which means that for better or worse, he's got all the attention in the world to pay to how much he's worried about the next few minutes, and how they're going to go.
"I've been trying to reach you," Glen starts, looking down.
"Yeah, we had a bit of trouble at the ranch. I haven't been able to spend as much time as I'd like."
It's not a lie, exactly, but it doesn't get down to the point, which in reality is that he's been avoiding returning the calls, because when he does, it's going to mean that either things go well, and the horse goes, or it doesn't go well, and…
Turning over the cards was just too much for a long time. But now, the choice was out of his hands. He needed to get the work done, and that was how it had to be. More than that, he needed the money, and he needed it yesterday.
"Shit, I don't know." Glen looks up. "What's good here?"
"You like eggs?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Eggs are alright. Get the sausage, Saul likes to burn the bacon."
"Right," he says. He looks at the menu a second longer before putting it down. "If you say so."
The waitress comes a minute later, and they order.
"So what were you hoping to get for him?"
It's been a long time since Callahan's had to negotiate. Some part of him worries that he's going to have forgotten something. The thing that he doesn't wonder about, though, is that he's not supposed to be the first one to say something. The first one to say a number loses.
"How about you tell me something you think is fair?"
Glen chews on that thought a minute. Part of him must be thinking that he'd rather not say a number any more than Philip had. But someone's going to have to, at some point.
"I could justify fifteen."
Philip's throat tightens. It's a starting number. It's low, and perhaps too low. But it's only a starting number.
It's a starting number he's going to have to bring up.
The food comes.
"The horse is worth twenty-five," Philip says. "I can't let him go much less than that, I'd be losing money."
Any hope that Glen might buy that is gone when Callahan looks up.
"Fifteen is fair, Callahan. Don't bullshit me."
"Alright. I need twenty. I can't let him go less than that. Honest. That's the least I can go."