Got 500 words in! There needs to be more, but what the heck. This is good for a start.
The foot bone’s connected to the ankle bone,
The ankle bone’s connected to the shin bone,
The shin bone’s connected to the knee bone,
Hear the word of the LORD.
It’s a title, not a description. He’s not ‘my’ Man in Tourista, to start with. More like ‘the guy the 300 uses to tell me things.’ Only not just me; I share that honor with everybody from King Ronnie to the Cin City ratcatcher. I dunno who of the two would be more embarrassed to share the honor.
And he wasn’t thrilled that I was around, either. “You lost, gumshoe?”
“Nice to see you too, Mitt.” What? I gotta call him something. “I got questions to ask, that’s all.”
“Sure. Here, have some answers: no, no idea, none of your business, piss off.” Mitt blew some cigar smoke my way. “The way out’s back the way you came.”
“For this you interrupted my boxing match?” I shook my head. “Where’s that famous Tourista hospitality, Mitt?” — But inside, I was a little worried. This was harder-edged than I was used to. Not at the break-your-leg level, but Mitt was on edge. Which meant that so was the 300.