It became clear that the white judge had some sort of personal grudge against Claude, a vendetta against him for reasons he knew not. It scared him a little knowing that one white man was out to get him, an institutional form of lynching that not only lost him the slam but also frustrated him to the point of stepping off the stage and confronting the judge face-to-face. When he did so, the crowd cheered, because it had all the trappings of a Friday night fistfight. The judge didn’t seem too phased by it, and the emcee stopped Claude in his tracks and advised him not to start anything in the club.It seemed that Claude didn’t intimidate the judge either. The man kept smiling and even laughing along with the irony of the spectacle, like he knew what he was doing and did it premeditatedly if only to stir things up. Why, though, Claude had no idea. Claude had never seen him before, and he wouldn’t have known anyone associated with him either, because he knew very few people, and all of. "Don't you have to pay to rent all this stuff?" he asked."Um ... usually," she stammered. "But they're loaning this to me for free. I'll tell you about that later."She directed his attention back to the printouts."I did some research and checked with a couple of the other vendors down in the exhibition hall. This is the best stuff available for the money." How did you learn about all this?" he asked, curiosity momentarily displacing his anger."Lovely thing, the internet," she said."Don't we have to pay for that, too?" He looked at her bewilderedly."Focus, Alan," she said. "I went back to see the guys at TGR and flirted with Chris and Ryan. They're going to sell all this stuff to you for $65,000. Do you like sushi?" Do I ... what? Yes." Alan looked even more confused. "You spent $65,000 of my money?" Sixty-four, nine eighty-seven, to be exact. That doesn't include tax or delivery, though. I didn't actually spend it, but I gave them a written commitment that if you bought it from.
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