He snapped the business card onto the table's woodgrained plastic top as if he were a Vegas dealer at the blackjack table.
"My card, friend."
Bill swallowed his partially chewed bite of hamburger with some difficulty, eyed both the card and the man dubiously. He took a long, loud slurp from his soda.
The man pinned the card to the table with one long finger. It read, "Timesharing. Jonathan Noon, Developer."
"I think that I have something to offer you." He gestured toward the seat across the small table from Bill. "May I?"
Jonathan Noon wore a dark blue suit. A corporate suit. A power suit. A bright, but conservative red tie. He had dark, neatly trimmed hair, features that were entirely forgettable. Except, he was short. Probably, Bill estimated, no taller than five-four.
"Look, mister, if you're selling anything, I don't want to hear it." Bill tossed the card back onto the table, a greasy fingerprint smeared across it.
Noon took a seat, placing a briefcase next to him. "I have nothing to sell you, friend."
"And, if you're a friggin' Jehovah's Witness or a Mormon, I don't want to hear it either. I just want to eat my lunch and get the hell out of here."
"Oh, no. Nothing like that," he laughed, his slight frame shaking within his crisp suit. "I noticed that you were seeking employment, and I think that I might be able to offer you something of interest."
"How in the hell do you know that?"
"I periodically visit the unemployment office to find new prospects. That's where I noticed you. And I thought, 'Now, there is someone who could benefit from my business.'"
Bill put down his half-finished burger. "Just what is your business?"
"Timeshares. Do you understand the concept?"
"Yeah, I understand timeshares, wiseguy," Bill sneered around a mouthful of hamburger. Two or three times a year, his brother-in-law Rodney took his slovenly wife--Bill's sister--and their dull-witted children on vacations to timeshare condos everywhere from Miami to Paris. Bill never understood how Rodney could afford it on his assembly-line salary.
"But," he continued, "I don't want to buy a timeshare, and even if I did, I can't afford to."
Noon smiled again. "As I said, I don't have anything to sell you. Rather, I think you have something of value to offer me. Are you interested?"
Bill blew his nose loudly into a rough paper napkin, balled it up. "I don't even know what you mean."
"Well, if you are interested, please visit me at my office tomorrow morning at 10:30. Sharp. We can discuss my offer and any questions you might have. You'll find my address on the card," Noon said, rising from the plastic seat. He sketched a short bow, then turned on his heel and was lost in the lunchtime crowd.
)
Munching a cheap hamburger after yet another visit to the unemployment office, Bill Sadler is approached by a suspicious-looking salesman who offers him a unique timeshare opportunity ... for his soul.
