In his mind, he saw Slick hanging from the ledge on the 18th floor. Doomed or not, he’d resolved to cling to it until the Trinity stomped his fingers and sent him falling to his Pax-Jupiter death.
“I only put it in the Q4 number because you said it would happen,” Rudy said. “This gives me a black eye.”
“You’re breaking my heart. I get a bullet in the head. You get a black eye. Would you like an apology?”
That was exactly what he wanted. An apology was akin to a statement of responsibility. It justified the bullet.
“I just wish you’d mentioned it to the group,” Rudy said.
“You wanted me to say something?”
“Slick. Again. About a thing like this? Of course.”
“Fine. I’ll say something. The meeting isn’t over until someone lies.” The man on the other end of the line was becoming breathless. “I don’t get out of the room until I say it’s all fine. Don’t tell me you haven’t been there. Don’t fucking tell me you think it’s that easy.”
It was true. There was no point in belaboring the discussion or making a condemned man feel worse.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Rudy said, disconnecting the call. They’d reached a consensus. Slick was the witch.
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