Uriel snickered. “Don’t you want to know who it is I’m bringing home?”
“Fine, tell me,” Synder drawled.
“A boxer, heavyweight.”
“That narrows it down,” Synder said sarcastically.
Uriel rolled his eyes. "You're not playing nice, Synder long-ass-last-name Vale."
"And you're wasting my damn time, so just tell me," Synder grumbled.
"Why are you so damn moody?" Uriel was offended by his best friend's attitude, but his moodiness of late concerned him.
"I'm...just tired," Synder whispered.
The slight pause worried Uriel, so he didn't bother to play around with his friend. “Tank Carter.”
“Well,” Synder said after a few seconds. “That is a good stray.”
“You sound like I made you proud.” Uriel chuckled.
“When have you ever disappointed me? How much did you tell him we’ll pay him?”
“He asked for seventy thousand a year.”
“That’s pretty low,” Synder mused.
“I know, but he’ll start from the bottom, so it’s fine. Plus, no matter how good a boxer he is, Tank still has to attend the academy.”
“Mmhm,” Synder agreed. “Okay, we’ll take him in. I'll look into cleaning up his record. The gun and drug charges will stick, but I can take care of everything else."
"Sounds good."
That was the thing Uriel loved about his company—no matter how good or bad a person's past was, they were not judged when it came to the hiring process. Besides, once the new recruits started training with Kayne and the other instructors, they'd forget even their own name after a while.
"So, why'd you call me?" Uriel asked.
"I have a job for you, so hurry up and kick Tank's ass,” Synder told him.
“All right, I’ll meet you at the office as soon as I’m done here.”
“We’re not at the office, we’re at the hospital. Come to the eighteenth floor, private room VIP-1827. Oh, and make sure you clean up. Nothing worse than trying to introduce my business partner to a new client when he’s all covered in blood.”
“Yes, sir!” Uriel chuckled and hung up, snapping his fingers as he stood and unfroze the audience. “So, do you agree?” He continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.
“I won’t help you cheat.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Uriel said. “You’re going to lose fair and square.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Tank. “Before you pass out, make sure you come to this address in three days and tell the receptionist number twenty-five, then show her the card. Attend to your daughter first. I'll advance you the money for the operation, so don't worry. If your wife asks where you got the money to pay for it, tell her to call the number on the card.”
Tank Carter took the card, and Uriel could tell what the man was thinking just by the look on his face.
"Tank, this is all real, no bullshit," Uriel told him.
“What foolishness is this?” someone in the crowd yelled.
“Is this a damn fight or what?” another added. “I didn’t come here to watch you two become friends. Come on, fight! I have a lot riding on this.”
“Tank for the win,” someone else shouted.
