He located one close by but passed it up when he saw a one-man operation down the street. Inside, the place had the musty, slightly alkaline odor of paper stock mixed with the acid tang of the printer’s inks. A short, bald, middle-aged man with half glasses came from behind a rotary press that was hissing with every turn. “Morning!” he said, smiling. “What can I do for you today?” “I need a business card. On the front I want a name and a phone number, and on the back the nearest thing we can find that resembles a five-dollar gold piece.” “Easy. And you need it in five minutes.” “No, that’s the easy part. I don’t want it for two hours.” “Should be a snap. Cost you as much as five hundred of them would.” “I’ll give you fifty dollars.” “Good, that’s what five hundred costs.”
