"You'd damned well better, or you could be looking at a long interlude of pastoral delights up at the Danbury country club." He was still dumbstruck. Finally he grinned. "After parole, though, you could probably sell your memoirs to Newsweek for a couple of million and land a guest slot on Carson."
There was a long pause as silence filled the room, broken only by the distant sound of a siren from the street below. For a minute I had the paranoid fantasy it was the first wave of the police SWAT team heading downtown to shoot it out with us.
Finally Bill turned back and fixed me with a questioning look. "Are you really serious about this asshole idea?"
"It's not without appeal."
"Walton, you dumb fuck, do this and you'll never work in this town again."
"I'm well aware of that."
"Nobody'd hire you to fight a dog summons, let alone a takeover." Bill turned to Tam. "Talk sense to this man."
"It was my idea."
"You're both crazy." He walked over to the bar and poured some more Scotch into his glass. "But what the hell. I've seen enough to know we'd damned sure better start taking this country back into our own hands one way or another."
"So you'll help?" She was watching him like a hawk.