“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Martin Luther was lying. He had no idea what she had just mumbled at him, and the more uncertain he was, the more confident his replies were. In this case, as so many times before, it mattered none.
On the other hand, Greta Haribo, his employer, the boss lady, was hotter than a hot mess. Her mental state was all kinds of wrong, which may imply her physical state was better. It wasn’t. By looking at her, one would guess she was in her late 40’s; she was 23. Bat shit crazy does things to ones appearance, especially the hair.
She claimed to be the sole heiress of the Haribo® gummi candy empire, and everyone believed her. The fact is, there is no one person named Haribo®, it is an acronym for Hans Riegel, Bonn, which goes to prove that wealth is a great alibi for any lie. As it turns out, her real name was Lawrence Harlow, a retired designer drug dealer.
She mumbled moments before falling asleep, while standing up, and of course, with her eyes wide open.
“Yup!” Martin answered. He smiled and thought, as long as the checks keep on clearing, best job ever.