stogy

And in came Tony Scott, sporting his signature weathered pink baseball cap, aviator shades, and a stogie hanging out of his mouth.

“Yes,” he said, rising and picking up the rejected portion of the stogie.

The stogie had gone dead in his fingers, and he lit a fresh one steadily.

Ortega himself, fat and greasy and pompous, leaned against his bar and twisted a stogie between his puffy, pendulous lips.