The elevator doors close like a whisper of silk. Swanky place, the guy says. You tell him you hadn't noticed. He says that must mean you come here often. Look here, buddy, you've never been here before in your life. Not really your style.
Oh yeah? He wants to know what your style is, then. You ask--what's it to him? He just says that he expected a man with your sophisticated taste to know his way around. You tell him to put a cork in the flattery. He says that just because it's flattery doesn't mean it isn't true. You say you thought that's exactly what flattery means. He tells you that definitions can change through repeated use. Linguistic drift, and so-forth. You nod like you got any fucking clue what this guy is going on about.
You look at the lit up buttons on the elevator's panel and try to work out what his angle is. Right now the son of a bitch is just standing there, looking happy out of his mind to be getting on your case. Go back where you came from, buddy, you want to say. You should say it. Diamonds Droog works alone, from now on. You aren't planning on making the same mistake twice.
Knowing he might have brought you along out of pity doesn't bear thinking about. So you don't.
The elevator slows and glides to a stop. Hey, what gives? This isn't the floor, buddy. The room number Sleuth sleuthed out for you is still a ways up. That was the deal, right? He comes along with you on your business and then you help him with that daughter he's misplaced.
