Chapter 641: Section 451: Dominoes (Part 1)
"Malin, you didn’t come last night, and the card game lost a lot of its buzz without you. However, you missed my sweeping victory; I beat those three lads all by myself," Logan said, cutting into his steak and noticing the lipstick mark on his old friend’s face, "Looks like you had some secret stories last night, Malin, on your left cheek."
"Ah, it’s nothing." Malin wiped off the lipstick with some embarrassment, took out his handkerchief to dab at his face, and sat down across from Logan. He took the menu from the waiter, "Give me a breakfast set, but replace the pumpkin soup with meat soup, and make it a large."
"Good appetite, truly a giant." Logan chuckled, glancing at his wife, "See, our Mr. Malin doesn’t seem to mind the red marks on his face at all."
"That’s because he’s been roughed up more than you, my dear Mr. Logan," Miriam replied with a smile.
Logan rolled his eyes and, noticing his old friend yawn, with his puffy eyes betraying a night of staying up, took a sip of tea and then began, "By the way, I’ve got a big business deal here. Are you interested in joining?"
"I should be the one saying that to you. Tell me, what kind of big deal is it that you can’t swallow by yourself?" Logan’s interest piqued. He took out a cigarette case, lit one for himself, then flicked one over to Malin.
It was always him who recommended big deals to Malin. This was the first time his old friend was returning the favor.
But Malin waved his hand, flicking the cigarette back to Logan, "No smoking anymore, I quit."
"You quit smoking? Hard to imagine. But I’m curious about the business," Logan placed the cigarette back into its case, staring at his friend. He imagined it might be starting a workshop, making some strange yet useful things, like the double-barreled shotguns that had gone viral among Carterburg’s wealthy and nobles. Four barrels, one for shotgun shells, one for arrow shells, one for single steel bullets, and another for silver-soaked single lead bullets.
Countless nobles and wealthy folk, previously gentle as chickens, took to the woods with it to hunt bears that were once the prey of hunters.
The roles of hunter and hunted had reversed. Fate really is cruel, isn’t it?