BIG JACK
'The hell happened to your face?' McCoy asked, staring at him in horror, when he arrived finally.Big Jack palmed his bruising cheek self consciously. 'What the hell happened to your stomach?' 'This tends to h happen when you are living a good life, my friend.' The man laughed at his own joke and patted the new swell of his stomach.Big snorted. Only moving the muscles I'm his face hurt like hell. Worst than hell actually. Those he could tend to with an aspirin. The real hurt was in his head, where he could not get to. 'It's no worries. I was never a pretty man like you, McCoy.'They were in the better parts of Miami, in one of the buildings his friend owned. McCoy was reclined on one of lounge chairs, sipping sparkling wine from a flute when he was escorted up. The man had taken one good look at his face and exclaimed. Now, he offered Big Jack a drink. He shook his head at the offering. 'No.''Since when do you refuse champagne?'F
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