Pimp
We were having lunch at one of those fashionable clubs a few tables away from the counterparty to our settlement discussions. The club was theirs. They were member number three of which we were reminded often.
Our financial partner's wife's brother was circling in the parking lot outside having been excluded from the meeting sensing that a cargo container of cash was going to float through the swimming pool and out the rear exit neither under his nose nor in his pockets. He kept vigil with a stream of digital inquisitiveness, texts, that required us to switch off our phones to avoid being invited to leave in commonwealth courtesy.
My partner, a lawyer, had known the brother in law and family for generations and was privy to strategic marriages arranged by the brother in law for his sisters, many, each went into nuptials with a slice of downtown real estate left behind by the family that had been gifted it by the departing colonials. The expectation was that the groom to be would reward the brother in law with the dividend of deals in the future. One of those deals was nigh two tables away.
My partner, the lawyer, explained all of this to me over a bowl of hot and sour soup, the club specialty. Through spoons of his soup he described the brother in law as colloquially possible.
"pimp."
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