Well let me show you something

Davies settled back into his chair and waited for Bud’s response. Mr. Bayliss still said nothing, sitting quietly with his hands perched atop his cane, eyes watching Bud closely. After a full minute Bud finally looked down and gave the proffered document a perfunctory glance, his dexterous fingers flipping through the pages with practiced ease. When he finished he pushed over at this website the papers aside and sat back in his chair, giving the appearance he was deeply considering the offer. I would have accepted without hesitation; anything to get me out of that room. There was a building tension in the air and, although he didn’t show it, I knew there was a river of sweat running down Davies’ back while we waited for Bud to speak. Finally he did. Fifty thousand dollars. That’s a good deal of money, any way you look at it. Davies nodded enthusiastically, smelling a successful deal. I even found myself giving a half-hearted nod. But before we give you an answer I’d like to share something with you. Davies’ smile faded and he looked a little wary at this but said nothing. Bud continued. I’m sure everyone here noticed that I won’t be winning a footrace any time soon but I’ll let you have another look just in case you didn’t. He stood awkwardly, bracing himself on his desk, and revealed his left pantleg neatly folded up and pinned about mid-thigh. He patted his stump. Lost it to a little commie sniper’s bullet in Korea during the battle of Chipyong-ni in ’51. Howard Bayliss’s face remained impassive but Davies’ jaw dropped open in surprise as Bud slumped back in his chair and continued. I thought for sure I was a goner and woulda been if one of my buddies hadn’t picked me up and carried me to safety. The bullet only nicked the femoral artery but it disintegrated my femur to the point the docs had no choice but to amputate. Lose it or die, they told me. Easiest decision I’ve ever made. Bud stopped and gazed out the window, painful memories washing over him. People have been hintin’ around for years, tryin’ to get me to tell ‘em the details surrounding the situation but I’ve always kept it to myself. Partly out of sheer cussedness - it’s nobody else’s business. He leaned forward and brushed against the settlement document, his fingers riffling the pages absently. But mainly because I was asked not to tell. I was asked by the man who was killed by one of your trucks and the father of this young man sitting beside you.