You Are in Miami, You Know

This is post 7 in Tim's serialized novel, A Typical Day in Miami. To start from the beginning, Click here

Raul Mendoza pushed his office door closed, barely muting the sound of files grinding to dust in Nelly’s office. He turned the deadbolt’s knob; its bolt clicked home. Rounding the coffee table, he dropped onto the couch. Its cushion hissed like air escaping a punctured tire.

Raul leaned forward and reached for a cigar smoldering in the ashtray. “How may I help you?” he asked, bringing the cigar to his lips, rotating it as he puffed. He made soft kissing sounds, reawakening the red glow beneath the inch of ash at its tip. He leaned his head back and blew a cloud toward the ceiling. Holding the cigar at arm’s length, he turned his gaze to Brian and grinned.

“Cigar?”

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