I admitted the fact.
"He nearly crushed me, too, when he tumbled," Gyl reminded. "I'd been following him two weeks, waiting for his fat heart to do a flopperoo."
We both laughed. I took another drink, and Gyl osmosed a nip.
Finally, I leaned across the desk. "Listen, Gyl," I said, coldly serious. "Now that this little deal is over, how would you like to get in on something else? Something really big?"
He instantly became all ears. (Naturally, only a pseudopod can do it.)
"After I sell out Remey," I continued, "we'll have ample funds. So-o, if we moved over to Washington, D. C.... If you and Gyf could get in touch with a couple tottering congressmen who are about ready to depart from this vale of tears...."
Gyl caught on immediately. "T. J.," he complimented, "you've got something!"
He fell silent, and I knew he was letting the gin and the thought trickle through him, savoring both from various angles. Then he vibrated, dreamily, "I've always wanted to be a congressman. Or—or a cabinet member. Or—" His vibration dropped to little more than a whisper, "—or a president!"
"Sorry," I said, "but I believe he is already possessed."