General

His cowboyish gait was at odds with the Savile Row suit. There was a casualness to it that wasn't quite right in cloth so crisp. All that was missing was the gun and ten gallon hat. When he opened his mouth it was with New York accent and the hand he offered to shake was manicured to perfection, the skin softer than my baby sisters. His face was one of upmost confidence, whatever game this man played he wasn't accustomed to loosing. He smiled like a long lost brother and shook Ryan's hand warmly with the perfect squeeze and eye contact. Ryan reciprocated, but never would he trust a man so perfect, as far as he was concerned the more perfect the image the greater the danger underneath. Everyone has flaws and quirks, if they had been polished right out then trust wasn't even an option.