"What does that mean?" Sam asked.

"I would assume that he would like to see you right away, sir."

"I guessed that." Sam said. "I'm a little vague on the rat-fucked part. What do you think, Gabriella?"

Gabriella, Gabriella,

As fair as salmonella.

"I'm sure I don't know. You might ask him."

"Right," Sam said.

He walked down the hall to Aaron Aaron's outer office, composing the next line of his poem along the way.

It wouldn't surprise me in the least

If you were mistaken for a beast.

Aaron Aaron wasn't Aaron's real name: he had changed it so his insurance firm would be the first listed in the yellow pages. Sam didn't know Aaron's real name and he had never asked. Who was he to judge? Samuel Hunter wasn't his real name either, and it was certainly less desirable alphabetically.

Aaron's secretary, Julia, a willowy actress/model/dancer who typed, answered phones, and referred to hairdressers as geniuses, greeted Sam with a smile that evinced thousands in orthodontia and bonding. "Hi, Sam, he's really pissed. What did you do?"

"Do?"

"Yeah, on that Motion Marine deal. They called a few minutes ago and Aaron went off."

"I didn't do anything," Sam said. He started into Aaron's office, then turned to Julia. "Julia, do you know what rat-fuck means?"

"No, Aaron just said that he was going to do it to you for sucking the joy out of his new head."

"He got a new head? What's this one?"

"A wild boar he shot last year. The taxidermist delivered it this morning."

"Thanks Julia, I'll be sure to notice it."

"Good luck." Julia smiled, then held the smile while she checked herself in the makeup mirror on her desk.