Table dance

In trademark theatrical fashion, Joe Kerr Junior leapt onto the boardroom table, flinging open his velour jacket like demon wings with outstretched arms mid-flight, only to reveal serial rows of grenades stitched into the thick silk lining. The ensemble terminated at the red-buttoned detonator above which his thumb now erratically hovered.

“And besides, with me, you get a lot of bang for your buck.”

Alpha-Alpha could not disguise the facial contortion of humiliation as it unashamedly mugged him before the assembled wide-eyed, slack-jawed, clients.

Drooling.