Skip sat in his pillowy leather chair behind his desk, staring out the window of his huge third story beachfront office. He'd bought the space several years ago to escape the craziness of home. It was his "man-cave" so to speak. He came here whenever he and his wife fought or the kids were screaming or he needed complete silence. This was about eighty percent of the time that he wasn't working at the shop.

It was a gray afternoon. Clouds covered the sky and deep green-blue waves crashed violently on the shore. Skip reached for a crystal bottle and a matching glass. He poured the amber-colored contents of the bottle into the glass and then set it back down. He crossed his legs and continued to watch the angry waves attack the sand in a never-ending onslaught. He took a sip from his cup and cleared his throat.

"I told you no. I don't want to have the Feds swarming the place. We will not be bringing in extra goods to any of the places. Do you understand? It's hard enough bringing in a few hundred cases a month. I really don't want to make it any harder." Skip was about ready to start yelling.

"But, sir. We'll even give you a discount--" The visitor had a thick Canadian accent.

"I said no!" Skip stood up and shoved his chair back against the desk, still facing the window. "I thought you Canuks spoke English. I guess I was wrong."

"Exc..." The Canadian sighed. "Yes sir. I understand. I'll just take my leave now." 

Skip didn't bother to respond. He listened silently as the man let himself out. He took another drink from the cup. He looked down at it. Cheap apple juice. He should have known to get the expensive stuff. Lord knows he could afford it and live quite comfortably.