Success is criminal

I worked for a powerful man. His eyes were always squinting. Nearly completely shut in conversation. In western culture your told to look into peoples eyes as you spoke face to face. It's impolite if you don't.  If someone evades your eyes, you naturally tilt, turn, side step, or slightly bow, looking upwards for their eyes. Trying to confirm that your both are on the same playing field. The eyes are the windows into intention. In my bosses case, he always had the upper hand. It is said that communication is a two way street. He could never reveal his intentions, leaving the conversation a one way street. His way. Come to think of it, I never ever saw the whites of his eyes. 
The shape of his mouth was always a frown. Even if he was happy, you would only know it by what he said as a confirmation. "Um, I'm happy". That upside down smile resembled the facial expression of tasting something very sour. His upper lip slightly touching the tip of the nose. I watched others talk to him. I never spoke. I stayed silent and watch many people enter the one way only street. Even those of equal or higher titles would step lightly and care for what they said. Possibly because he looked like he was deeply in thought as they spoke to him. Only his ears would funnel in the information into his mind. The pitch and tone of their voice, and speed of their words were being carefully weighed, examined, and placed in categories. Important, unimportant, and useful for the future.
Staying quiet allowed me to identify the three differences so I could note them down later. If you haven't guessed it by now, I was his yes man. Some say he was corrupt. People would bring small gifts. Offerings for the hope to be heard, even though it was his position to do so. That he was skilled with words and talented in the art of bull shit. I say, he was a man who got things done. In the end, that's what matters. 
His voice was like the God Father in the movies. At any time of the day and in any situation, you couldn't quite feel totally comfortable in his presence. Always sharply dress, cleaned shaved, with tight hair cut. He was tall and always stood upright but his head was tilted toward the floor as if to be always thinking about something. People would start the conversation with, "excuse me, is it ok to talk?"
As I am an extension of him, I rarely spoke myself. I was met with the same introduction.  "Excuse me, is it ok to talk"? I'm his right hand man. Hands don't have mouths. Hands execute. They do or react to what the brains directs. Think about it. Does a chef ever cut his hand with the sharpest of knives as he prepares a dish? It only took me weeks to walk, act, and think like him. If I did speak, there were not any wasted words or promises. I didn't speak for myself. I spoke for him. He never cut me as he prepared his dishes. He was serving daily with confidence. Those with tender hearts would say we were the criminals of the organization. Winners would say success is criminal.