To long

"How much longer are you going to make excuses, Dirham?" asked a burly man in a black suit that concealed his muscles.

Dirham could only sit, sweating profusely in his chair. Who wouldn't be scared when the debt collector sent after you had a muscular build and a weapon ready to blow your head off? Sweat soaked his now pale face. Dirham was at a loss for words; all he had left was his nerve to make up another excuse.

"As-as soon as possible, tell Mr. Rafael to give me more time."

"No need, Dirham." That voice nearly caused Dirham's soul to leave his body.

A man with a firm, healthy build stepped in, smoking a cigar. The black-haired man stood behind the tall, muscular collector, who grabbed Dirham by the shoulders, making him face the boss directly.

Dirham swallowed several times as the older man smiled at him, showing no mercy in his gaze.