Inbound meet outbound

Two executive types stopped into Tom English's this afternoon.  You know the type: bespoke, chalkstripe, dark worsted woolen suits with cashmere scarves and camel hair topcoats.  Their silk socks matched their silk neckties and their pocket squares matched their handkerchiefs.  Squares.

These two executive types, reeking of hair oil and aftershave, took the two available seats at the bar between Drunk Charlie and Slats McAdam who were debating the merits of fluoridating water on one end, and Sliver Malloy and Molly, who were debating why Molly doesn't like sleeping in the buff anymore.  It was Inbound meet outbound.

One of the executive types told the barkeep, "I just want a shot of milk."  His companion remarked he was thinking the same thing.  The bartender, none too pleased to be pouring out an ounce of good White Russian ingredient at a low profit margin, asked for confirmation.  "Yep," Executive Number One answered, "Two shots of milk.  I would normally ask for whisky but something about this part of town calms my nerves and I want to keep my stomach settled.  It feels good in Dorchester and I don't want to ruin it by aggravating my ulcer."  His companion concurred.

Two shots of milk it was, neither shaken nor stirred.  The two executive types toasted each other and downed their shots.  They paid their two dollar tab with a three dollar tip, big spenders, and they headed down Dot Ave and then Crescent Street to the JFK/UMASS station.

Once the door closed behind them, Slats McAdam interupted Drunk Charlie's conspiracy monologue.  "I think they were spies," Slats confided.  Charlie looked out the plate glass window at the suspects' backs. "They're not spies," Charlie said, "their just speculators.  I'm gonna speculate they'll be around a lot more in the future."