"What did you come for?" Peter Michaelis lifted his bull head and his voice crested: "You know of a job?" He sagged back again. "No. No, you wouldn't."
"I'm afraid not," said Kintyre. "I came as—I came to help you in another way." Maledetto! How much like Norman Vincent Peale is one man allowed to sound? But I can't think of anything else.
"Yes?" Michaelis sat erect; even Gene twisted half around.
"You know the Lombardi family, of course."
"Do we know them?" spat Michaelis. "I wish to hell we didn't!"
"Have you heard that the son, Bruce, is dead?"
"Uh-huh," said Gene. He turned down the sound of his program and added with a certain pleasure: "Looks like there's some justice in the world after all."
"Now, wait," began Kintyre.
Gene turned more fully to face the visitor. His eyes narrowed. "What have you got to do with them?" he asked.
"I knew Bruce. I thought—"