"Want? Well, let's see. How about starting with a little respect."
"Fuck you, Peretz."
"Now, is that any way to talk? If that's how you feel, then I just thought of another small request. I also want you to transfer your part of the money into my account at Banco Ambrosiano. As a small gesture of respect. I want you to get on the radio and see about having it arranged. Or I might just blow the scenario for you." He had to laugh.
There was radio silence as Ramirez appeared to be contemplating this alternative. It clearly was unpalatable.
"You've got a problem there, my friend. One of time. I'm sure we're being monitored, so let me just say there's been a change of plans. You would have been part of it, but unfortunately . . ."
"Hey, asshole, there's no change of plans. You figured it for this way all along. But now there is going to be a change. I hate to tell you what the new scenario is . . . yo, hang on a sec."
He had looked up to see Bill Bates and Michael Vance entering the office. "Come on in and join the fun, guys." He waved his Walther and grinned. "We're about to have a blast."
Vance walked through the door, bloody and exhausted. "And I thought Ramirez was the only one who could manage to return from the dead." He tried to smile, but his face hurt too much. "Either he was using blanks, or you were wearing a bulletproof vest. Somehow I doubt it was the former. So what happened? Have a business disagreement with your partner in crime?"
Peretz was grinning. "That's how it is in life sometimes, man. Friendship is fleeting." He gestured them forward.
Bates had moved in warily, still stunned by the carnage among the workstations in Command. "I suppose I have you and Ramirez to thank for tearing up the place out there." He walked over to the desk. "Nice to see that my radio gear is back on and working."