"The barrel of a gun across the bridge of a nose," Stacy spread his shoulders lazily. "I learned that lesson in Morocco."
"You've had experience before?"
"I've had every experience."
"Then read these." Lennox whipped out the photostats and handed them to Stacy who read them carefully, a lazy smile curling his mouth. His expression never changed.
"Threats," he said at last. "The ones that mean business never write."
"They don't scare you?"
"Nothing scares me."
"Who's writing them, Oliver?"
"Don't you know?"
"No."