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How did he work it? Or was she the one that was right?... Paul Hendricks had leaned his elbows on the workbench, too. "Sure nothing Frank," he said, and his watery eyes were bland. The old codger understood. Neither of them said anything for a minute, while the rest of the Bunch, except Eileen who was still typing, guzzled Pepsi and beer, and wolfed hotdogs.
The whole Bunch was quite a bit like that, for a good part of the night, shouting lustily back and forth between the two trucks, laughing, singing, wise-cracking, drinking up Otto Kramer's Pepsi and beer. But at last, Gimp Hines, remembering wisdom, spoke up. "We're supposed to be under mild sedation a devil-killer, a tranquilizer for at least thirty hours.
"How do you do, Oliver. This is Jimmy. This is Kapono." The others nodded, and she went inside. "Superman without a license serious offense," Jimmy said. "Batman worse," Kapono said. "Still he pretty strong for a midget." Oliver grinned and brushed the dirt off his hands. There were times to keep your mouth shut. Mrs. Nakano returned and handed out cans of Pepsi. "This was good of you guys."
This is why firms find the mergers and acquisitions of their competitors worrisome. America's soft drink market is ruled by two firms Pepsi and Coca-Cola. Yet, it has been the scene of ferocious price competition for decades.
David Lester's mother, of course, seeming younger than the Bunch remembered her. Make-up brought back some of her good-looks. She was more Spartan than they had thought, too. "I have made up a basket of sandwiches for you and your comrades, Lester," she said. Otto Kramer was out with free hotdogs, beer and Pepsi, his face sad.
He had a slight swagger, balanced by a certain benignancy. He was automatically the leader of the Bunch, held most likely to succeed in their aims. "Hi, gang," he breezed. "Otto is bringing beer, Pepsi and sandwiches from his joint across the street. Special day so it's on me. Time to relax maybe unsnarl. Any new problems?" "Still plenty of old ones," Frank Nelsen commented laconically.
He picked up his winnings and nodded to the pair. They scarcely noticed. Oliver was ten dollars ahead and hungry. He left the casino and found a coffee shop where he ate a turkey club sandwich and relaxed. So far, so good. As he neared the crap tables again, a bar hostess with long legs in black mesh stockings asked if he wanted a drink. "Diet Pepsi, please."
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