Kells took two more pieces of creased crumpled paper from his pocket, tossed them on the table in front of Borg.
Borg looked at the two, smiled slowly. “How about making them up in gross lots?” he said.
Kells inclined his head toward Granquist. “The baby’s work. She used to be in the business — she went over to the Lido early this morning and snagged the letterheads.”
Granquist was sitting in the big chair by the window. Kells picked up the two pieces of paper and put them back in his pocket, got up and hobbled over to her, sat down on the arm of the chair.
“You’re awfully quiet, baby,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
She looked up at him — and her eyes were frightened.
“I want to go — I want us to go,” she said huskily. “Something awful’s going to happen...”
Kells put his arm around her head, pulled it close against his chest.
“If we get the twenty from Woodward,” he said very quietly — “and the big stuff from Crotti, it’ll make almost two hundred grand—”
“We’ve got enough,” she broke in. “Let’s go, Gerry — please.”