"What the hell are you trying to parlay?" Ween demanded.
"I think you're looking for an excuse to get out of the show," Lennox answered. "You're trying to duck the Kansas lawsuit. Your property got Mel into this jam. Now you want out so he'll have to face it alone."
"They'll never get away with it," Grabinett shouted. "Neither of you both. You got me into this. You're stuck with it."
"St. Nicholas!?" Mason cried. "St. Nicholas!"
"Yeah? Show me where it says in the contract," Ween answered, "It ain't our headache. It's yours."
"Then how would you like it if I handed you a real genuine headache, Mr. Ween? Something I had been protecting your Almighty property from." Grabinett blinked ominously. "A nice little headache waiting for your boy up at the office in a blue envelope. Number six, it is."
"What?" Lennox exclaimed. "Another one, Mel?"
"Yeah. Another one. It come special delivery this morning. What a sweet Christmas card! Wait'll you read it, Jake. It got me so scared, I—Wait'll Mig reads it."
"What's this? What's this?" Tooky Ween said angrily. "You been holding out on my property's fan mail?"
"Not any mail he wants to read. Some elegant letters in blue envelopes which—"