God, meetings with Mayfield were excruciatingly boring. Logan shifted slightly, cast a glance around the room. Mayfield was still quizzing Thielman about the job up in Sacramento, so he could relax a bit. Well, as much as you could around Mayfield. It was like trying to relax between steps through a mine field. His hands hurt, the knuckles bruised, and he was pretty sure a finger was broken. That Crane guy had an iron jaw.
Suddenly, from his messenger bag at his feet, came the annoying trill of a cell phone. Not the one he usually used. This wasn't Dwight Shrute, this was the ugly shrill of a cheap pay as you go phone. Logan nearly fell out of his chair grabbing for his bag, fishing around while Mayfield glared at hiim and everyone else shifted uneasily. He was finally able to grab it -- the disposable phone only Veronica knew the number to. He turned it on, covered it with both hands, and looked at Mayfield. "Sorry, boss," He put on his best smirk. "Dealing with an extra attentive whore. Not that this whole meeting hasn't been DYN-O-MITE, but I need to take this. I'll miss you guys!" He slipped out of the conference room.
Immediately, Mayfield stood, pointed to Bonitta, who had been sitting next to Logan. "Search his bag."
Outside the conference room, Logan put the phone to his ear. "This better be good, Mars, or I may have to be kissing ass for the next week."