I coughed and sputtered as the first puff of smoke escaped into my lungs.

Mr. Anderson chittered away, high-pitched. “You all right there, Pete?”

“Pe-” cough. gasp. “Peter.”

The table laughed.

Kyle gave me a sympathetic smile. He tapped the drink menu with affirmation to remind me that we had a limitless selection of scotch.

I managed to choke down my cough on the second puff.

Next to me, Martin Charles leaned in to Mr. Anderson. “So what’s the deal with this Mech Suit, Eric? I hear it’s got the Pentagon freaked.”

Eric Anderson smirked coyly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lurch scream-laughed, practically belching cigar smoke into my face. “This motherfucker! This shameless motherfucker! Sittin’ on technology that’s about to take over all of the Middle East and he’s acting like it’s a merger contract!” He shook his head and knocked back his whiskey.

To my left, Winston had developed the contemplative look of an axe murder in a kindergarten room. He suddenly reached out and smacked the ass of the woman passing by our table. “FIVE MORE GLEN LIVETS, SWEETHEART.”

Except it wasn’t Sweetheart. It was someone’s wife.

Specifically, a someone who was about 200 pounds heavier than Winston.

“Te-heh. Daaaaah. Sh…She was wearing the sa-”

I saw a tooth fly out of Winston’s mouth as the fist connected with his face.