"This is my foreman here, Perry Roke.

As a rule he looks like other people, except that he's bigger, just now his cravings for falling off corrugated roofs have done things to his face.

Shake hands with him.

If you like the job I'm going to offer you he and you will be side-partners over here." Gavin faced his recent adversary, grinning pleasantly up at the battered and scowling face, and noting that the knife sheath at Roke's hip was still empty.
"Hello!" he said civilly, offering his hand.
Roke gulped again, went purple, and, with sudden furious vehemence, grabbed at the proffered hand, enfolding it in his own monstrous grip in an industrious attempt to smash its every bone.
But reading the intent with perfect ease.

Brice shifted his own hand ever so little and with nimbly practised fingers eluded the crushing clasp, at the same time slipping his thumb over the heel of Roke's clutching right hand and letting his three middle fingers meet at the exact center of that hand's back.