Chapter 27: The Pressure

“I don’t have that kind of money,” I said, without showing any emotion.

“That’s not my problem,” he declared. He raised his hand to call for the attention of a waiter and ordered another beer. His stony expression tended to highlight his hardened stance. With his answer, a middle ground solution that I would like to explore was slammed shut. He wanted the whole amount and that was it. “I’ll give you three days, and if the money is not on my hand by that time, I’ll present to the prosecutor the additional evidence that I’d gathered and recommend your indictment.” He had raised the ante by another notch. After he took a glance at his watch, he said, “Monday—10, that’ll be at night—Tata Billiard Hall at Embarcadero. I know you know the place.” With that, he told me that I could go.