The nervous man walks into the room, pushes the door close. It swings shut faster than expected and slams shut with a crack. A man who sit at the desk looks up momemtarily, annoyed.
"Sorry, Mr. Franks."
The seated man looks back down at his crossword and finishes his last clue.
"Mr. Franks."
The seated, Carlton Franks, takes his time folding his newspaper and putting it aside on the corner of his desk. On his own time, when he's ready, he leans back in his chair and looks at his guest.
"I don't like being disturbed," he says, "when I'm working on my puzzles. I've killed for less."
The other man laughs uneasily. Carlton Franks is many things, but is not a comedian. He does not know how to make people laugh. What he says, he usually means. The other man thinks he is joking. He is terribly mistaken.
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