ONE HUNDRED WORDS

"sweet delta blues" by Kirk Stansbury.

58

The host raised his glass. Damon instinctively recalled this ritual after difficult meetings and negotiations—the immediacy, the importance of raising his glass before the host’s companions could—and did the same. John—was his name really John?—and his colleague casually raised theirs. The host nodded toward each, then to Damon.

“Salute.”

Damon calmly, John and his colleague mannerly, repeated the toast, then followed the host’s lead, savoring that first mouthful of stunningly robust, remarkably smooth, surely expensive whiskey.

“Mr. Beckett… I drink Masseto here. Not today,” he sighed. “No more business. Only stories of living.” So they did.