He points a finger at the register.
“So I’m buying it.”
Luke chokes on air. “Buying… the water?”
“The shop,” Alistair corrects. “I’m acquiring the retail footprint. I’ve already texted Legal. We’re going to pivot to high-end hydration and artisanal chocolates. Maybe a cigar humidor in the back.”
“You cannot put a cigar humidor in a cardiac hospital!” Luke yells.
Alistair looks at Luke. He blinks, squinting slightly.
“Ah. Dr. Silva.” Alistair straightens his lapels, a flicker of fear crossing his face. “The man with the… mother. And the binder. How is she? Please tell me she hasn't audited the landscaping budget yet.”
“She’s reviewing the mulch receipts as we speak,” Luke lies smoothly.
Alistair shudders. “Terrifying woman. Reminds me of my rugby captain at boarding school. Big hands. No mercy.”
“Father, focus,” I snap. “There is no acquisition. You are having a sugar crash.”
I reach into my pocket. I pull out a stash I liberated from the Residents’ Lounge earlier.
“Here,” I say. “A LaCroix. Pamplemousse flavor.”
Alistair stares at the can. He looks at it with deep suspicion.
“It’s German,” I lie. “Very exclusive. It’s favored by the underground art scene in Berlin.”
Alistair perks up instantly. His eyes go misty with nostalgia.
“Berlin?” Alistair breathes. “Ah, marvelous city. I spent a sabbatical there in the eighties. The art scene was revolutionary.”
He takes the can, looking thoughtful.
“I frequented a little club calledThe Anvil,” Alistair reminisces, cracking the tab. “And one calledDer Keller. Very exclusive. No lights. No music. Just industrial noise and men in leather harnesses standing in silence.”
Luke makes a choking sound.
“I thought it was a performance piece on the constraints of capitalism,” Alistair continues, taking a sip of the LaCroix. “Everyone was in chains. I wrestled a gentleman named Klausfor three hours in a rubber pit. He insisted I call him ‘Master.’ I assumed it was his artistic title. Like ‘Maestro.’”
He sighs happily.
“The camaraderie was unmatched. Just sweaty men, grappling in the dark, exploring their boundaries. It really reminded me of the showers after a rugby match at Eton. Pure, masculine bonding.”
He looks at Luke.
“You’d love it, Dr. Silva. You have the build for it. Klaus would have adored you. He loved a strong deltoid.”
Luke stares at Alistair. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He looks at me with wide, panicked eyes.
“It sounds… educational, sir,” Luke manages to squeak.
“It was cultural!” Alistair declares. “This water... it tastes like that basement. Metallic. Cynical. Testosterone Infused. I like it.”
“Great,” I say, grabbing Alistair’s arm before he can detail exactly what happened in the rubber pit. “Now, go back to your car. Leave the gift shop alone. And cancel the text to Legal.”
Alistair sighs. He checks his watch. “Fine. But I’m sending a memo about the chocolate selection. It’s pedestrian.”
He turns to Luke. He claps a heavy hand on Luke’s shoulder.
