“I ain’t working with him until I can get a good look in his eyes.”
Gary shrugged. “Put me in a staring contest, if you want to.”
Bobby--Gary wouldn’t call him ‘Moondog’--walked over and leaned down until the smell of alcohol from his breath overwhelmed the cigarette haze around them. His watery blue eyes fixed Gary with an unblinking glare.
Gary didn’t see Bobby’s hands move until a moment before the back of his head was gripped with one hand and a knife held against his throat with the other.
“You blinked,” he said with a yellowed grin.