"What's that suppose to mean?"
Brett-James took up the ball again. "Mr. Prantera, have you ever heard of Ghengis Khan, of Tamerlane, Alexander, Caesar?"
Joe Prantera scowled at him emptily.
"Or, more likely, of Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin?"
"Sure I heard of Hitler and Stalin," Joe growled. "I ain't stupid."
The other nodded. "Such men are unique. They have a drive ... a drive to power which exceeds by far the ambitions of the average man. They are genii in their way, Mr. Prantera, genii of evil. Such a genius of evil has appeared on the current scene."
"Now we're getting somewheres," Joe snorted. "So you got a guy what's a little ambitious, like, eh? And you guys ain't got the guts to give it to him. O.K. What's in it for me?"
The two of them frowned, exchanged glances. Reston-Farrell said, "You know, that is one aspect we had not considered."
Brett-James said to Joe Prantera, "Had we not, ah, taken you at the time we did, do you realize what would have happened?"
"Sure," Joe grunted. "I woulda let old Al Rossi have it right in the guts, five times. Then I woulda took the plane back to Chi."