“So you want me to work with Secret Service on this on the off chance that the Soviet Complex is doing us deliberate dirt.”
“That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. Get to work, please, and keep in touch with me. If you need support, I can assign Walter Foster or some of the other operatives to assist you. This might have endless ramifications.”
Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss' receptionist, “I'm on a local job, LaVerne, how about assigning me a girl?”
“Can do,” she said.
“And, look, tell her to get hold of every available work on counterfeiting and pile it on my desk.”
“Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?”
He grinned down at her. “That's the idea. Keeping up with the Jones clan in this man's town costs roughly twice my income.”
LaVerne said disapprovingly, “Then why not give it up? With the classification you've got a single man ought to be able to save half his pay.” She added, more quietly, “Or get married and support a family.”
“Save half my pay?” Larry snorted. “And get a far out reputation, eh? No thanks, you can't afford to be a weird these days.”