Chev looked at the ceiling. -Yeah.

– I charge you a pound rate that I usually charge only to people that bring their own shit by and drop it off themselves, right?

Chev reached for the big leather wallet attached to his belt by a dangling steel chain.

– OK, OK.

– I mean, if Im not doing you a solid here, if youd rather do business in the manner of most of my clients, we can draw up a contract and Ill be here rain or shine on my appointed rounds every week and you can pay the pickup rate whether you have waste or not.

Chev opened the wallet and started pulling out bills.

– Got it. My bad.

– If youd prefer that over, say, busting my balls for the sake of four bucks, I can go out to the van and get the paperwork right now. That suit you?

Chev held out two tens.

– No, man, no, here, here it is, its cool, my bad.

Po Sin reached out and pinched the bills between his thumb and forefinger and tugged them from Chevs hand.

– Why thank you for your prompt and courteous payment.

Chev stuffed the wallet back in his pocket and pointed at the koi tattooed on Po Sins forearm.

– Shit, man, not I like dont hit you with a discount on your ink.

Po Sin tucked the money into the breast pocket of his unbuttoned Clean Team Trauma work shirt.

– True. And its also not like I ever beef with you about what you charge when I get the bro rate.

Chev nodded his head, put out his hand.

– No, man, youre right, I was out of line.

Po Sin folded his hand around Chevs.

– Its cool, just the ways and means of business. Four bucks is just four bucks, but, then again, its four bucks. If you get me.

Chev looked at the number on the face of his vibrating cell.