Ruben Amaro leans back in his chair and swivels one-half turn to face the windows behind his desk. His back is to the door. He gently closes his right fist and taps his knuckles on the arm rest. He glances at his watch, is unmoved by the time, looks upwards and closes his eyes. The phone rings. He opens his eyes. In the reflection of the dark windows he can see the plastic light of the device flashing orange and intermittent. He turns and faces his desk, lets the ringing go unanswered three more times. He picks up the phone.
A: Oh, good evening, Jack. I didn’t think it would be you.
Z: No? No, I suppose you wouldn’t.
A: It’s been a while.
Z: Indeed, it has been. Are you busy?
A: I’m always busy, Jack, you know that. But what’s up?