“Dallas-” the tentative way Wolf approached the crew chief filled him with dread. Whatever this was about, it was going to take a while.
“... What should I get Hoxton for Christmas?”
“Jesus Christ, Wolf,” Dallas glanced at the time and date in the corner of his computer screen, “you’ve only got 8 days left!”
Wolf groaned and mumbled something about being busy, procrastinating, and Dallas sighed. It was no exaggeration to say Wolf had severe decision-making anxiety, and it was no wonder he’d been struggling - they’d been swamped with weird and wacky requests from Vlad much earlier in the month than in the years prior (secretly he wondered whether Vlad had caught on that the gang had begun avoiding him whenever December rolled around).
“Did you ask Sokol already? What did he say?”
“Blow job,” Wolf said, surly.
“Damn, that was my suggestion-”
“I know that already!” Wolf whined. He sounded so pitiful Dallas became serious.
“Okay. Come talk to me again at 5. We’ll both have no fewer than five ideas, alright?”
“FIVE? Aww c’mon, three-”
“FIVE. I SAID FIVE. If I said FIVE, it’s happening,” Dallas said loudly, pushing the Swede towards the door. “See you at 5! Five ideas at 5, Wolf, no excuses!”
Finally, Dallas had the office to himself again. He sank back into his comfortable chair and glanced at the ceiling.
“Bain-”
“You already told him what I wanted to say.”
Dallas glared.