I stubbed my cigarette out on the corner of the desk.
“I didn’t make any. I didn’t sell the knives.”
“Well then where are they? I’ll do it myself.”
“I don’t have them.”
Franz was standing in the doorway like a scared puppy as Bernard stepped closer to me.
“I’m having a little trouble understanding you,” he said. “You didn’t sell the knives, but you don’t have the knives.”
“Correct.” I said. “You do understand.”
“Then where are the knives?” he yelled.
I stood up then so I was face to face with the monster.
“I gave them away.”
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