It stopped him instantly, one step into the room, like he'd hit glass. The thing suddenly and inexplicably there in the middle of his office. It was a filthy steel drum, some tar-like substance stuck to it in gobs, an incongruity amid the gleaming furniture pieces like a coffee pot in a mound of panties.
"What the fuck is it?" he asked Siegelman. Who was on the couch. And whose expression was utter delight.
"It's a barrel of oil!"
Krantz took a stop toward it, looking at it like it like it should be explaining itself and wasn't. "What the -- fuck is it doing here?"
Siegelman was hysterical now, screaming in laughter, clutching his ribs. "Whaaaaaah! Eeeeee! It's a -- it's a...!" He was gasping for air. "It's an actual fucking barrel of oil!"
