The laugh came again. "You're humor is priceless, old man."
"Isn't it?"
"Another thing—I got pretty hot when I got wind of how the ground was being cut out from under you. I made it my business to do something about it. I hate to see a good man pushed around. Of course I okayed the orders cutting you down—a matter of routine—I had to follow through. But then I got busy. A thing like that won't happen again."
"Thanks, Porter. It warms a man to know he's got a friend—a friend like you."
"Just between us, old man, I'm one of your admirers." Porter laughed and sprayed charm through the phone like perfume from an atomizer. "But if you quote me, I'll deny it."
"Oh, I wouldn't think of quoting you, old man," Taber replied in a kindly voice and put down the phone.
He sat back and closed his eyes. Three people dead. One person maimed. Blood in the streets.
Good job well done.
He opened a drawer of his desk and reached for the Scotch bottle.