Munk Goes to the Club pt 3

“So I’ve got this monkey on my back.”

“Everybody is a wise-ass,” Munk muttered to himself and plopped into the solitary seat arranged in front of the desk. “Pardon?” The tubby feline stroked his whiskers as he waited for Munk to clarify himself. “I said, ‘Everybody is a wise-ass,’ wise-ass.” The tabby’s tail twitched. “We have some business, Mr. Monk.” “Bet your fuzzy ass, we do,” Munk sneared. He plucked the magnum from his jacket and dropped it upon the desk, conspicuously angling the barrel at the rotund mass of fluff. “How much do you trust me, Nick? You’d better decide right, fucking now.” The door crashed open as Nickolas eyed the imposing figure resting on his desk. “He’s carrying, boss!” The emerald eyes drank in the magnum and then slid up to the bodyguard’s face, watching his expressions change as he spotted the gun and tried to figure out whether he was helping or not.
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