Sam turned. “The meaning of that depends, of course, on whether you’re a Glasgow guy going to his work, or a mobster in Chi.”
Cecilia smiled … she knew all Sam’s aphorisms. “Don’t talk to me about lingual misunderstandings. My father wanted me named Celia but the priest at my christening had a terrible stammer.”
Sam chuckled as he lifted the sandwich box, then, sliding open a drawer, removed a dark metal object.
“Have a nice day, as all the world says now.”