I had become a regular at the gym on Tuesday nights, and this 40-something businessman named Clint, who was also a regular on that night, and I had gotten to where we spotted each other through our bar bell work. He was in great shape for his age, leaner than I was, but with well-defined, ropy muscles and chiseled square-cut features. I’d been trying to save the money for some time to get out to the beach for a couple of weeks to cruise chicks with my friends, but emergencies kept cropping up and I didn’t seem to be able to set money aside. Finally, I had gotten down to a week before my friends were going, and I still didn’t have any money for that trip. I must have been moping around about that during my Tuesday night workout, because Clint noticed that I was withdrawn.

"What’s the matter, Ben?" he asked, as he was spotting me on the weights. "You don’t seem yourself this evening."

"Naw, I’m okay," I answered. "I just have this problem where I’m supposed to go to the beach with my friends next week, and I don’t have the money to go."

Later, as I was dressing after my shower, Clint sought me out and said he thought he knew how I could get the money I needed for the trip. He invited me to stop by his house after I was finished at the gym and we’d discuss how maybe we could help each other out on a little business proposition. I said, sure why not. He gave me his address, which was in a swanky part of town, and I followed his car back to his place.

We entered the house and he suggested we go to the kitchen, where I leaned back into a counter, with my hands spread out on the surface, while he broke out a couple of beers and some chips. He brought the beers over, handed me one, took a swig from his while I did the same with mine, and put one his hands on the counter beside me.

"So, what’s the possible business deal?" I asked, a little nervous, because he was standing pretty close to me. Clint put his beer down and then placed his other hand on the counter on the other side of me. Both of his hands were closer into my body than mine were, so I was pretty much stuck there, facing him pretty close.

"You are, Ben. You are the business deal."

"I . . . I don’t understand, Clint. What do you mean?"

"You want to go on this trip pretty bad, don’t you, Ben?"

"Well, yeah. It’s about all I’ve been thinking of for a couple of months."

"And you’d pretty much do anything at this point to get the money to go, short of robbing a bank, wouldn’t you? You sounded pretty desperate when you were telling me about it back at the gym."

"Well, yes, I’d work pretty hard."

"Well, I wouldn’t work you all that hard, Ben. And I’m sure you’d enjoy it even though you’d be leery at first. But I’m sure you’d enjoy earning the money."

"So, what’s the business deal, Clint?" He really had me wondering here.

Clint paused for a minute, picked up his beer, took a swig, put the beer can back, and repositioned his hand. Then he posed the killer