"And, I may need some discretionary funds." Duncan was making a mental list of those things he thought he needed. His sources of information were the most valuable. Without them, it would be a bad case of babysitting sissy assed bureaucrats staking out their ground.
"Yes to the money. Ouch, but yes to hands off your promotion.
Maybe, to the reporter. It's my ass, too, you know."
"You called me," Tyrone said calmly. "Remember?"
I can't win this one, thought Bob. He's never screwed up yet. Not big time. As they say, with enough rope you either bring in the gang or hang yourself. "I want results." That's all Bob had to say. "Other than that, I don't give a good goddamn what you do," Bob resigned.
"One more thing," Tyrone slipped in.
"What is it?" Bob was getting exasperated.
"It happens out of New York, not here."
"But . . ."
"No buts. Period."
"Ok, New York, but you report here when I need you. Agreed?"