A nice touch two nights before had netted him fifteen thousand dollars, which he'd just picked up from his fence, so he was feeling good, sitting in a bar, relishing the whisky sour the barman was creating, and then a heavy hand touched his shoulder.

Terry turned and his stomach churned. Falcone smiled. 'Terry, you look good.'

Russo leaned against the bar, his usual dreadful self, and Terry took a deep breath. 'Aldo, you want something?'

'Not me, but the Solazzo family would like a favour. You would never say no to the Don, would you, Terry?'

'Of course not,' Terry gabbled, reached for the whisky sour and swallowed it in one gulp.

'Only in this case, it's Jack Fox who wants the favour.'

Which was enough to almost give Terry a bowel movement. Anything I can do.'

'That goes without saying.' Falcone patted his cheek and said to the barman, who was looking wary, 'Give him another. He's going to need it.'

The barman said, 'Now, look, I don't want any trouble in here.'

Russo leaned over the bar, his ugly face full of menace. 'Make him the fucking drink and shut up. Okay?'

Hurriedly, the barman did as he was told, his hands shaking.

Jack Fox was in the sitting room of his Park Avenue townhouse, on the second floor, enjoying a light lunch of champagne and smoked salmon sandwiches, when Falcone brought Terry Mount in.

'Why, Terry, you look worried,' Fox told him. 'Now why should that be?' He bit into another sandwich, then Falcone took a wad of money from his pocket. 'Aldo, have you won the lottery or something?'