Dermitt lifted his gaze noncommitally to the ceiling. "She might make an interesting character at that," he mused, "if I used her to the proper advantage." He yawned. "For laughs, that is, and contrast."
"Now, look, Dermitt," Fleetwood said anxiously. "I...."
"Yes, Mr. Cassidy?"
"You say there isn't much of this story left to do?"
"Just a bit, really."
"How long would it take?"
"That depends," Dermitt shrugged. "If everything goes smoothly, if I can depend on the full cooperation of my characters, it shouldn't take more than a day. Two days at the outside."
"I see," Fleetwood said. "And how much rough stuff will there be?"
"No more than usual. Maybe a kick or two in the groin. A flesh wound, naturally."
Fleetwood winced. "Is it absolutely necessary? Do I always have to get myself shot in the last chapter?"