"What the devil do you want?" he growled.
Lafon said ingratiatingly: "What's going on, Chief?"
"Shut your mouth," Sodaro said absently and yawned. He hefted his shoulder holster comfortably. That O'Leary, what a production he had made of getting the guards back! And here he was, stuck in Block A on the night he had set aside for getting better acquainted with that little blue-eyed statistician from the Census office.
"Aw, Chief. The television says there's something going on in the Greensleeves. What's the score?"
Sodaro had no reason not to answer him, but it was his unvarying practice to make a con wait before doing anything the con wanted. He gave Lafon a ten-second stare before he relented.
"The score? Sauer and Flock took over Block O. What about it?"
Much, much about it! But Lafon looked away to hide the eagerness in his eyes. Perhaps, after all, it was not too late....
He suggested humbly: "You look a little sleepy. Do you want some coffee?"
"Coffee?" Sodaro scratched. "You got a cup for me?"
"Certainly! I've got one put aside—swiped it from the messhall—not the one I use myself."