"This shindig's BYOB. So how about picking up a fifth of Scotch? That way we can all get into the spirit of things here on the eleventh floor."
"Walton, that's a hell of a—"
"I know bringing your own booze is not your style. But why don't you check in with Eddie, the security chief downstairs? He always keeps me a bottle of Suntory there in the utility room. See him about it."
"That Japanese crap. Matt, what are you talking about? You know I hate—"
"Just ask for Eddie, Bill." I cut him off. "Tell him Matthew Walton wants his black label Japanese juice sent up here immediately. Understand?"
I hung up before Henderson could say anything more.
Such as tell me we both knew there was no such thing as "black label" Suntory.
"Guess he'll be here shortly." I turned back to Noda.
"He should be here in no time at all, Mr. Walton. Two of my guards have been posted outside his building since he returned there yesterday. For his own safety. They will bring him."
With that chilling bit of news Matsuo Noda proceeded to yank out the phone cord, then head back to his office. The Art of War. You leave nothing to chance. In fact his two sumo heavies were now standing outside my office, keeping a close eye on us. Guess he no longer had full confidence in Jim Bob.