Show me the Robert D

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So I meet Spiro at the agency – Phuk, what a dump. Anyway, he’s there with a protege, a towering meatcake, named Kyle who he’s grooming to appear in some Olympic demonstration sport. First time I’d seen him. Apparently Spiro’s been spinning his web for a while, ’cause he’s already conned boyo into getting a Vans logo tat. That’s pure Spiro – sell ad real estate on athletes. Demonstration sports are easy street compared to full-on Olympics. Anyway, good luck, Beefboy; our mutual manager’s shaggin’ you in your sleep.

So Spiro’s playing the heavy on this implant thing. That’s why I’m meeting him here. There’s something in his manner suggesting panic – if that’s possible in the reptilian mind. I get a sense he’s made promises that I’ve gotta keep. I keep stalling him by saying, “Just show me the Robert D(nero)”. That always sends him into a cloud of bafflegaff and bullshit. So I let him run on it while I fake a potty break to bat some texts back and forth with Minder. Seems my boy has cracked the transponder – or some shite like that – and has even got some little add-on gizzo up his sheath. I’m telling him he better crack the Beaver Buzz and jellies; it’s gonna be a late one, ’cause Spiro seems to want me under the knife by tomorrow.

On the way back down the hall, I run into meatball Kyle. He mumbled some dim flak about hanging out and seeing me around. My mind’s on my own Spiro mambo and just flash him the pearls (I work my teeth pretty good) and dish him some whatevers and tell him to say bye to furball. I hit the streets


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