McKay doesn’t know he’s been holding his breath until he breathes out: did the man say forty-nine percent? That was worth about twenty-five million, but the best of it was: the little firm actually made a very healthy profit, averaging more than sixteen percent net per year of stock value. Sixteen percent of twenty-five million was four million. That would almost exactly treble his average yearly income. He supposes he will get drunk or something to see him through Tallboy’s elaborate vengeance strategy, whatever it is. He sure will need a night with Lalita afterwards, though.

“Okay,” McKay says, “but why?”

“Because I can’t go myself and Tallboy is losing it. He has tactics but no strategy. He spends his time drinking whisky and screwing whores. He doesn’t have your discipline. You don’t have to do anything, he’ll take care of the wet side, you just have to tell him when to start, when to pause -” Lee himself pauses at this point to lick his lips - “and when to stop.”

“I see.”

“I want Hercules back alive, not sliced up like a lump of salami. If he’s dead or crippled his mother will never stop bitching.”

“I understand that,” says McKay. Then, as an afterthought: “Which Columbian did you grab after you heard they’d grabbed Hercules?”

“The kid brother,” Lee says and logs off. Secretaries would take care of the rest.

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