"Don't tell me. See the manager. I don't make the rules. Third office on the left. But you'd better hurry. I've only one double passage left."
Coran tapped the girl on her shoulder. She glared at him. "Take a tip from me, babe. See the boss. If he's a man, you'll get the tickets."
As she left the line, he pushed to the window. "I'll take those two tickets, bud."
"Do you have your marriage certificate?"
Coran reached through the window, snagged a coat lapel and had the man dragged half through the window in a flash. "Now I'll talk, punk, and you listen. Because I don't have a ring in my nose, don't get the idea I'm not married. Do I get those tickets, or do you give up mirrors for the next six weeks?"
The clerk looked at the gnarled fist under his nose and gave a wild nod of his head. "You get them."
The steel fingers relaxed and the clerk slid back inside his cage. "I'll report this," he stormed, shaking himself like a wet animal. "You'd better have your papers when you try to get past the purser." He handed out the tickets.
The girl followed Coran from the office. "I'll give you a thousand vikdals for those tickets."
Coran grinned savagely. "Not even if you said please."
"Please, and two thousand."