To Paris We Go

Cronk wondered what the boss wanted. Usually, it involves breaking few legs if someone didn’t pay what was owed.

The bosses name was Micky Quinn. When Cronk walked in, Quinn was enjoying the aroma of a glass of the finest whiskey in Ireland. He had his feet kicked up onto his solid mahogany desk.

“What you want, boss?” Cronk asked.

“Cronk! Good to see you, my man!” the boss man exclaimed as he stood, after gulping down the whiskey. “Have a glass for yourself!” It was almost a command, so Cronk poured himself a glass.

Quinn walked around the desk and patted Cronk on the back. “You’re the best I got, Cronk!”

“Thanks boss!” Cronk respond. “You want me to bash?”

Quinn grinned. “Something like that,” he answered, “ but maybe not.”

Cronk took on a confused look. He was used to the boss saying yes to this question.

“I’m taking to to Paris, Cronk,” Quinn continued with the grin broadening. “You will be my bodyguard at the expo there. Technology has advanced so much in Paris, I need to see if I can add to what we have here.”

Cronk was still confused. He was never in Paris and didn’t know what to expect. What use of technology did he need?

Quinn expanded upon the idea for Cronk. “Technology means weapons, Cronk. I’m checking on new weapons.”

“Weapons good,” Cronk replied.

“And wait until you see the ladies in Paris, Cronk,” Quinn added. “Oo la-la!” Quinn left out a heartfelt laugh that came from his gut.

Cronk grinned. “When we leave?”

“Now you understand,” Quinn confirmed, again patting Cronk on the shoulder. “Your responsibility will be my bodyguard. You will protect me. I’m sure with your stature, I won’t have any problems.”

“Or Cronk smash?” Cronk asked.

“Or Cronk smash, indeed!” Quinn chuckled.