"It's anybody's story by the looks of it," Fleetwood said. "And you're just another inconsistent character. Of course you've already made such a hash of the thing I don't suppose it really matters."
"I'm Mario's henchman," Dermitt said firmly. "My name is Lester, and I'm here to help him handle you. And believe me, Cassidy, I'm already so sick of your interference I don't care much what happens to you. Now get back in there and do what I tell you."
A curious intensity emanating from behind the eccentric spectacles caused Fleetwood to give ground. He turned to Kitty to warn her to stay behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words shriveled on his tongue as she met his gaze darkly, with a look of extreme loathing, then turned on her heel and marched back into the living room. Fleetwood whirled back to Dermitt.
"It's no use," Dermitt said smoothly, "she's back in character. And you'll follow her lead if you know what's good for you—and her."
Fleetwood turned and followed Kitty back into the center of the room, toward the divan.
"Kitty ..." he said, but she gave no sign that she even heard him.
"Hi, Lester," Mario said. He was restored to dimension.
"Havin' a little trouble?" Dermitt said from the corner of his mouth. "I heard a shot."
"Boy, are you corny," Fleetwood said spitefully. "You're all this stinker needed." Dermitt swiveled his gun in his direction.