Gun, Whales, and Wine

"Shit." Dave felt sweat pop out on his forehead.

"Language. You owe the swear-jar a Benji," the man said. He was still pointing the gun unwaveringly at Dave's face.

"Uh, a Benji, sure. But would you mind pointing that somewhere else? I really don't like guns, had a bad experience with them, I'd prefer not to get my head blown off because of a misunderstanding." Dave pasted an ingratiating smile on his face. He felt his heart pounding and the sweat gathering in his armpits, but acting like a wuss in front of the man with the gun wouldn't help.

The man obligingly lowered the weapon.

"This thing? It's harmless. I was in my office when I heard you come in. If I really wanted to do some damage I would've grabbed the .88 Magnum. It shoots through schools," the man looked at Dave expectantly, then shook his head when the young man didn't respond.

"Dante Silvana," the man said, putting his hand out to shake.

Dave stood and shook hands with the man.

"David Ruster,"