"It's me..."
Mr. Truman's voice was highly distinctive. Combined with this number, no one would be stupid enough to ask, "Who the fuck are you?" after hearing "It's me."
The voice of the Diplomat came from the other end of the line, accompanied by some static before he even spoke.
He seemed to be hesitating over whether to say it.
Mr. Truman gave him ample time and respect to wait. After roughly thirty or forty seconds, he finally said, "Mr. President, the Great Imperial Son of Peng Joe... wants a woman."
After saying this, the Diplomat felt that his future career was bleak. Not only had he taken an important foreign guest to a Strip Club, but now he also had to help him resolve a physical need. This was fucking ridiculous!
He really wanted to refuse the Great Imperial Son's request, but his rank was too low. He had neither the authority nor the qualifications to do so.
More importantly, he could not afford the consequences.
So he had to ask for instructions. He could not reach his immediate superior, the head of the International Affairs Department, so he could only call Mr. Truman.
After hearing this, Mr. Truman wondered whether there was something wrong with his ears. He stared at the receiver in disbelief, then brought it back to his ear. "You said the Great Imperial Son wants you to find him a woman?"
"What does he want a woman for?"
The Diplomat said nothing. He only gave an awkward laugh. What else could it be for?
Something at the Strip Club must have triggered this son of a bitch's fetish. Now that he was in the mood, there could only be one explanation.
The awkward laughter made Mr. Truman realize that his guess matched the actual situation.